


Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust

by acemindpalace, allroadsleadbacktobakerstreet, TearStainedAshes



Series: Neverland [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Birthday Party, Birthday Sex, Blood, Bloodplay, Coma, Cutting, Depression, Dream World, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawals, Dubious Consent, First Time, Funeral Scene, Gratuitous Smut, Hospitals, Implied Drug Use, Infidelity, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Marathon Sex, Masturbation, Memory Loss, Mentions of Rape, Nipple Play, Not Really Character Death, Oral Sex, Overdosing, Parentlock, Public Sex, Rehabilitation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexsomnia, Shower Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, The Reichenbach Fall, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Verbal Abuse, Violence, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:19:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 65
Words: 520,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acemindpalace/pseuds/acemindpalace, https://archiveofourown.org/users/allroadsleadbacktobakerstreet/pseuds/allroadsleadbacktobakerstreet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearStainedAshes/pseuds/TearStainedAshes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's and Sherlock's relationship is put to the test as they combat several difficult situations. Together, through intimacy, faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie dust, will they make it through the dark and into better days?</p><p>Co-written with Martin_J_Christopher_Freeman (formerly InvisibleBlade)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pixie Dust

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off my RP with the wonderful Moriarty's Invisible Blade!  
> EDIT 5/3: She is now Martin-J-Christopher-Freeman. Here's her ff account, so why don't you go give her some love? https://www.fanfiction.net/u/3102090/Martin-J-Christopher-Freeman
> 
> More tags and characters and ships will be added as the story progresses.
> 
> John: me  
> Sherlock: InvisibleBlade

_**Do you see all the pretty fairies? Or is that just me? –SH** _

_Sherlock, are you alright? –JW_

_**Yes. Just wondering if I'm the only one who can see the pretty fairies. They said they came round for tea. –SH** _

_Sherlock, what did you take? _–_ JW_

_**Take? Nothing. Might have sniffed a few chemicals. But I haven't taken anything. Still, these fairies are nice little folk. :) –SH** _

_You're using emoticons. I'm coming home. –JW_

_**Why? :( Me and the fairies are having plenty of fun on our own. –SH** _

_Because you're seeing things, and acting strange and I'm worried about you. –JW_

_**Oooh Watson's worried. My dear John, why's that? –SH** _

_Because you're saying things like that. You're acting… I don't know. Look, I'm almost home. –JW_

_**Awww :( Are you going to punish me? You always punish me when I get the chemicals out. The fairies won't be too happy. –SH** _

_**They might even try to attack you. –SH** _

_Sherlock, there is no such things as fairies, and I'm not going to punish you. What the hell did you sniff? –JW_

_**How could you say that! Every time you say that a fairy dies! How dare you! –SH** _

_Sherlock, I'm coming upstairs. Just try to be calm. –JW_

_**I'm as calm as a unicorn who has just had a fight with a leprocorn. –SH** _

_A leprocorn. Right. Okay. I'll be up in a second. –JW_

John sighed and made his way up the stairs to 221B. He wasn't sure what he was going to open the door to, but he knew it wouldn't be good. He got upstairs and walked in the flat.

'Sherlock?'

Sherlock was currently trying to fly. All his fairy friends could fly but it seemed he didn't have the capacity to do so. He'd tried every method possibly known to man. He'd even taken all his clothes off so that he would be lighter but he still hadn't been successful. John walked over to Sherlock and crossed his arms over his chest.

'Sherlock, what are you doing up there?' he asked, trying not to laugh at the state of his flatmate.

'Isn't it quite obvious?' Sherlock squeaked happily. 'I'm learning to fly.'

'Oh, yeah. That's what I thought. Why don't you come down and we can try again later?' John desperately wanted Sherlock to get down so he wouldn't hurt himself, but the sight was still quite amusing.

Sherlock frowned and huffed. 'No,' he said stubbornly. 'Make me.' John rolled his eyes. Sometimes Sherlock could act like such a child, and the effects of whatever this was wasn't helping.

'Come on. If you get down… I'll make you some hot cocoa. Does that sound good?' It was worth a shot.

Sherlock grinned. 'Will it be your own special blend?' He asked, huge puppy dog eyes pinned to John. John chuckled and nodded.

'Yeah, I'll make it special. Like I did when you had the flu. Now, go at least put some trousers on and sit on the couch. I'll be back in a minute.' John walked into the kitchen, which was a mess, and rummaged around the cabinets for the cocoa. Sherlock followed John, ignoring his plea to put trousers on. He tiptoed behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

'Do you want to know a secret?' he giggled childishly. John continued making the cocoa, finding a mug to put it in.

'Yeah, sure. What is it?' he asked, only half listening.

Sherlock pressed himself up behind John. 'I wuvv you.' He then exploded into more giggles. 'Wuv you John.' John blushed and cleared his throat, trying to act normal, reminding himself that Sherlock wasn't exactly coherent at the moment.

'"Wuv" is not a proper word, Sherlock. And what did I say about trousers?' John wiggled himself out from Sherlock's grasp and handed him the mug of cocoa. 'Here, try not to spill it. Go sit on the couch,' he demanded, making his tone firmer than before.

'Trousers are no fun John. They make things so dull.' Sherlock took the hot chocolate and began sipping at it. He then frowned. 'Will you come and sit with me?'

'Yes, I will come and sit with you in a moment. Now go.' John pointed towards the living room and sighed. He went into Sherlock's room and grabbed his dressing gown and a pair of pants. He then walked back into the living room and handed them to Sherlock. 'Here. At least put something on.'

Sherlock pouted but did as John asked. 'Better?' he questioned John, looking an awful lot like a child who had just been scolded firmly.

'Yes, much,' John sighed, sitting down next to Sherlock. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with nudity; he was a doctor after all. But with Sherlock in this state especially… it was different. 'Alright, now are you going to tell me what happened before the fairies arrived?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'I don't know. I can't remember. The fairies just appeared from nowhere. They said that I'd invited them round for a lovely roast dinner. I said I'd only cook for them if they'd teach me to fly.' He then proceeded to drink the rest of the cocoa in one gulp.

'JESU- SHERLOCK!' John cried, prying the mug from his flatmate's hands. 'That cocoa was fresh and probably scalding hot! You probably just burnt your tongue and throat!' John sighed and took a deep breath, reminding himself that the cocoa was the least of his worries. 'Now, Sherlock, fairies don't just come out of nowhere. You sniffed something to trigger their presence. And since when do you know how to cook?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Cooking is a simple art form John. And it would have been rude to say no to our little friends.'

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was one of the worst accidental experiment-induced highs he had seen. He knew that it would be best to play along, at least until Sherlock sobered up or passed out, whichever came first. Taking another deep breath and sitting up straighter, John said, 'Okay. Okay, fine. The fairies want a roast, I'll make a roast. But you have to put clothes on first.'

'Alright,' Sherlock slurred, attempting to get up but ending up face planting the floor with a painful sounding thud. John sighed and ran a hand over his face.  _Yep, definitely one of the worst_ , he thought to himself. He stood up and went over to Sherlock, who had begun to giggle against the carpet.

'Come on, up. Use your arms Sherlock. Let's get you dressed and then I'll start on dinner.'

Sherlock flipped himself over, still in a fit of giggles. He grabbed at John in an attempt to get up. This unfortunately only ended in Sherlock pulling John down. He yelped as the older man's body crushed him. John landed on Sherlock with an 'oof.' Sherlock had gripped his arms too tight and had pulled him down, causing him to land face-to-face with his flatmate. When John looked up he was staring directly into Sherlock's eyes. His pupils were blown so wide from the chemically-induced high that his eyes were almost black. John swallowed and moved to sit up but Sherlock's tight grip on his arms prevented him from moving very far.

'Um, Sherlock? Do you think you could let go?'

'No,' Sherlock snarled. 'I don't want to let go of my blogger.' The detective's overly happy mood had switched to a far darker one. John's eyes widened. He knew Sherlock was possessive, but he had never seen him like this before. Trying to steady his quickening pulse he took a deep breath and licked his lips. He needed to calm Sherlock down. He placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and squeezed gently.

'You don't have to let go, Sherlock. I'm here.'

Sherlock's grip loosened. 'Mm sorry John.' His mood had taken yet another turn. He leant his head on John's shoulder and began to shake. Tears were quick to fill his eyes and quite soon the doctor's shoulder was soaking wet. John swallowed again. Although he was used to dealing with emotional people at the surgery, dealing with Sherlock's emotions was another story. They were rare, and only popped up when he was drunk, high, or he hadn't slept in almost two weeks. But he knew what to do in those rare situations.

John sat up and pulled Sherlock against him, wrapping his arms around his friend and stroking a hand through his curls. He laid his cheek against the top of Sherlock's head and just held him. He didn't speak, he just rocked gently and held his friend, letting him know that he was there, he would always be there, and he wasn't going anywhere.

Sherlock sniffled. 'Wuvv you John,' he whispered into John's ear for the third time in less than an hour. Sherlock's shaking stilled dramatically but the tears still flowed freely from his deep blue eyes.

'I know you do, Sherlock. I know.' John held him tighter, his hand stilling from stroking Sherlock's hair to grip the back of his head. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, resting his forehead against Sherlock's. When he opened his eyes he saw Sherlock's were staring right back, bright with the tears that were still falling. Before he could stop himself, John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and wiped the tears away with his thumbs.

 _Might as well say it since he won't remember it anyway,_ he told himself. Taking another breath to steady himself, he looked directly into Sherlock's eyes as he whispered,

'I love you too, Sherlock.'

Sherlock grinned and laughed loudly. He brushed his nose against John's and wriggled beneath his flatmate like a hyperactive four year old. John couldn't help but smile. While Sherlock's mood swings, chemically induced or not, gave him what felt like whiplash sometimes, John really did love the man. He still wasn't sure he was _in love_  with him, but he loved him all the same. He laughed when Sherlock pushed his nose against his again and returned the gesture, moving to kiss the tip of it. Sherlock moved his head to the right slightly. It was a tiny move and would have been completely insignificant if John hadn't moved as well.

His lips landed quite heavily on John's. He pulled back, unblinking, and in a slightly frightened fashion wriggled out from underneath John. It was as though despite being quite heavily drugged up the old, terrified of anything intimate and anything that involved feeling anything other than numb Sherlock was still eating away at his surface.

As soon as he felt Sherlock's lips on his, John's pulse began to race.He felt his cheeks heat, and his breath actually got caught in his throat. For a brief second he wondered if Sherlock had moved on purpose. That thought was quickly defeated as Sherlock all but shoved him away and retreated away to a corner of the room.

'Sherlock,' he said softly, trying not to spook his friend. Sherlock looked very much like a deer caught in the headlights. John stood up slowly and held his hands out in front of him, the universal gesture of 'I'm not going to hurt you.'

'Sherlock, it's ok. I didn't mean to do that. It was an accident.'

Sherlock began to pull at his hair, furiously twisting his hands around his locks. It was causing him pain but he just couldn't work out how to communicate with John. John made no move to approach Sherlock. He could see the inner turmoil going on inside his head.

 _It must be pretty bad if he's trying to rip out his hair. He only does that if he's especially distressed,_  John thought to himself.

'It's alright Sherlock,' he said in as calm a voice as he could muster. 'It's alright. I know this wasn't supposed to happen, I know you're struggling with the unexpected feelings. Just please, try to relax. Let go of your hair and say something, anything. I don't have to understand what you mean. Just start talking.'

'Where have all the fairies gone?' Sherlock questioned John, narrowing his eyes and moving his hands from his hair. 'Did you scare them away?'

'The fairies?' John asked. Then he remembered. 'Oh, right. The fairies. No, I didn't scare them. They... They had somewhere else to go, so they left.'

Sherlock's bottom lip trembled. 'Why did they leave so soon? Didn't they like me ?'

 _Oh shit, wrong path_ , John mentally cursed himself. 'No, Sherlock. It was nothing you did. The fairies loved you. They just had... a party to go to... in fairy land.'

'Fairy land? John that is a lie. It is common knowledge that the unicorns of the east destroyed fairy land a long time ago.' Sherlock felt outraged.

John slapped one of his hands onto his face, running it down his face. This was not one of those hallucinations he would be able to lie his way out of. And quite frankly, the whole ordeal was beginning to grate his nerves.

'Fine, Sherlock. You want the truth?'

'Yes, naturally,' Sherlock replied, walking to where John was standing.

'The fairies aren't real. None of what you have seen is real. You did something that got you so fucking high and you have imagined everything. There were no fairies, there was no roast to be cooked, the unicorns didn't destroy fairy land. None of it is real!' John found himself shouting near the end. He didn't know why he was so emotional, why this time was different. Then it hit him: Sherlock had said that he loved him, three times, John had even admitted that he loved Sherlock too, they had embraced, kissed even, and Sherlock wouldn't even remember any of it. And that fact had John's chest aching like he'd been shot.

Sherlock clenched his fists together and took one last step towards John, closing the space between them. His whole body tremoured. He was perhaps the angriest that he had gotten in the entire time he and John had been flatmates. His eyes were huge and even his unruly dark brown locks seemed to quiver in fury.

'Do you think this has been easy for me?' Sherlock hissed like a snake about to pounce on its pray. 'Do you think I fucking want this?' Sherlock rarely swore at John. In fact this was probably a first. He had sworn around John about everyday things such as how annoying Anderson was or because he couldn't figure out a case, yes, but he had never directed a swear word at him. It was a sure way to tell John he was truly pissed off.

'You think this is easy for  _me?_ ' John countered. 'You think living with you is easy? You think putting up with your experiments is easy? Playing the violin at all hours of the night, your sporadic eating and sleeping habits, your experimental explosions in the kitchen are all easy to put up with? Do you think I want to put up with your insane experiments? Do you think I even want to put up with this experimentally induced high right now? No, Sherlock, I don't. But I endure as much as I can because you are my friend and I know how fragile you are even though you would never admit it. And do you know why I endure all this? Because I love you. I fucking love you more than you will ever fucking know and you don't even fucking care. So you think you have it hard? Try looking at this from my perspective and then tell me how fucking hard this entire thing is.'

Sherlock lunged forwards, pinning the doctor to a wall, grasping the man by the wrists, coiling his fingers so tightly around them they were leaving marks. He began to grind his body against John in frustration before smothering his hot and fiery mouth onto John's. He said nothing. His actions were angry enough to get across his fury.

John let out a small yelp of surprise as Sherlock pinned him to the wall, covering his entire body with his own. This was the angriest John had ever seen him and he didn't know what to expect. The hot, angry kiss was definitely not expected, causing him to gasp slightly, opening his mouth just enough that Sherlock's tongue was able to plunge inside. John tried not to moan, he really did, but the noise of pleasure came anyway and he kissed Sherlock back fervently.

Sherlock pulled back and pushed himself away from John. 'Have you ever wondered why I am constantly looking for ways to get high?' Sherlock snarled. 'No I don't think you have. I don't think you've thought about my reasons at all. Dammit John!' Sherlock swung his fist in the air and punched the wall, leaving a large dent only inches away from John. 'I know that none of this is real, but this is so much better than reality.' A bead of sweat hovered on Sherlock's forehead, and tears once again found their way into the detective's eyes.

John didn't know what to say. He hadn't ever thought about it in that way. That Sherlock was trying to escape reality. John understood. He tried to escape reality every time he went down to the pub and tried to pick up a woman, failing miserably, and returning back to the flat to collapse on the sofa if he was too drunk to make it up to his own bed. But it wasn't just reality John was trying to escape from. He was also trying to escape from himself, from his feelings for his flatmate. And he would succeed up until he woke up with a hangover, stumbled downstairs to take a shower, and saw Sherlock sitting in his chair in the living room. But he had never imagined that Sherlock used drugs to escape, he thought it was to calm his mind, allow him to relax just enough so that his mind wasn't spinning out of control.

'I... I'm sorry, Sherlock. I never thought of it like that. But please try to understand me when I say this: when you get high, not only are you gradually killing yourself, but you are also killing me. I don't want to come downstairs one day and find you lying dead in a pool of your own vomit. I don't want you to leave me alone like that, I don't want you to die because you don't like living in reality. If you're going to die it's going to be while chasing down a criminal, doing what you love with your partner. But I will not stand by and let you kill yourself with homemade drugs.'

'That's your problem John. You don't think, do you? You don't think when you go through practically ten women a week. You don't even consider how hurtful it is to blurt out that you're definitely not with me and that we as a couple are never going to happen to anyone you think has even the tiniest suspicion. You haven't ever considered that me playing the violin helps me express how I feel or that it's the only way I know how to. You just seem to think I do it to purposely annoy you. I think sometimes you forget that I am human and yes I do have a heart!' Sherlock was in a feverish temper and he wasn't about to stop there. 'So if that's your love John Watson you can stuff it. I would rather die.'

'You know, for someone who can deduce my military career in my leg and my sister's drinking habits in my mobile phone, you can be really thick. Look at me.' When Sherlock made no attempt to move, John stepped forward and clutched his friend's head in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eye.

'When I say that I find your playing the violin annoying, I do so because I know it will only cause you to play more often and louder. Because, in all honesty, I really like listening to you play. The music you compose is so beautiful. It speaks to me in a way music never has before, and I believe it is simply because you are the one who composed it. Your music is your feelings and emotions, Sherlock. When you can't put what you feel into words you make it into music and beautiful music at that. You are putting your heart and soul into what you compose and I have never heard anything more beautiful in my entire life.'

John paused to take a breath before continuing, trying to keep his tears at bay.

'When I tell you not to run experiments at night I do so because I know you will defy me and that is when you do your best work. And when you do your best work you're happy, you stop and eat or sleep, and when you're happy and taking care of yourself that makes me happy. I only tell you not to do something because I know you don't like being told what not to do, so you do it anyway and you end up doing your best and most brilliant work.'

Tears were beginning to slide down John's cheeks, but at that point he didn't care. If Sherlock thought John didn't care then damn it all he was going to pour his heart and soul out right then and there.

'And do you know why I do those things, Sherlock? Do you?' he demanded. Sherlock shook his head and a look of utmost upset spread across his features.

'You've been playing mind games with me for all this time. That makes you no better than Moriarty,' he stated sorrowfully. 'And the women you go through daily ... are they just part of your mind games too?'

'Moriarty played mind games with you because he was bored. I play "mind games" with you, as you so eloquently put it, because it lets you do what you love. And I do them because I love you and I want you to be happy.' John paused, his voice cracking at the end of his statement. He swallowed the lump in his throat as best as he could before continuing. 'And these women that I sleep with on a daily basis? Where did they come from? I haven't gotten laid in almost a month, Sherlock. I've found I have no interest in women anymore now that I've got you. Yes, when we first met there was Sarah, the one with the nose, the one with the spots, and the boring teacher, but didn't you notice anything odd about them all? In the end, they were all female versions of you. Tall, dark hair, bright blue eyes, smart in their own way. It took me a while to notice the pattern, but when I did I realized that I had fallen for you and women were a poor substitute for the real thing. So I stopped dating, started playing my "mind games" with you, and focused more on you than I ever had before.

'I'm sorry for not telling you my feelings outright, but this is you we're talking about here. You don't like sentiment, you see it as a weakness, and I didn't want to share my feelings for you because I was afraid you would shut me down like that first night in Angelo's.' John gently ran his thumbs over Sherlock's cheekbones, looking into his bright eyes, an embarrassed smile on his face.

'I do what I do because I love you you crazy git.'

Sherlock froze and began to slowly back away. His head thumped with the new knowledge John had given him. The effects of whatever chemical he had inhaled was taking a terrible toll on him too. Both of which were making him shake, groan, and feel physically sick. John noticed the change in his friend, felt rather than saw him stagger back. Sherlock's face left his hands, moving away from him. Something wasn't right.

'Sherlock? Are you alright?'

Sherlock's legs wobbled beneath him. 'Don't feel well,' he heaved through heavy breathing.

John could see what was about to happen, he should have expected it at some point. Based on Sherlock's track record with homemade drugs it was bound to happen sooner or later. He rushed forward to steady Sherlock, trying to steer him towards the sink before Sherlock vomited on the carpet or passed out and risked choking on his own vomit.

'God my head John.' Sherlock leant his head on John's shoulder. 'It hurts so bad.' He whimpered and upon seeing the sink he found himself wretching, the entire contents of his stomach spilling out, which wasn't much. Sherlock hadn't been eating properly for weeks now. John held onto Sherlock as he wretched into the sink, one arm wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders so his hand could rest on his clammy forehead, the other hand resting on one of Sherlock's as it gripped the edge of the counter tightly.

'I think we should get you into bed, Sherlock,' John said when Sherlock finished. 'You should get some rest, see how you feel in the morning.'

Sherlock sighed but without much choice nodded. He glanced down at his legs, not quite certain as to how much use they would be. 'John-' He winced, still feeling nauseous.

John suppressed a small smile as he bent down to carry Sherlock, bridal style, to his room. Thankfully Sherlock's bedroom door was already open, so John simply walked in and laid Sherlock down on his bed. He ran a hand across Sherlock's forehead again, noting how warm it was and also brushing some of Sherlock's curls off of the sweaty surface. He placed a small kiss on it and made to walk away.

'Don't go,' Sherlock growled as a threat. It was, much to his humiliation, a rather sleepy sounding threat.

John couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his lips. He toed off his shoes and stripped down to his pants and t-shirt, crawling into bed with Sherlock but avoiding any physical contact in case Sherlock was beginning to sober up and wouldn't appreciate it.

'I'll stay as long as you need me to,' John whispered to his flatmate.

'Don't pop back to fairy land in the middle of the night,' Sherlock whispered.

John chuckled. 'No worries there Sherlock. The fairies didn't seem to like me much anyway. You were much better company.'

'Good to hear.' Sherlock stretched out like a house cat and let off a noise very akin to a purr.

'Goodnight Sherlock.'

'Mmff, night.' Sherlock began to snore softly and was soon in a deep sleep.

John watched Sherlock sleep for hours as he couldn't bring himself to sleep. He wanted to be awake in case Sherlock became distressed or possibly might vomit again, and he didn't want him to choke in his sleep. He turned on his side and faced his sleeping flatmate, watching him as he slept rather peacefully. When he decided that Sherlock wasn't going to wake up any time soon, he made to go to the kitchen and clean up the sink. He didn't want Mrs Hudson walking in on that, and knowing her she would take it upon herself to clean it up. When he completed that task he went to organize the living room, which wasn't so bad except for the books and papers strewn about from Sherlock's attempt at flight. He moved back to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea, spiking it a little bit so it both comforted and relaxed him. The entire experience had been emotionally draining, and he still couldn't believe he had actually admitted his feelings to Sherlock. Not that he would remember much of it anyway, but he would probably play it off as a hallucination. And while John was able to accept that, it still hurt that he wouldn't be able to truly share his feelings for his friend when his friend was so afraid of sentiment and seeming weak. That had happened already with Moriarty and the pool and he never wanted anything like that to happen again. He finished his spiked tea and left the mug by the kettle, heading back into Sherlock's room for the night.


	2. Love and Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! New chapter! Fastest update I've ever done! Enjoy!
> 
> John: me  
> Sherlock: InvisibleBlade
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: smut, men going at it, drug side effects, smut, smut, abusive parents, and angst.

When Sherlock awoke he felt strange. It was more than the usual kind of strange feeling he had received from chemically influenced highs. He felt, as most people would put it, 'turned on.' He groaned loudly, not realising he wasn't alone in his room.

John had finally managed to grab a few hours of sleep, restless, but sleep nonetheless. He turned over and stretched, his hands coming into contact with silk and warm flesh. He sighed in content, clutched onto the silk material, and burrowed his face into the chest of whomever he was sharing a bed with. Suddenly the events of the previous night came back to him and his eyes snapped open. He slowly lifted his head to meet the gaze of a very flustered and  _very_  startled Sherlock.

'Um... good morning,' John said for lack of anything else to say. 'How did you sleep? Are you feeling any better?'

Sherlock found himself turning a startling shade of red. John had practically been clinging onto him. 'Uh-' He swallowed down hard. He couldn't remember anything. All he knew was that he and John were splayed out on a bed together, and that his super sleepy flatmate was doing something to him that he couldn't even describe. He was very,  _very_  turned on right now.

John's face fell. He had expected this, but it still hurt.

'You don't remember what happened?'

'No. Why? What did I miss?' Sherlock asked, grinding his teeth and crossing his legs to try and stop a weird and unfamiliar burning sensation in his groin from occurring.

'Nothing important,' John sighed, avoiding eye contact. 'You concocted some sort of hallucinogen last night and imagined there were fairies everywhere demanding you cook them a roast.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Oh yes, I do love it when those little friends appear.'

John looked up in surprise. 'You've imagined them before?'

'Oh yes. They're quite often guests in my hallucinations.' He frowned. 'Never can learn to fly though.'

John couldn't help but chuckle. 'Yes, I came in and you were standing on the desk, bare arsed, trying to fly.' John blushed and quickly added, 'I could only coax you down if I made you cocoa.'

Something about John's blush and the way he said arse was getting Sherlock worked up into a frantic internal frenzy. He hummed and crossed his legs tighter. What was wrong with him? John saw Sherlock squirm and felt his hum all throughout his body. He swallowed and risked a quick glance at Sherlock's face. It was flushed and it continued down his neck and most of his chest. It was then that John noticed how tightly Sherlock was clenching his legs together and he knew. He smirked knowingly and asked, 'Are you feeling alright, Sherlock?'

'Fine,' Sherlock retorted, wriggling away from John. 'It just seems the chemical is still rather affecting me.'

'"Chemical," right,' John grinned, wriggling closer. 'And have any of the other chemicals affected you in this way?'

'No,' Sherlock grimaced, glaring at John.

'Uh huh. Just as I thought,' John smirked, stroking Sherlock's dressing gown with his free hand. He decided to make the boldest move he had ever made while Sherlock was sober. Taking a deep breath, he looked into Sherlock's eyes and said, 'I can help you with that you know.'

'John!' Sherlock snapped, pulling away, refusing to even look at John's face.

He knew it was a long shot, but he at least tried. But the good doctor wasn't going to give up that easily. Steeling himself, he moved closer to Sherlock so they were chest-to-chest. Sherlock was still avoiding looking at him, but John didn't let that deter him. He leaned close and whispered, 'Don't be embarrassed, Sherlock. I made it perfectly clear that I wanted you last night, but I wasn't going to take advantage of you in such a vulnerable state. If you could remember what I confessed last night then you would understand, but I'm going to tell you here and now that I love you and there is nothing you can do about it.' He flushed deep red at the words he was about to say, but made himself say them anyway.

'I want to take your beautiful cock into my mouth, suck you with just the right amount of pressure until you're begging me to let you cum, and when I finally let you I want you to scream my name so everyone will know I am the one who made you feel that way.'

Sherlock stared at John wide eyed. 'I'm scared,' he admitted in frustration. The only thing that calmed him were John's words. 'You love me?' He crept cautiously closer before taking a daring move and pressing his already unbearably large bulge against John.

John moaned at the feeling of Sherlock's cock against his thigh. He clutched at Sherlock's dressing gown and buried his face in Sherlock's neck, his own arousal aching with the need to be touched. He lifted his head to gaze at Sherlock's face, noticing that it was as flushed with arousal as his own felt.

'Yes, of course I love you Sherlock. It took me a while to realize that fact, but I love you Sherlock. And I'm scared too. I've never done anything like this before. But I want to try with you, and only you.'

Sherlock hummed his approval and nodded. John smiled and leaned in close to Sherlock.  _Best to start small_ , he thought to himself. He let his gaze fall to Sherlock's mouth, licked his lips, and looked back up at Sherlock, letting him know of his intentions. Sherlock hated feeling this damn horny but he supposed he only had himself to blame by inhaling the chemical that had made him this way. He again nodded.

As soon as Sherlock nodded his assent John leaned in and kissed Sherlock gently at first, allowing him to get used to the feeling. His repressed feelings bubbled to the surface and he tangled his fingers in Sherlock's curls and pulled him closer, kissing him passionately. Sherlock found himself much to his own surprise kissing back just as hard. He groaned and began rubbing himself against John. His bulge was already incredibly enhanced by the chemical and it seemed it wasn't done growing. John moaned against Sherlock's mouth, rutting against him like a teenager. He could feel Sherlock's cock against his thigh and it seemed it was still growing.

_Good God, what was in that stuff he inhaled last night?_  John thought to himself. He didn't dwell on it for long because his body shifted just so that his cock aligned with Sherlock's and he gasped at the sensation. Sherlock threw back his head and moaned. His thrusting became frantic. It was clear John was near his limit but on the other hand Sherlock could keep going.

'I think I've invented by own brand of Viagra,' he gasped through gritted teeth as he relentlessly kept on growing.

'Fuck Sherlock,' John gasped. 'If the hallucinations weren't such a horrible side effect I would definitely like to try some of whatever the fuck you invented.' John grit his teeth and grasped Sherlock by his shoulders tightly, forcing him to lie on his back so John could straddle his waist. He dragged his hands down Sherlock's chest as he rutted against him, pre-come leaking through his pants as his cock strained against the fabric.

'Fuck,' he gasped. 'I'm close Sherlock.'

'Hang on in there.' Sherlock grit his teeth. How much larger could he get? It seemed his growth would never stop. He was surprised he hadn't burst his boxer shorts yet.

'Sherlock, if I cum first then I'm going to give you one of the best blow jobs of your entire fucking life.' John threw his head back and moaned as their hips had moved just enough to add just the right amount of friction. 'I want your beautiful cock in my mouth, I want you to cum down my throat, I want to know what you taste like.'

Sherlock flushed. 'I didn't know you were such a dirty bastard.' Sherlock bucked upwards. His eyes widened as he heard the ripping of material. Looking down he realized his cock had quite literally grown too big for its cage.

'There's a lot you don't know about me,' John smirked. When he heard the ripping of material he looked down to see that Sherlock's cock had grown so large that it had ripped right through his pants. John nearly came at the sight, but forced himself to hold on just a bit longer.

'Sherlock, god damn you have a beautiful prick,' he gasped. 'I want... I  _need_  you to touch me Sherlock. Get me out of my pants so I can cum. Please.'

Sherlock cautiously tore John's pants from him. His heart pumped instantly faster as he was able to look on at John's own beautiful member. Sherlock gave it a playful squeeze. 'How am I doing?' he asked softly. John thrust into Sherlock's hand, crying out at the beautiful sensations running through his body.

'You're doing bloody fantastic, Sherlock. Oh fuck,' he gasped when Sherlock twisted his hand  _just so._  'Fuck, it won't take me much. Just don't stop.' Sherlock didn't stop. Not until John got what he wanted. He groped John with a bit more aggression and watched as he came.

'OH FUCK SHERLOCK!' John cried as his orgasm ripped through him. Sherlock's hand never stilled, squeezing him tighter as he came all over Sherlock's stomach. 'GOD YES! SHERLOCK! OH FUCK!' He continued to thrust into Sherlock's hand until he could barely move, finally collapsing onto Sherlock with a very satisfied moan. It took him a minute to gather his wits about him. That was quite possibly the best orgasm of his life. He was going to need some time to recuperate.

'Just... Just gimmie a minute and I swear, I swear to fucking  _God_  Sherlock, that I am going to keep my promise and take that gorgeous prick of yours into my mouth and have you  _begging_  me to let you cum.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'It may take me a while to beg.' He practically thumped John's cock with his own. 'As ridiculous as it sounds I think I'm going to get bigger.' It was true that even as they spoke the chemical's effect was still taking place.

'Don't care,' John mumbled. He nuzzled his nose against Sherlock's throat and licked from the dip at the base up to Sherlock's chin. 'I don't care if I can't take you all in my mouth; I am still going to suck that fucking gorgeous cock of yours until you cum with my name on your lips.' He sat up and ground his hips against Sherlock's arousal, grinning from ear to ear at the moan that seemed to roll straight out of Sherlock's chest. He slid down Sherlock's body, licking a trail as he went, and shoved the sheets away so Sherlock could see what he was doing. He grasped what remained of Sherlock's pants and ripped the rest away, leaving Sherlock in just his dressing gown sprawled on his bed with a massively engorged cock. He gently took it in his hand and squeezed at the base, lapping at just the head for a moment before asking, 'You ready?'

John didn't receive an answer. Damn this was happening so quickly. Sherlock had gone from being married to his work to a whimpering mess at John's mercy. His cock was so large it was hurting and tears shone in his eyes. Why couldn't he stop growing?

'Relax, love,' John said. 'It'll be alright, I promise.' He didn't give Sherlock time to process that he'd just called him 'love,' sucking the first two inches of his cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not, but it appeared that Sherlock's cock was still growing. Either the drug was seriously affecting him or Sherlock was hung like a horse.

Sherlock felt himself freeze at being called 'love' but hardly had any time to process it. 'Make it stop,' he croaked. 'The drug - make it stop. It hurts.' Sherlock shuddered. 'Too big John.' John was only encouraging the drug along. Sherlock was beginning to feel quite queasy, as though his blood supply was now only running into his cock. He'd already grown another two inches. John gripped Sherlock's hips, digging his fingers into the flesh as he sucked down another inch. Sherlock was still growing and the pleading in his voice concerned him. What could he possibly have inhaled that would cause such a drastic side effect? He worked faster, his hand wanking Sherlock's cock where his mouth couldn't reach.

Sherlock cried out and thrust deep into John's throat. He was still rock hard and with each lick he felt the drug affect him a little more. John gagged slightly when Sherlock thrust into his mouth, but he continued his work, twisting his hand in the way he knew he liked, sucking just enough to make Sherlock whimper. The man was still hard as a fucking rock but at least he seemed to have stopped growing. John sucked harder, his free hand going to fondle Sherlock's balls.

'Watson!' Sherlock yelped, making his thrusts harder as he lost control. John hummed as he managed to suck another few centimeters into his mouth without gagging. He could feel how deliriously close to the edge Sherlock was, how desperate he was to relieve the pressure and pain that his engorged cock was causing him. As a medical man John desperately wanted to give Sherlock that relief, but as the 'dirty bastard,' as Sherlock had so endearingly called him, wanted to deny Sherlock that relief as long as possible. He could taste the pre-come on his tongue, feel Sherlock's cock throb in his mouth, his desperation traveling through his cock into John's body. Saving his 'dirty bastard' side for later, John sucked harder until he felt Sherlock wriggling beneath him.

'Grr.' Sherlock pushed himself further into John's mouth. God he needed release. He was sitting on the edge but it seemed just as the chemical had engorged him it also led him not being able to find one... no matter how hard he thrust. John sucked down as much of Sherlock as he could, swallowing the head of his cock down his throat. Sherlock still hadn't cum and John imagined he must be in some amount of pain. He glanced up and saw Sherlock had his eyes shut tight and his jaw clenched, gritting his teeth. John decided that drastic measures needed to be taken, so he removed his hand from Sherlock's balls and held his fingertips against Sherlock's lips. He removed his mouth from Sherlock's cock long enough to give him a direct order:

'Suck.'

Sherlock did as he was told, sucking at John's finger with desperation. John moaned at the sickeningly sweet sounds coming from Sherlock's mouth as he sucked on his fingers. Sherlock's tongue swirled around John's fingers, slipping in between them every now and again, coating them with his saliva. The slurping sounds coming from Sherlock's mouth were so obscene but so deliciously divine, John could only imagine the sounds it would make if it was around his cock. He groaned at the image, his cock getting hard again at the prospect.

When he deemed his fingers slicked enough he slid them from Sherlock's mouth, nearly groaning at the loss of contact. But his fingers were needed elsewhere, and he was determined to get Sherlock the release he so desperately needed. He brought his hand slowly back to Sherlock's bum, spreading his legs further apart with his shoulders, and ran his now slick fingers down Sherlock's crack. He stopped at his tight hole, clenched with anticipation, swirling the pad of his index finger around it so it would relax. As the tension eased he was able to slide his finger in to the first knuckle, waiting for Sherlock's reaction.

Sherlock screamed in pleasure. He felt as though that should be enough to make him cum but it wasn't and his cock throbbed painfully. John pushed his finger in further, breaching the tight ring of muscle, slowly pumping his finger in and out, letting Sherlock stretch around him. He added a second finger, scissoring them to stretch Sherlock further. He found Sherlock's prostate when he added a third finger and stroked it gently. Tears rose in Sherlock's eyes as in one swift moment his entire body lurched up into the air.

'J-John!' he screamed at the top of his lungs, finally coming. John's free hand latched onto one of his hips to steady him, the other stroking his prostate every now and again to ride him through his orgasm. John swallowed down as much of Sherlock's cock as he could, a majority of Sherlock's cum sliding down his throat. But since the drug had given him such an engorged prick, it also gave him a prolonged and rather intense orgasm as well. John held on as long as he could but after nearly a minute John could barely breathe. He released Sherlock's cock with a pop and Sherlock continued coming on his own stomach.

_Jesus fucking Christ, he looks like he's in pain_ , John thought.  _I should probably do something to help._  He suddenly remembered that his fingers were still up Sherlock's arse and a wicked grin played across his face. Using Sherlock's cum as lube, John slicked his prick and positioned himself. He was still sensitive from his own orgasm so it wouldn't take him long to cum again. He eased himself inside slowly, reveling in how tight and warm Sherlock felt, easing out slowly, then thrusting back in. Sherlock's hands gripped the bed and he let out a long rolling moan. He bucked in the air as his body flailed badly and squirmed.

'J-ohn,' he whimpered in a small and terrified voice. John thrust into Sherlock harder, lifting him up by his hips slightly to hit his prostate at just the right angle. He felt the tension rolling off Sherlock's body, the fear in his voice at not being able to understand what was happening.

'I gotta work you through this, Sherlock,' John panted between thrusts. 'That fucking drug, Sherlock. God dammit, that fucking drug.' Sherlock screamed as his body was dragged through sexual pleasure for the first time. He felt his cock suddenly go completely rigid. He'd stopped coming and yet he was in the same state as before, if not worse.

'Damn that drug,' he cursed.

'Jesus fucking Christ, Sherlock,' John groaned as he continued fucking his friend (were they even just friends anymore? What happened after this?) 'What the fuck did you inhale? What chemicals did you use that would affect you so drastically?' Sherlock was hard as a fucking rock once again, so John reached forward and grasped Sherlock's prick in his hand, reaching for one of Sherlock's to wrap around his own. 'If we're going to get you through this I'm at least going to show you a few things. Now just follow my lead and when you feel confident enough you can take over.' He began stroking their hands along Sherlock's cock, slow and steady, twisting at just the right angle, squeezing with the right amount of pressure. 'How do you feel, Sherlock?'

Sherlock grit his teeth together. 'I have no idea. You know how I like to experiment.' The detective ground himself against John. 'And I feel like the biggest prick in the world,' he panted, glancing downwards. 'Literally.'

John couldn't help but laugh at that. 'Yes, Sherlock you can definitely be a huge prick, both literally and figuratively,' he chuckled. John's eyes sparkled with mischief and he stared deep into Sherlock's eyes as he flipped their positions, a devilish smirk on his face. Now Sherlock was riding John with a mild look of confusion on his face. 'Just move your hips, Sherlock,' John instructed.

Sherlock did as John said, and without much hesitation began moving his hips against John. John groaned at the feeling. For a man without much sexual experience, once he learned a trick or two  _god damn_  was he good at it. John clenched his hands around Sherlock's hips, abandoning his grip on his prick to get some leverage so he could thrust up into Sherlock.

Sherlock cried out, 'John!' His eyes the narrowed. 'I am so getting my own back,' he growled, writhing frantically over John.

'I look forward to it,' John growled back, punctuating his intent with a sharp thrust of his hips. Sherlock thrust himself against John, forcing him in impossibly deep. This was just enough to take John by surprise. He then began grinding his entire body into John. John gasped and whimpered at the feeling of Sherlock practically  _sitting_  on his cock, the tight heat and the pressure beginning to take him to the edge.

'Oh,  _fuck_  Sherlock,' he groaned, pumping faster into Sherlock, ever faster to give himself the relief he so desperately needed. 'Fuck,  _fuck!_  I- I'm close. Oh god,  _yes!_ ' he cried, clenching onto Sherlock's hips so hard the bruises formed instantly. 'Sherlock, I- I'm, JESUS  _FUCK!_  OH GOD YES! FUCK!  _SHERLOCK!_ ' he screamed as he came.

Sherlock yelled, 'Jesus John!' He all but fell backwards onto the bed. He was in a horrid panting state. Glancing down at his cock he said, 'Now that's unfair.'

John tried to glare at Sherlock, he really did, but the look on Sherlock's face made him burst out laughing. It was a hearty laugh that he felt deep in his gut, a laugh he hadn't laughed in quite some time. He covered his face in his hands as his laughter died down, trying not to look at the offended and confused look on Sherlock's face.

' _You_  try fucking your drugged up on some extreme case of Viagra flatmate and see how long you last,' he said from behind his hands. 'Add to that a beautifully tight arsehole and see how long you last then.' John took a few deep breaths, still slightly giggling behind his hands. 'God Sherlock, if you could feel how fucking fantastic it feels to fuck someone. It's one of the best feelings in the world.'

Sherlock gulped, a little terrified. However it took him less than a second for Sherlock to raise his fingers to John's lips.

'Suck.'

John stared back wide-eyed.  _Did Sherlock really just-?_  Sherlock's fingers were at John's lips before he could finish that thought, confirming anything he might have completed it with. For a brief moment John felt his stomach drop and he gulped, nervous at the prospect. But then he realized what an extraordinary opportunity he had just been presented, and he wasn't going to make it an ordinary experience for either party. He slowly caressed his fingertips from Sherlock's shoulder down his arm, gently taking his wrist in his hand and bringing his fingertips closer to his mouth. He opened his mouth slowly, starting with just his tongue on the pads of Sherlock's fingers, licking each one in turn. Then he took Sherlock's index finger in his mouth, sucking on it slowly, swirling his tongue around it like he did Sherlock's cock. He brought another of Sherlock's fingers in his mouth, sucking it in until it hit the back of his throat. He finally sucked in a third finger, weaving his tongue between each, coating them with as much saliva as possible to make the experience comfortable for them both.

Sherlock groaned slightly before pulling his fingers out. He glanced up at John as his fingers set out to mimic his actions. John instantly reacted to his fingers. John groaned at the feeling of Sherlock's fingers at his entrance. He tried to force himself to relax, to allow Sherlock easy entrance, but he was still sensitive from his orgasm and also slightly nervous. He bit onto a knuckle when he felt Sherlock breach the first ring of muscle, stifling a groan when it slid in entirely.

'Shh,' Sherlock whispered. 'Don't be scared.' The detective added his second and third finger with a little difficulty before slowly moving in and out of him.

'Now there's a strange turn of events,' John groaned as Sherlock added his other fingers. 'You telling me not to be scared.' John moaned and threw his head against the mattress, arching his back at the wonderful sensations running through his veins.

Sherlock smirked but didn't say anything. Leaning downwards he licked the tip of John's cock. Meanwhile his fingers worked frantically.

'Jesus  _fuck_  Sherlock!' John cried out. He rolled his hips to grind down on Sherlock's fingers and push his cock closer to Sherlock's mouth. God dammit, he was getting hard again already. Sherlock swirled his tongue over John, swallowing him whole.

'Oh  _fuck!_ ' John screamed. 'Oh god, yes. Fuck Sherlock!' He sat up on his elbows to watch, Sherlock's perfect cupid's bow wrapped so snugly around his cock. John was panting from all the glorious sensations running through him. He ground down on Sherlock's fingers, screaming when they brushed his prostate. 'Sherlock, I need your cock. I need it,  _now,_ ' he demanded.

Sherlock adjusted his cock and removed his fingers and mouth. He was then quick to shove his large and impossibly engorged prick inside John. He moaned and began thrusting frantically. His cock throbbed, refusing to cum. John screamed in pleasure at the feeling of Sherlock's cock inside him. His hands gripped the sheets, his back arched off the mattress, and he yelled out simply because he felt like the entirety of London needed to know how fucking  _amazing_  Sherlock was fucking him. He wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist, pulling him slightly closer so he would reach deeper inside, clenching and unclenching his arse around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock mewled pitifully as he felt himself thrown over the edge and he came into John.

'Yes, Sherlock, yes,' John breathed, his voice having gone slightly hoarse from all the yelling. 'That's it, love. Cum for me.' He grabbed Sherlock's head in both his hands and pulled him down for a searing kiss, his tongue sliding into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock kissed John fiercely, pumping into him until he could no more. He wriggled out of John and smiled against the kiss. John smiled against Sherlock's lips, the kiss becoming less heated and more passionately slow. He loosened his grip on Sherlock's hair, sliding them through his curls and down his neck until he reached his muscular shoulders. He squeezed them gently, rocking his hips slowly against Sherlock, his cock still hard from Sherlock's attentions. Sherlock bit his lip at the sensation. His own cock was beginning to grow again and the pain from it was almost blinding.

'God John I'm exhausted,' he said in an almost inaudible voice. John had been so focused on getting Sherlock his release that he hadn't even considered their own staminas. John certainly wasn't twenty-four anymore, and Sherlock was so inexperienced that he would tire out faster anyway, especially since the drug had given him an engorged prick and intense orgasms. Now that he was brought back to reality he felt exhausted too, but something was nagging him at the back of his mind. Something he should have thought about before wrapping his lips around Sherlock's cock. Something he should have thought about before letting a massive amount of Sherlock's cum go down his throat into his digestive system.

'Sherlock... If you're still affected by this super-hallucinogen-Viagra... And I swallowed some of your cum... Am I going to get high as a fucking kite and then have an engorged prick later too?' he asked, swallowing in worry.

Sherlock's eyes lit up. 'That is a possible outcome.' He smirked. 'How do you feel? Describe it to me and I'll make a deduction.'

John swallowed. How did he feel? Suddenly he was paranoid about every little tingle and twitch in his body, chalking it all up to the drug he had accidentally ingested. He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, taking a few deep breaths before he spoke.

'I feel... Euphoric,' he began. 'I feel calm even though my heart is beating rapidly. I feel satisfied even though my prick is still hard. I feel a little light-headed, a tad nauseous, and very tired.' He opened his eyes and looked into Sherlock's as he spoke his next words. 'But most of all I feel loved by the man I love.'

'Yup - all the side effects I felt.' Sherlock bit his lip for a moment. 'I wuv you too.' He locked eyes with John. 'Yes, I remember that.'

John stared at Sherlock, his words ringing in his ears. Not only did Sherlock say that he loved John too, but he remembered how he had said it last night. Was there anything else he remembered? No, that wasn't important. Not at the moment. John reached out and tenderly took Sherlock's face in his hands, his thumbs skirting across his cheekbones.

'Say that again,' he whispered, his eyes never leaving Sherlock's.

'You heard me. I wuv you,' Sherlock replied, cuddling up to John.

John smiled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock. 'No, I meant say it properly, love,' he whispered into Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock grinned. 'I love you.'

John grinned against Sherlock's neck, burying his nose where neck met shoulder, inhaling Sherlock's scent. Leaning back so he could look Sherlock in the eyes he whispered, 'I love you too,' and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. Sherlock smiled against John's lips but pulled back to look down at John's cock as he felt it pressing into him.

'It seems you were correct in saying my cum would affect you. How do you feel?' Sherlock licked his lips, searching for a delicate word. 'Horny?' he said with a giggle. It was John's turn to feel the pain of having an engorged prick. John groaned, clenching his jaw at the pressure in his cock that he had been trying to ignore. He should have known something was up when he got hard again minutes after having a second orgasm. But now his prick felt too big for its own skin, as if Sherlock's 'miracle Viagra' concoction was also one of those penis enhancing drugs that porn sites advertised all the time.

'God Sherlock,' John moaned. 'Horny doesn't even begin to cover it.'

'I'm really sorry John but this is going to hurt - at least by my experience it will.' Sherlock wrapped his fingers around John's cock. 'Try to relax. The more you're determined to cum the more you'll cease to.'

John groaned at Sherlock's words, but it quickly turned into a moan as Sherlock's fingers wrapped around his aching prick. His cock felt hot, scorchingly so, and Sherlock's cool fingers felt heavenly. It hurt, everything hurt, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. Why did it all have to hurt so bloody much? He braced his feet on the mattress and began thrusting his hips, fucking himself in Sherlock's hand to bring himself the relief he so desperately needed.

'Fuck, it hurts Sherlock,' he grit out. 'It all hurts so much. Make it stop, Sherlock. Make it stop.'

Sherlock winced and tried not to think about how much pain he himself was in. He had to focus on John. 'Relax,' he commanded. 'Just relax.' His fingers set out to work.

John clenched his eyes shut, trying to listen to Sherlock's command, but it was hard when his head was beating like a drum and his prick was pulsing and growing with nearly every beat of his heart. His legs relaxed, letting Sherlock help him himself, and hands fisted in the sheets instead.

'Sherlock,' John whimpered.

'Shhh.' Sherlock kissed John. 'Cum for me John.' He pulled extra hard in the hope it would be the stimulation John needed. John cried out, his back arching off the bed, but he hadn't cum. Tears were falling down his cheeks now. God everything hurt so bad.

'Sh-Sherlock,' he rasped out. 'Your fingers... Your cock... Anything. Just, use something.' Sherlock aligned his cock with John's and began rubbing against him to show him how him how large his predicament had become.

'We'll ride the pain together.'

'Sher-lock!' John cried, one of his hands reaching out to their pricks to twine his fingers with Sherlock's. He pumped their hands faster, twisting their wrists around their heads in the way John liked. He thrust into their hands, trying to get himself to cum, but the more he tried the more his prick hurt. 'Sher... Sherlock,' he gasped.

The two men were lost in a world of agony. Both were grunting, thrusting, moving rapidly. Sherlock's heart was pumping so fast he could barely think. 'Ah!' he yelped feeling himself and John growing rather than getting any relief. In a brief moment of clarity, John realized what needed to be done in order for him and Sherlock to get the relief they so desperately needed. He took his free hand and clutched the back of Sherlock's head, pulling him down for a searing kiss.

'Focus on this, Sherlock,' he whispered against Sherlock's lips. 'Focus on the kiss, on me, on anything other than the pain. Let your heartbeat relax.' He kissed him again, his own words suddenly helping him relax himself. 'Just. Focus. On. Me,' he punctuated between kisses. Sherlock melted into John. He focused on the hot lips of the other man. His cock gave a twitch of joy, threatening to cum.

John melded himself to Sherlock, wanting to get as much skin on skin contact as possible. That turned out to be easier said than done as Sherlock was still in his dressing gown and John was still wearing a t-shirt. With some effort, he managed to remove his hand from their cocks so he could lift his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Once his bare chest connected with Sherlock's, their lips melded back together, and his hand had rejoined Sherlock's on their cocks, he sighed in relief at the different levels of contact, his cock twitching as he neared his release.

Sherlock moaned as with an involuntary buck rippled through his body to his engorged cock and he began to slowly but surely cum. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, moving their hands a little faster to help Sherlock along. He tried not to focus on his own cock, instead focusing on their kiss and his tongue delving into Sherlock's mouth and the pulsating of Sherlock's cock as he came and how fantastic it felt in his hand and against his own cock—

'Oh fuck,' John moaned as he finally began cumming. He thrust into their hands, breaking their kiss to bite down on the part of Sherlock's neck where it met his shoulder, sucking long and hard to leave a mark. Sherlock moaned happily, mimicking John's actions with his hands.

'Fuck indeed,' Sherlock muttered.

'God, it hurts but it feels so fucking  _good_ ,' John moaned. He was still cumming, but it was slow and intense, not nearly as powerful as Sherlock's first drugged orgasm. He supposed it was because he'd cum twice already and was thankful for that fact. Sherlock whimpered and all but collapsed against John in exhaustion.

'I can't do this anymore,' he croaked painfully, eyes sliding shut. 'Too tired,' he muttered. 'Fuck I am too tired for this pain.'

'I think... I think we should try to sleep,' John agreed, panting from the exertion of his orgasm. 'Maybe by the time we wake up the drug's effect will have worn off.'

Sherlock nodded but that was going to be difficult. Even with his exhaustion it was going to be hard to ignore the need to touch John, claiming him as his own. John was exhausted. All he wanted to do was sleep for three days, preferably with Sherlock by his side. He never wanted Sherlock to be out of his sight again, he always wanted some sort of physical contact with him, always wanted to be by his side. At that moment John wanted Sherlock as bare he was, full skin on skin contact, nothing between them, not even the bed sheets.

'Maybe... Maybe you should take your dressing gown off Sherlock,' John suggested. 'Aren't you hot wearing that after... all this?' Sherlock swallowed a little nervously. He had quite bad scars trailing down his back dating from when he'd been a child. Despite the fact John had scars of his own and as an army doctor would have seen much worse that didn't stop his worrying.

'I'm fine,' he whispered, voice cracking. John gave Sherlock a small smile, a hand reaching up to caress Sherlock's face.

'You don't have to be embarrassed, love,' he said. 'After what we've done, what would you have to be embarrassed about?' Sherlock gulped, terrified. He supposed he could sleep facing towards John but still. With an exhausted sigh he reluctantly wriggled out of the dressing gown. John gave him a reassuring smile, stroking his hands languidly over Sherlock's chest.

'See? That isn't so bad, is it?'

Sherlock's heart was thudding painfully out of control. 'I suppose not,' he mumbled into John's chest quietly. John saw Sherlock's reluctance in his face, could sense his embarrassment when he buried his face in John's chest. He placed his arms tentatively around Sherlock, resting them in between his shoulder blades.

'Is everything alright, Sherlock?'

'Not entirely – no,' Sherlock whispered, freezing in John's arms.

'Do you want to talk about it?' John asked, stroking Sherlock's back reassuringly. Sherlock flinched as John's hand brushed past one of the more painful scars.

'It's nothing.'

As John stroked Sherlock's back, the tips of his fingers passed over something that made Sherlock flinch. John craned his neck to try to see. Sherlock instantly tried to crawl away from John but the older man was faster than him.

John saw the marks. Faded and old, some criss-crossed over each other, some looked like cigarette burns, and then there were the raised marks that looked like they never healed properly or were quite possibly always upset and left such horribly looking scars. John's gut dropped at the sight. Who did all that to Sherlock?  _His_  Sherlock. He didn't know what to say, and he didn't really want to ask since Sherlock had tried to hide his scars from him in the first place. So he just held him, letting him know that it was all fine, that he didn't need to explain if he didn't want to. He just held him, not moving, just listening to his heartbeat.

Sherlock didn't know how to respond to John seeing his scars. No one had ever seen them - only him and his useless excuse of a father.

'Say something,' he pleaded. 'Anything.' Was John's silence because of horror, because he didn't want anything to do with someone so dramatically damaged - physically and mentally? John clutched Sherlock closer, his forehead resting on Sherlock's.

'I love you,' John whispered. 'I love you and I'm so sorry.'

Sherlock swallowed down hard. 'Don't be.'

John opened his eyes to gaze into Sherlock's, afraid to ask but wanting to know. He wanted to respect Sherlock's privacy, but he wanted to know who had hurt him so badly so he could hunt the fucker down and make him feel the pain Sherlock had felt. Not that it would right the wrongs, but it would certainly make John feel better.

Sherlock stared deeply into John's eyes. 'What are you thinking now?' he asked, voice soft and timid.

John sighed, his eyes never leaving Sherlock's. 'I'm thinking that... That I want to,' John paused, not sure that he wanted to admit what he wanted to do. He swallowed, deciding that honesty might be best after all they'd been through in the past twelve hours. 'I want to hunt down whoever hurt you, to make him-or her-feel the same pain. I know it won't fix what happened to you, but it would make me feel a lot better.'

'I wouldn't worry about that. He's been dead for a while,' Sherlock informed John. 'As much as I appreciate the offer.'

John paused, his gaze flickering across Sherlock's face briefly before he let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. A hand went to brush Sherlock's curls out of his face, settling on his cheek, not just to comfort Sherlock but to comfort John as well. He rolled them over into their sides so they were facing each other, John resting his forehead against Sherlock's and closing his eyes as he made himself breathe.

'While that bit of news gives me a sense of relief,' he whispered, 'I am still so very, very sorry that that happened to you.' His hand left Sherlock's face to hold one of Sherlock's, lacing their fingers together. He gave Sherlock a small peck on the lips before moving his head to rest under Sherlock's chin, pressing himself as close to the man as possible, their hands between their chests feeling their respective heartbeats.

'I love you, Sherlock,' John whispered, pressing his nose closer to Sherlock's skin. 'I love you so much. And  _nothing_ , or no  _one_ , is ever going to harm you again. Not while I'm around.'

Something stirred within Sherlock and a tear drop slid from his eye. 'I love you too. I love you so much it hurts.'

John tried to swallow a lump in his throat, choking on the emotions that were bubbling to the surface. He ran his thumb over Sherlock's cheek, wiping away the single tear, his own eyes filled with tears threatening to spill over. John didn't dare risk talking, he knew if he tried not only would he choke on his words but he would start blubbering incoherently, so he just kissed Sherlock, letting his emotions and feelings flow from his lips to Sherlock's. Sherlock moaned softly against the kiss. It was enough to calm him down and bring him down from his emotional high. He closed the inch of space between him and John, entangling his limbs in his.

John sighed in content, melting into Sherlock. He clutched Sherlock's hand tighter, his other clasped onto Sherlock's head, his fingers tangled in Sherlock's hair. He kissed Sherlock slowly, no sexual intent behind it, no tongues, just lips.

'Let's get some rest, Sherlock,' John said after breaking their kiss. 'Whenever we wake up we can clean ourselves up, maybe go out for dinner. I don't care what we do just so long as we're together.'

Sherlock hummed, 'Dinner sounds great.'

John smiled, holding Sherlock close. 'Good. We'll get dinner. Now, close your eyes love, get some sleep.' He pecked a small kiss on Sherlock's forehead. 'I love you,' he whispered before resting his head under Sherlock's chin and slowly drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so everyone knows, we've been doing this RP for close to two months now, and I have 20 planned chapters for this due to our lengthy RP. So look forward to all those! I'll try to space them out so I'm updating this around once a week. I think every Monday will be good. Red Pants Monday and all that ;)
> 
> See you next week!
> 
> TSA + IB


	3. Friends and Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Invisible Blade is Sherlock and I am John. She's over on fanfiction(dot) net, so go send her some love.

Sherlock woke tangled in a mass of limbs. His mind felt sluggish and it took him one scary moment to realize where he was and whose limbs he was entangled in. His heart fluttered with a strange kind of joy as he looked on at his peacefully sleeping flatmate and all of the night’s events came flooding back to him. His breath caught in his throat as John began to stir. Not wanting to break the all too perfect moment he closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

John groaned and nuzzled his head closer to Sherlock, slowly waking up from a deep sleep. It had been dreamless, he was warm, and he couldn’t remember having slept better in his life. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times, adjusting to the sunlight streaming in through the window. His gaze fell on his and Sherlock’s hands, still holding the other. John gave Sherlock’s hand a small squeeze and he whispered, ‘I know when you’re pretending to be asleep, love.’

Sherlock burst into uncontrollable laughter. He opened his eyes, a smirk pulling at his lips. He instantly attacked John’s lips with his smirking ones. John didn’t hesitate when Sherlock kissed him, pulling him closer, kissing him passionately. Now that he was allowed to he knew he would be kissing Sherlock as often as he could, except maybe around the Yard where he knew they had a pool going on whether he and Sherlock were in a relationship or not. But while it was just the two of them, John wasn’t going to hold back. He ran his tongue along Sherlock’s lower lip, asking if he would grant him entry.

Sherlock allowed John’s tongue to slide down his throat. A smile pulled at his features as he began to gently and subtly move against John. Despite the fact the detective was no longer drugged up he couldn’t help but feel compelled to want to tease John with his lower half. John moaned into Sherlock’s mouth, his tongue exploring new territory. He clutched his hand tighter in Sherlock’s hair, trying to get his tongue deeper down Sherlock’s throat. The man was wriggling his hips, the movement making John’s cock stir. For a brief second John feared he was still affected by the drug, but when his cock didn’t throb painfully in an instant, he began to relax. He moved his hips in turn, encouraging Sherlock to continue his movements.

Sherlock groaned softly. His groin ached badly from last night’s overuse. That should have deterred him from grinding himself against John but it only whirled him on. John groaned as his cock began to stir. His body was still completely exhausted after last night, but he still wanted Sherlock. He forced himself to stop moving, nipping Sherlock’s lip when he gave a moan of protest.

‘You know Sherlock, there is this wonderful thing called shower sex that I think we should try,’ he said, his eyes boring into Sherlock’s.

Sherlock pulled back and hummed. ‘I’d happily oblige except I’m rather afraid that I might not be able to walk for awhile.’

John pondered that for a moment before smiling gently. ‘Turn onto your stomach, love. I’m going to give you a massage.’

Sherlock rolled over, wincing slightly. A small whimper escaped his lips.

‘Shh,’ John hushed. ‘Now don’t move. I’m just going to run upstairs to grab something.’ He planted a small kiss on Sherlock’s head and dashed out the door to run to his room. Unlocking his bedside drawer he grabbed the oil and lube, knowing what direction the massage would head in. He sped down the stairs and back to Sherlock’s room where Sherlock was still on the bed where John left him. He smiled and sat the lube on Sherlock’s bedside table where he knew he would see it. He then moved to straddle Sherlock’s back, his bum resting on Sherlock’s. He let out a small moan at the contact, his cock twitching eagerly.

‘I’m going to make you feel all better,’ John whispered into Sherlock’s ear, biting the lobe gently in promise of events to come. He opened the bottle of oil and drizzled some along Sherlock’s back, making sure to avoid any scars that looked especially painful. He set the oil aside and his hands went to work on Sherlock’s shoulders first, working to ease the knotted tension there.

Sherlock moaned softly and his cock twitched in joy. John’s hips gave an involuntary buck at Sherlock’s moan. He gripped Sherlock’s shoulders tightly, trying to calm himself down enough to at least get one area of Sherlock relaxed. He needed to at least get Sherlock’s legs in a better state so he would be able to stand and walk without much difficulty. Otherwise their dinner plans would have to be postponed. But first he needed to work his way in that direction, and his first obstacle was Sherlock’s back. He attempted to move his hands lower, but he felt the tension in Sherlock’s shoulders warn him that he wasn’t particularly fond of that idea. He brought his hands back up to Sherlock’s shoulders, squeezing gently to get him to relax again. Taking a deep breath John leant down and whispered, ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor,’ into Sherlock’s ear before gently moving his hands down Sherlock’s scarred back.

‘God John,’ Sherlock clung to John. ‘I hope you know this is all your fault,’ he joked.

John smirked. ‘I accept responsibility for turning you into an insatiable sex god,’ he replied. He slid down Sherlock’s legs, letting his cock rub against Sherlock’s arse before continuing downward. John’s hands skated across Sherlock’s back, not wanting to push Sherlock too far out of his comfort zone. John massaged Sherlock’s lower back for a moment before sliding his hands over Sherlock’s taut arse, squeezing it gently and leaning to nip the spot just above the crack. Sherlock flinched as John’s fingers skidded past one of the more painful scars. Sherlock was soon distracted however by the sudden lurch his cock gave.

‘You better bloody well treat me like a god,’ he gasped.

‘Always,’ John replied, playfully nipping Sherlock’s right cheek. His hands finally made it onto Sherlock’s legs, massaging the muscles in his thighs, moving down to his calves, and back up again. When the muscles were no longer pliant and had regained some of their strength John looked up at Sherlock, his eyes dark with lust. ‘Now turn over so I can worship your cock.’

‘Careful - still sensitive,’ Sherlock whimpered but did as John asked anyway.

‘After all we did last night you’ll probably be sensitive for a while,’ John said as one of his hands grabbed Sherlock’s cock and gave it a quick stroke. Sherlock’s eyes widened as he felt his body respond to John's touch.

‘And you? Are you in any pain?’ Sherlock croaked, reaching out a hand to touch John’s own rather sore looking member. John gasped at Sherlock’s touch, his cock a lot more sensitive than he thought it would be. Then again, he did cum three times, and one was torturous and delayed due to Sherlock’s painful-yet-miraculous Viagra concoction.

‘Not in pain so much as extremely sensitive,’ John ground out. His hips bucked into Sherlock’s touch and his hand began to stroke Sherlock slowly.

‘We really did a number to each other, didn't we?’ Sherlock moaned through the question. He moved to one of John’s balls and squeezed it lightly, rather enjoying John’s vocal reaction.

‘Yeah we diiiiiiiiiid,’ John gasped in shock, his voice going up an octave when Sherlock squeezed. The arm that he had been using to hold himself up gave out and he collapsed onto Sherlock. ‘Fuck, do that again.’ Sherlock was more than happy to oblige.

‘There’s a good boy Jonathan,’ he mocked, before using his other had to spank the living daylights out of his flatmate. John yelped at the sharp sting of Sherlock’s hand on his arse. When Sherlock didn’t let up his entire body shuddered, his cock twitching in Sherlock’s hand despite the pain, and he raised his arse in the air to allow Sherlock better access. He buried his face in the crook of Sherlock’s neck and whimpered every time another blow landed on his reddening cheeks.

‘How are you John?’ Sherlock chuckled, making each spank more forceful than the previous. His blogger certainly wouldn’t be able to sit down in a while. John couldn’t form any coherent sentences, he was in the blissful place where pain turned to pleasure and he never wanted to leave. He managed to cry out in ecstasy when Sherlock gave a particularly hard slap and twisted his hand around John’s cock at the same time, biting down onto Sherlock’s shoulder.

‘Shh, darling,’ Sherlock said fondly. He gently brought his lips to John’s as he ran his hand up and down John’s cock. The other hand was simply caressing his lover’s reddened butt cheeks. John moaned into Sherlock’s kiss, pumping his hips in time with Sherlock’s strokes on his cock. God, he was so close.

Sherlock carried on pumping John’s cock. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered. ‘And you’re all mine.’

‘Yes, Sherlock, yours,’ John gasped out. His thrusts were becoming erratic he was so close. ‘Yours, Sherlock,’ he whispered mostly to himself. ‘Yours.’ John cried out as he was finally brought over the edge, spilling himself all over Sherlock’s hand and stomach. Sherlock held John as he came tightly.

‘And I am yours. But then, I always have been.’ John collapsed against Sherlock, panting, his heart beating erratically.

‘Mine,’ he whispered against Sherlock’s neck. ‘Yes, Sherlock.’ He sat up to look Sherlock in the eye. ‘You. Are. Mine,’ he breathed against Sherlock’s lips before kissing him. Sherlock writhed impatiently underneath John’s body, kissing him back. He rubbed himself against John to tell him that he very much needed some attention too.

‘You didn’t think I forgot about you, did you love?’ John smirked against Sherlock’s lips. ‘Oh, quite the contrary. All I’ve been thinking about is how can I make you squirm for me?’ He snaked a hand down Sherlock’s torso, stopping just before his fingertips reached the head of Sherlock’s cock. His other snatched the lube from the table, holding it in front of Sherlock’s face for him to analyze. ‘And would you like to know what I’ve decided?’

Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat. ‘I have a fair idea, yes.’ His cock seemed to perk up, as though it knew it was going to come.

John grinned wickedly as he slid down Sherlock’s torso, carefully avoiding touching Sherlock’s cock. He lifted Sherlock’s knees and placed them on his shoulders, revealing Sherlock’s arse in all its glory. John glanced up at Sherlock, mischief dancing in his eyes. He popped open the tube of lube and squeezed some onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the gel. He brought his fingers to Sherlock’s hole and easily slid two fingers inside as Sherlock was still stretched from last night. He curled them slightly and found Sherlock’s prostate, gently dragging his fingers across it as he pulled them out. He pushed them back in and repeated the motion, stimulating Sherlock's prostate while blatantly ignoring Sherlock’s throbbing cock.

All Sherlock could do to stop himself from yelling out was to bite his lip. He groaned and tried his best to all but shove his unintended cock in John’s line of sight. His cock was throbbing and he was already dangerously close. He brushed it across John’s mouth. John’s tongue darted out before he could stop it, licking the head of Sherlock’s cock as it brushed against his lips. _Sod the rest of the game,_ he thought. _Make him **squirm**._ He batted Sherlock’s hand away and took his cock into his own hand, his other buried three fingers deep in Sherlock’s arse.

‘Don’t be so quiet Sherlock. Go ahead and scream for all to hear that John Watson is the one making you feel such pleasure,’ he nearly growled before taking Sherlock’s cock into his mouth and swallowing him whole. It was considerably easier this time around as Sherlock’s cock wasn’t so massively engorged.

Sherlock couldn’t hold back any longer. He screamed. He screamed John’s name until his throat was sore. John growled around Sherlock’s cock, loving that he and only he could put Sherlock in such a position. He swallowed around Sherlock’s cock, his fingers stimulating Sherlock’s prostate, and his other hand going to fondle Sherlock’s balls. Sherlock felt himself cum and his seed gushed down John’s throat. He sputtered out one more cry of his lover’s name before collapsing onto the bed panting. John swallowed all Sherlock gave him, his mouth sliding off Sherlock’s cock with an obscene pop. He wiped off his mouth and sucked his fingers clean, feeling so utterly filthy but not caring in the slightest.

‘So, Sherlock, do you feel like a god?’ John smirked.

Sherlock chuckled through a deep breath. ‘Oh, yes,’ he replied.

‘Good,’ John grinned. ‘I’m going to go take a shower. Don’t pop off to fairy land while I’m gone.’ He kissed Sherlock soundly and crawled out of their bed, humming to himself with a triumphant smirk on his lips.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought we were taking one together.’ John stopped in his tracks, his hand poised just above the door handle. He turned to look at Sherlock, his eyes dark with desire again already.

‘If you can walk you’re more than welcome to join me,’ he said with a wink. Sherlock crawled out of bed, his groin protesting all the way. He winced but managed to grit his teeth through the pain.

‘I think I’ll be able to make it,’ he panted. John held out a hand, his fingers reaching out for Sherlock’s, mischief in his smile. Sherlock squeezed John’s hand, a smile of his own placed firmly on his features. John was clearly thinking that he’d play nice in the shower. That wasn’t the case at all. Sherlock was planning on playing as dirty and as unfair as possible. John squeezed Sherlock’s hand in return, thinking it was a gesture of comfort instead of a promise of very dirty things to come.

He opened the door out to the hallway, checking to make sure Mrs Hudson wasn’t around. When he deemed it clear he gently pulled Sherlock along behind him, resisting the urge to push him against the wall and jump him. He was quite proud of himself when they made it to the bathroom without any sort of intimate touch or the like. He was shocked that he didn’t jump Sherlock as soon as the bathroom door closed, but he knew the time would come once they were in the shower together, the water beating down on them, the moisture and humidity creating the perfect steamy atmosphere. As John turned the shower on Sherlock clambered in, waiting patiently, thinking of one thing only. He grabbed John’s arm and pulled him in. He loomed over the shorter man, eyeing him up appreciatively. He curled his arms around John before shoving him under the running water and pinning him against the wall.

The water from the shower had yet to warm properly, so John was shivering when Sherlock shoved him under the spray. That didn’t stop him from letting out a wanton moan, staring into Sherlock’s eyes as he did so. He forced himself to keep his hands to himself. Sherlock was in control this time and John’s body practically vibrated in anticipation of what Sherlock was going to do to him. Sherlock first and foremost had his priorities straight. He kissed John heavily before lifting him up and pinning him in place against the wall. His cock aligned with John’s arse and he grinned against John’s lips.

John didn’t speak. He didn't need to. He just wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders, kissing him hard, and wriggled his arse against the head of Sherlock’s cock, his way of telling him, ‘What are you waiting for? Just fuck me already!’

Sherlock pulled back and chuckled. ‘I don’t think so, do you?’ He then went about pressing every inch of his skin to John’s teasingly. John moaned his protest but stopped wriggling.

Sherlock is in control, Sherlock is in control, he reminded himself. He wrapped his legs around Sherlock, pulling him closer, their skin sliding against each other’s. John turned his head to the side, exposing his neck invitingly. Sherlock sunk his teeth into John’s neck, biting down long and hard, before sucking to leave a bright red mark for all the world to see. John moaned out an ‘Oh fuck yes’ when Sherlock sank his teeth into his neck. One of his hands gripped the back of Sherlock’s head, holding him there until the spot became tender and sore.

‘Yes. Mark me Sherlock. Make me yours. Let everyone know who I belong to.’ Oh Sherlock was most certainly going to mark John. He moved lower down to John’s collar bone and scraped his teeth against it. All the while he pressed his erection against John in what must have been unbearable torture for the doctor.

John was shaking. His entire body was shaking. The water had long since warmed by now, so John was shaking for three entirely different reasons. One, Sherlock's teeth on his collar bone leaving love bites and more marks in their wake. Two, John's muscles were straining from keeping him against the wall and not slumping against Sherlock. And three, Sherlock's cock was just rubbing against his arse which was still tender from the spanking he'd received not so long ago. John knew what Sherlock's game was. He was trying to make John beg, to get him to the point where John was a whimpering flustered mess he was so aroused. John wasn't going to give in that easily, but it was going to be hard, especially with Sherlock's cock so close to where he wanted it to be and Sherlock's mouth doing wonderful beautiful things to his skin. John let out a whimpering moan, pressing the side of his face against the cool tile of the shower.

Sherlock pressed his cock harder against John. He began to gently move his hips against John. He was going to make John beg for him; something he never imagined doing before now. He stuck out his tongue and began running it over the many love bites he’d marked John with.

He was on fire. His entire body was on fire. He needed relief from the way Sherlock’s tongue ran over the bites he’d given. He needed relief from being pressed so tightly against the tile that he was sure there would be lines against his back for hours. But mostly he needed relief from the way Sherlock’s cock was just rubbing between his arse cheeks, how slowly Sherlock was moving his hips against him. John let out a whimper when Sherlock grazed his teeth against one of the many hickies he had left, but he didn't give in. I'm not going to give in. I'm not going to give in, he repeated over and over in his head. The hand that wasn’t in Sherlock’s hair gripped one of Sherlock’s shoulders, the nails biting into the skin leaving angry little crescent moons in the pale skin. He wasn’t going to give in and beg just yet. Neither of them wanted the game to be over so soon. So John just whimpered again and rolled his hips against Sherlock’s, telling him he was going to need to do more than plant a few love bites to make John Hamish Watson beg for the cock of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock smirked. It was going to be like that was it? He pulled back slightly. John would have to beg if he even wanted contact with his cock back let alone what Sherlock really knew he wanted. Still pinning John up he slid a hand down to John’s throbbing member and gave it a quick squeeze. It was clear that John wouldn’t be able to take much more of his touches. John let out a sound that was between a moan and a strangled gasp. Sherlock’s teasing cock was gone but now one of his hands was on John’s cock. John clenched his eyes and jaw shut, his cock pulsing in Sherlock’s hand.

‘Sherlock, please,’ he ground out before he could stop himself. ‘Don’t wanna cum like this.’

‘Then what are the magic words?’ Sherlock twisted his hand teasingly. ‘I’m all yours but you have to beg.’ John didn’t want to give in but Sherlock’s hand was unrelenting on his cock and he was already so close from the teasing and anticipation. He never wanted it to end but he needed relief. His gaze caught Sherlock’s and any defense he had left was gone when he saw the hunger and determination in Sherlock’s eyes.

‘Please, Sherlock, please. I want your cock in my arse, I want you to make me scream, I want you. Please, Sherlock. Fuck me. Please.’

Sherlock smirked and rolled his eyes. ‘Why didn’t you just say so?’ he said in amusement. He leaned his entire body back before thrusting himself into John. There were no fingers so it must have been painful for John. However for now the detective didn’t care. He pounded himself into John with no mercy. John screamed when Sherlock finally entered him. He was still slightly stretched from last night but the burn of Sherlock’s cock entering him was still there. His legs pulled Sherlock closer to him, his heels digging into Sherlock’s backside.

‘Sherlock,’ he choked out. ‘Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.’

Sherlock couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. He was blinded by lust. His thrusts became more manic and with it his cock pulsed. John was a whimpering mess he was so aroused, exactly what he said he didn’t want to be, but at the moment he didn’t care. All he cared about was that Sherlock was fucking him with reckless abandon against the shower wall, his cock trapped between their bellies, and he was close, so deliciously close.

‘Sherlock, neck, pulse, bite it,’ John demanded, turning his head so the vein in his neck stood out. ‘You have to bite it.’ Sherlock heeded John’s wishes, sinking his teeth into his lover’s neck as hard and as deep as he could. He was close now. So close. John gasped and writhed against Sherlock, his hand digging into Sherlock’s shoulder so hard that his nails drew blood. He could feel Sherlock’s tongue on his pulse, his cock throbbing in his arse. God, he was so close. He rocked back on Sherlock’s cock, his own rubbing against Sherlock’s stomach, Sherlock sucking on his pulse–

‘Oh fuck Sherlock!’ he cried as he began cumming, clamping his arse tightly around Sherlock’s cock, hoping to get him to cum as well. Sherlock’s eyes flew to the size of saucepans. He gritted his teeth and with one last thrust felt himself spill into John. His whole body quivered and he had to hide his head in the crevice of John’s neck.

‘Jawwn,’ the doctor’s name distorted on the tip of his tongue. ‘Fuck!’ he exclaimed. John clung to Sherlock tightly, his entire body having gone limp from the intensity of his orgasm. His legs hung limply against the wall, the muscles shaking from being wrapped so tightly around Sherlock’s waist. His arse was sore from the pounding and spanking Sherlock had given him. But despite all that John had never felt more alive, thoroughly fucked, and loved. He ran a hand over Sherlock’s wet hair and placed his palm on his cheek, gently coaxing his lover (yes, that was what they were now, still friends but lovers too) to look at him. He caressed Sherlock’s cheek with his thumb before offering him a very chuffed smile.

‘I love you, Sherlock,’ John told his lover. ‘I love you so much.’

‘I love you too. I’ve never felt such belonging than when I’m with you,’ Sherlock said, pecking John on the lips and lowered his now limp body down.

John giggled softly, his hand still caressing Sherlock’s face. ‘If you ever belonged anywhere it was with me, by my side. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson,’ he said, leaning against Sherlock to keep himself upright. ‘And if you ever feel dejected or alone, know that I will always be there for you no matter what. Because you are mine, and I am yours, and we belong together.’

Sherlock kissed John for a long stretch of time. When he pulled back he laughed heartily. ‘We should really participate in an actual shower. Look at the mess we’re in.’

John laughed with Sherlock. It was true. While he had intended to actually clean himself up in the shower, it hadn’t happened in the way he had hoped. He had wanted to clean Sherlock first, lathering him up (literally and figuratively), while slowly sucking on his cock. He didn’t know where his sudden fascination with Sherlock’s cock came from but he couldn’t be arsed to care. He loved sucking on Sherlock’s cock almost as much he enjoyed it up his arse. He closed his eyes and made himself breathe, saving those images for another time. Right now they really did need to clean up and possibly eat something. Getting properly dressed was optional.

‘Yes, we probably should. Get cleaned up I mean,’ John agreed. ‘But you may need to clean me as I think you’ve fucked me rather boneless. I can barely stand as it is.’

Sherlock eyed John with concern. He looked as though he was going to collapse. ‘I’m sorry. I was far rougher than I intended.’

‘Don’t be sorry Sherlock. I loved every second of it,’ John reassured him. ‘Sometimes it’s OK to be a little rough.’

Sherlock laughed at the hilarity of it all. Only a few hours ago he’d been a naïve virgin, but now John was having to reassure him a rough fuck was OK.

John smiled up at his lover, understanding the humor in the situation. He placed his hands on Sherlock’s chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath the damp skin. He placed a small kiss to the underside of his jaw and said, ‘Now clean me up, take good care of me, and there will be a reward for you if you do a good job.’

‘I hope that entails a long hard fuck of my own in the future.’ Sherlock began to place kisses down John’s body, stopping with a tender kiss to his cock. Then, grabbing some shower gel he began to lather his hands up. The detective began to rub suds all along John’s body. He made sure to pay special attention to his legs and abdomen, and bottom, massaging the almost likely painfully sore muscles. All the while his eyes bored into John’s gleefully.

John moaned and leaned his head back against the wall. ‘Oh Sherlock, you have no idea what I have in store for you,’ he grinned. He closed his eyes and hummed as Sherlock rubbed his muscles back to life, hissing slightly when he moved to his reddened bum. He looked down at his lover then, his cock twitching at the sight of Sherlock on his knees in front of him, and their eyes connected. ‘You have no idea just how beautiful you look right now,’ John breathed.

‘Surely not as beautiful as you,’ Sherlock replied, making sure to massage every inch of tense muscle. John sighed and carded his fingers through Sherlock’s damp hair. Sherlock’s hands felt wonderful on his tense muscles, he could feel himself turning to putty in his hands. He slowly sank down under the spray, the water cascading down around the two men, and he kissed Sherlock soundly.

‘You take such good care of me,’ John said against Sherlock’s lips. ‘Making sure I’m fed even if you nearly starve to death on a case. Cleaning my wounds when I get injured on cases. And you don’t know it, but you saved my life.’ John paused, gathering his wits about him. He didn’t like to visit that part of himself, who he was before he met Sherlock and his entire life was changed. He had been in a dark place but Sherlock, unknowingly, had pulled him out into the light. He looked into Sherlock’s eyes before he spoke again, wanting him to see how grateful he was and how it still affected him to that day. ‘That day we met in Bart’s. You saved me, you saved me from myself. And that is what makes you beautiful, Sherlock. Not just your alabaster skin or your perfect curls or your color-changing eyes. You care for me above everyone else, even yourself, and that is why I love you.’

Sherlock leaned forwards and nuzzled at John’s neck. ‘And you saved me from myself.’ He wrapped his arms tightly around John. ‘You know I’d almost forgotten how to feel. My father always said feeling was the downfall of the man.’ Sherlock kissed John’s Adam’s apple. ‘But then I met you and my heart began to melt. I thought that it was a bad thing. That you were going to be my downfall. Oh how wrong I was.’

Sherlock wrapped his long legs round John’s waist. ‘You’re the bravest, kindest, and most loving human being I’ve ever met. And you’re gorgeous. I don’t care what you think. If I’m perfect it’s only because you’ve completed me.’ Sherlock rested his head against John’s. ‘I love you more than I can put into words.’

‘We saved each other,’ John mused. ‘You were on your way to becoming your father, and I was on my way to a far darker place. But then Mike introduced us and if he hadn’t, I don’t want to think about it.’ John clung to Sherlock, his face buried in his shoulder.

‘You came into my life and you were so forward about everything. My tour in Afghanistan, my psychosomatic limp, Harry’s drinking problems. And you were right and I was charmed and slightly offended. Now that I think about it, I was yours even then. I hadn’t even seen 221B yet, but you already had me. And yes, I did try to initiate something at Angelo’s, and I respected your decision to just be friends, but I must admit that I felt a little rejected. And after I shot that cabbie for you I could see it in your eyes. You’d underestimated me. I was shocked that I could surprise you, and the fact that I can still surprise you means so much more to me than you would believe.’ John nuzzled against Sherlock’s jaw, inhaling his scent mixed with the water. ‘You’ve changed so much since we first met, and it’s been for the better. I never would have imagined that I would take you to bed and have somewhat of a relationship with you. I had fantasized about it, but I never thought it would be real.’

John looked into Sherlock’s eyes, both men’s shining with unshed tears. ‘I love you so much Sherlock. And if I have taught you one thing I hope it is that you know that you are loved by me and you’ve made my life a happy one. And there’s no tragedy in that.’

Sherlock’s eyes lit up. ‘And you’ve brought so much joy to my life.’ He kissed John on the corner of his mouth gently. ‘I never dreamt of anyone truly wanting me in such a way or of even coming close to what we’ve just shared together.

‘I hope you know just how special you are.’ He tugged John closer to him.

John held Sherlock to him, Sherlock’s chin resting on John’s head. He clung to him, his face buried in Sherlock’s shoulder, and tried to keep the tears at bay. Inhaling deeply, he leaned up and stared Sherlock in the eyes. He pulled his head down and kissed him, his face held in his hands. When they broke apart both were breathless, and John rested his forehead against Sherlock’s.

‘Let me take care of you now,’ he whispered. ‘Clean you up, show you what you mean to me.’

‘Please. Go ahead.’ Sherlock’s whole body quivered in anticipation. ‘Show me.’

John took Sherlock’s hands and stood up. He maneuvered Sherlock so he was under the spray of water, grabbed Sherlock’s shampoo, and lathered his hands up. He started with Sherlock’s hair, knowing how methodical he was when he washed it, and massaged his scalp slowly, working the shampoo into his hair. When he finished he leaned Sherlock’s head under the spray of water and rinsed his hair free of the product, running his fingers through the now silky strands. He lost himself in the softness for a while before he moved on to washing Sherlock’s body. Instead of lathering his hands with the gel he had it run down Sherlock’s body in reminiscence of the massage he'd given him earlier. He ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s chest to get the soap into a lather, then began washing the rest of Sherlock’s body like it was a holy temple. He started with his shoulders, made his way down his arms, even got in between Sherlock’s fingers. He worked his way down Sherlock’s chest, paying special attention to his stomach where a combination of their dried cum had settled. He settled down onto his knees and worked on Sherlock’s legs, nuzzling his nose against his cock the way a cat would nuzzle against its owner’s hand. When he finished with Sherlock’s front, he gazed up at his lover, still on his knees, and whispered, ‘Now turn around so I can get your back.’

Sherlock was purring like a domestic cat. John had thoroughly washed his hair and he could practically still feel his fingers working their magic. He happily complied, turning around, and wiggling his arse teasingly.

‘Come and get me back.’

‘Mmm, that’s right. You’re expecting your reward, aren’t you?’ John asked, his voice dripping with lust. He massaged Sherlock’s legs just below his cheeks, teasing him into a pliant mess. ‘While I did say I would reward you, I didn’t specifically say when, now did I?’ John smirked, nipping Sherlock’s left cheek teasingly.

Sherlock moaned, slipping further down the shower wall. There were no words he could think of to make a useful retort so instead he settled for pressing himself back against John. John laughed and moved away from Sherlock, teasing him the way Sherlock had done only moments ago.

‘All you’re going to end up doing is sexually frustrating yourself,’ John grinned. ‘It’ll do you no good to get yourself hard now when I don’t plan to give you that long, hard fuck you earned until later tonight.’ He punctuated his words with a sharp bite to each of Sherlock’s buttocks and one on his lower back just above his crack. John’s hands skirted across Sherlock’s back, being mindful of the scars he already knew were painful, but he wanted to be sure the massage oil was gone and wouldn’t be upsetting Sherlock’s scars. Sherlock’s hand flew to his own cock, running his hand up and down it with vigor, whimpering.

‘John,’ he warned with dangerous undertones lining his voice.

‘No, no Sherlock,’ John warned, grabbing his hand to stop his wanking. ‘Can’t have any of that right now. Give yourself a break. We’ve both had five orgasms in under twelve hours. Give yourself time to recuperate, and then later I’ll have you cumming long and hard after a well deserved fuck where I plan on pounding you into the mattress.’

Sherlock huffed. ‘You’re such a tease,’ he muttered. It was quite alright for John. His lover had had plenty of time and experience to work on controlling his impulses. For Sherlock this was frighteningly new to him and he just didn’t know what to do with his raging desire. It didn’t help that John was teasing him as he had done to John. However John wasn’t going to do anything to cure the results of said teasing.

‘Please remove yourself from me, John.’ It wasn’t a request, it wasn’t begging, it was an order, despite how much it sounded like a fatigue filled sigh.

Suddenly two things happened. One, there was a loud banging. And two, a familiar voice called out:

‘Open up Sherlock, it’s Lestrade.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Sort of :p
> 
> Bonus Lestrade brought to you by Invisible Blade!
> 
> Comments and reviews are always appreciated. We'll see you next week. And happy Red Pants Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	4. Play Before Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John faces Lestrade, Sherlock retreats into himself, and the boys have breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: John and Lestrade
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Greg being a dick, Sherlock's inner turmoil, men going at it, rough sex (and I mean rough), John actually cooks breakfast, and Sherlock being a tease.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sherlock whimpered and froze to the spot, afraid to even breathe. John's head whipped toward the door, the blood draining from his face. Lestrade was in their flat, both John and Sherlock were buck naked in the shower, and Sherlock was incredibly aroused. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, John swore to himself. He let go of Sherlock and stood up, peeling the shower curtain away to look at the door.

'Boys, I know you're here! I can hear the shower running! Now where-' Lestrade's voice cut off as he seemed to come to a realization. If John's face could get any paler it did in that moment. Lestrade knew. John looked to Sherlock, hoping to see something on his lover's face that would reassure him that Lestrade didn't just figure out where they were and what they had been up to.

Sherlock felt like throwing up. He looked stony faced towards John. John was as pale and terrified in looks as Sherlock was feeling. Seeing John's face he shook his head and mouthed 'drug bust' and 'say something.'

'What do you want me to say, Sherlock?' John whispered forcefully. '"Sorry Greg, you'll have to come back with your pretend drugs bust later because Sherlock and I have been shagging each other senseless and we'd rather not see anyone right now"?' Sherlock's jaw locked and he glared at John. That would be a low blow. John surely wouldn't go there. He pleaded with his eyes for him not to. His mind was a screaming battlefield and eventually Sherlock couldn't take it any longer. He turned away from John and pressed his flushed cheeks to the cooling tiles, resigning himself to taking safety in his skull despite the war going on.

John saw the fear in Sherlock's eyes and regretted saying everything. Sherlock had already turned away from him so he spoke to his back, not wanting to touch him in case he lashed out.

'Sherlock, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that,' John explained. 'I wasn't being serious. I was being sarcastic. I didn't mean what I said, and I would never actually reveal our relationship in such a dispassionate, impersonal, and impractical way. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.' He paused to look at the bathroom door again. He could see Lestrade's shadow pacing in front of the door. Good god, he was waiting for them. John gulped and turned back to Sherlock's rigid figure.

'I'll go talk to Greg, Sherlock. And I won't tell him what happened between us. That's something for both of us to decide to tell everyone when we're both ready. I… I'm sorry, and I love you.' Sherlock heard John speak but the meaning of those words were snuffed out like a candle flame. This was his mind's way of coping and as bad as he felt about it he was too far into his mind to even mutter a reply. John swallowed and left Sherlock to his thoughts. He grabbed his towel and quickly dried himself off, wrapping it around his waist before opening the door to be greeted by a glowing Lestrade.

Oh god, it's worse than I thought, John grimaced.

'John!' Lestrade cried, slapping John on his good shoulder. 'I um… I came over because I had a case for Sherlock, but I didn't realize you two were… preoccupied.' Greg smirked and John's face remained perfectly stony.

'Yes, thank you Greg, but we're going to have to respectfully decline your request,' John ground out.

Meanwhile Sherlock was slipping into a downhill spiral. He was falling further and faster into the cavern of his own mind. He felt numb and was only barely aware of the pounding of water on his skin and loud, almost angry voices from outside the bathroom.

'What do you mean you have to decline?' Greg demanded. 'You two always take on my cases!'

'Today we don't!' John retorted. 'Today we are taking the day off because… because…'

'I know why you're taking the day off,' Greg smirked. John's mouth fell open in shock, his fists curled in anger, and he was thisclose to socking Greg on the jaw. If he wasn't a god damn officer he would have. Instead he stood up in his soldier stance and growled, 'I want you to leave. I want you to leave right now and the next time you have a case I want you to call us first. No more barging in unannounced. Now go!'

Sherlock gripped at his hair, tugging his head down onto his hunched knees. He wanted to shout at the raised voices, to tell them to just shut the hell up. His mouth on the other hand refused to open. He wanted to hit the tiles until his hands were bloody and raw but they stayed firmly clenched in fists. He wanted to cry but the tears didn't fall.

Greg clenched his jaw shut, swallowing down any retort he may have had. He turned and stalked from the flat without a word, slamming the door shut behind him. John sighed in relief but his body remained tense. He could have handled that better, especially with Sherlock.

 _Shit. Sherlock!_ John's brain screamed at him. He dashed back into the bathroom to find Sherlock curled up into himself, his hands clenching his hair tightly. John turned off the water and kneeled down beside him, still afraid to touch Sherlock as he was so emotionally unstable.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, love, are you alright?' John whispered softly. 'It's alright now. Greg is gone. I told him to leave. Now, please, come back to me.'

Sherlock was vaguely aware that the shouting had disappeared, and that there was a far pleasanter voice beckoning him to come back to reality. Sherlock found the frightening truth that no matter how he tried he simply couldn't force his mind to return. He began to panic but none of that rose to his surface. On the surface he was blank.

'Sherlock?' John was extremely concerned. Sherlock's face was completely blank, he was trapped inside his own head again. 'Sherlock, you're scaring me,' John pleaded. 'Sherlock?' Now John was scared. He didn't want to lose Sherlock to his emotionless head again. Not after what they'd just been through. So he did the only thing he could think of. He pulled Sherlock's head to him and kissed him thoroughly. For a horrible moment in time Sherlock thought he was under attack but his senses soon told him this was far from the truth. He was being kissed. It wasn't a terribly nice kiss. Whoever was kissing him was making it harsh and urgency filled. He blinked when he realized it was John and pulled back, finally able to move.

'I thought you were going out to see Lestrade?' Sherlock muttered. John nearly cried in relief. Sherlock was talking. He was talking. He'd come back, and he was a little disoriented, but he was back.

'I already did that,' he smiled at his lover. 'I kicked him out because he was rude and disrespectful.' John caressed Sherlock's face, forgetting about Greg. He was just happy Sherlock was back.

Sherlock smiled weakly. 'I would have killed to see his face.' He then looked into John's eyes and took a deep breath. 'I know what you said earlier… about you wanting to fuck me later but…' he nuzzled at John, 'I don't want to wait.'

'Oh god me neither,' John agreed. He pulled Sherlock's back to his and kissed him passionately, a different sense of urgency in it than the previous.

'Not here,' Sherlock tusked, pulling back from the kiss. 'If I remember correctly your promise involved a mattress.'

'Mmm, yes it did,' John hummed. He stood up, his towel dropping at his feet, and he pulled Sherlock out of the shower. He dried his hair quickly with the discarded towel, then dragged Sherlock down the hallway to his-their-room where he deposited Sherlock on the mattress and climbed on top of him, kissing him passionately again. Sherlock wrapped his lanky legs around John and hummed into the kiss. This was all a little gently for his liking however and so he bit John's lip, drawing blood.

John moaned at Sherlock's aggressive bite and pulled away, his lip sliding from Sherlock's teeth with some difficulty as Sherlock had such a strong hold on it. John licked his lips, tasted blood, and looked down at Sherlock, his eyes dark with desire.

'So it's going to be like that, is it?' he smiled darkly. He didn't give Sherlock time to answer as he grabbed hold of Sherlock's hair and pulled his head to the side, exposing his neck and pulse, and licked from his shoulder up to his ear and back again. He ground himself down on Sherlock's cock, already hard with anticipation, and bit down on Sherlock's pulse point hard enough to leave a rather deep love bite. Sherlock's eyes clouded over. It hurt. His neck felt like it was slowly been torn apart by John's skillful teeth.

His mind was pounding with an intense desire, but John may have been correct about how they should have made time to recuperate. The detective's body felt totally washed out, with every muscle in his body turning to mush, and every bone feeling as though they were old and rusty.

'I can sense your reluctance, Sherlock,' John said against Sherlock's neck. He licked at the bite he'd given him, soothing it with his cool tongue. 'Well, not reluctance so much as you've realized how worn out you are and that maybe we should take a break before I fuck you into the mattress.' He moved so he was laying on Sherlock, chest to chest, his arms crossed under him, and he looked into Sherlock's face for confirmation. 'I can wait to give you your reward for a little while. I can make you some breakfast if you want. Are you hungry?'

'Yes,' Sherlock said with a wicked grin. 'I'm hungry. For food, no. However." Sherlock wriggled his hips underneath John and lunged towards, sinking his teeth into John's shoulder. John yelped in surprise when Sherlock bit into his shoulder but it quickly turned into an 'Oh god, yes.' He ground himself down on Sherlock, their cocks rubbing against one another. John placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and pushed him off, his teeth scraping against John's skin.

'This is supposed to be your rough fuck, Sherlock,' John said, his voice thick with want. 'So, let me fuck you roughly.'

'Oh please, go ahead.' Sherlock spread his legs, waiting impatiently for things to begin. John grinned devilishly. He leaned in to whisper in Sherlock's ear, 'Don't be afraid to be vocal, Sherlock. Let me hear you,' before capturing his earlobe between his teeth and gnawing on it. He then moved down Sherlock's torso and slathered his tongue over one of his nipples, biting hard around it so his tongue could continue its work. Sherlock began to pant in excitement, thrilled about John exploring his body with the curiosity of a kitten.

'Oh, hell yes,' Sherlock growled. John growled around the bite he'd left and sat up to grind himself down on Sherlock's cock, lunging down to sharply bite Sherlock's other nipple, rather loving Sherlock's reaction.

'Jjjjjjohn.' His voice deepened, vibrating with a strong urgency. He was already so close again.

'That's it Sherlock. Say my name,' John said, his words dripping with want and need. He moved down Sherlock's body, snatched the lube from the table, and kissed his way across Sherlock's body until he was positioned between Sherlock's knees. He looked up at his lover, pupils blown, mouth agape, and smiled. He placed a gentle kiss to the inside of Sherlock's thigh as he scrambled to open the lube. He nipped at the underside of Sherlock's knee as he coated his fingers with the gel. He looked up at Sherlock again as he finally slid his slick fingers into Sherlock's quivering entrance. Sherlock's eyes practically rolled into the back of his skull. He let out a loud bark and pushed downwards, forcing John's fingers to slide further.

'Oh my god, John,' he grunted ecstatically.

'So eager,' John chuckled. 'You're still so open from the last time I had my thick cock up your arse. You're desperate to have it again, aren't you? To have me fill you up, stretch you, claim you.' John eased in a fourth finger so that Sherlock was practically fucking his hand, using his thumb to draw circles around Sherlock's balls. 'You're so beautiful, Sherlock. Open and vulnerable. And you're all mine,' he punctuated with a sharp bite to Sherlock's thigh.

'Yes, John. All yours.' Sherlock rocked back and forth. 'Can I have you now?' he moaned. 'Please.'

'Ooo, yes,' John purred. He removed his fingers and slicked up his cock, positioning himself at Sherlock's entrance. He snaked his hands up Sherlock's legs until he reached his knees, gripped them hard, and said, 'Let's see how flexible you are.' He then shoved Sherlock's knees up to his shoulders while shoving his cock in his arse with surprising force, his thrusts unrelenting and unforgiving. Sherlock wanted a rough fuck? He was damn well going to get one.

Sherlock's eyes quite literally rolled into the back of his skull as wave after wave of pure pleasure rolled through him with such force that his mind actually felt as though it was combusting. His breathing became so ragged it almost hurt and his body shook so vigorously that it looked as though he had been possessed.

John watched Sherlock intently, observing his reactions. When John fucked him sharp and fast Sherlock's body seemed to shake so hard he looked like he was having a seizure. But when he fucked him deep and hard his entire body nearly arched off the bed and he made the most delicious sounds. So John attempted to try a combination of the two, fucking him fast, hard, and deep. He gripped Sherlock's legs tightly, his pace becoming austere and merciless. He could hear the headboard smacking against the wall with each thrust, every now and again hearing the bed scrape across the floor only to slam against the wall with such force that the paint chipped and showered down around them.

'So is this what you wanted, Sherlock?' John grit out between thrusts, his breath so ragged his lungs burned with the exertion. 'Is this rough enough for you?'

Sherlock's mouth opened but no words came out. Instead a range of barks, moaning, and groaning rolled from his tongue. He was so close right now he couldn't think of what to say. This was far rougher than he'd imagined by far. The bed shook beneath him and it felt as though John was literally slamming himself against him. John grinned devilishly. He pushed down on Sherlock's legs until his knees were resting on the mattress, leaning over him as his thrusts became erratic. God he was so close. And Sherlock was so close his entire body was shaking. Wanting to get them the release they both so desperately needed, John let go of one of Sherlock's legs and grasped his cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts. Leaning closer to his rather debauched lover he growled out, 'Now scream for me, Sherlock,' as he thrust into him hard and deep and twisted his hand around his cock in the way he'd found Sherlock particularly enjoyed.

The intensity of the thrust and John's hand wrapping around his own throbbing member turned out to be the detective's tipping point. Heeding John's words he screamed his lover's name. The scream was a terrifying noise and if the said noise hadn't been coming from his mouth he would have mistaken it for the sound of someone being murdered. John screamed right along with Sherlock, thrusting into him a few more times before he found his own release, spilling himself inside Sherlock. With one final shout of Sherlock's name John collapsed on top of him with a harsh slap.

Sherlock lay there, limp as a new born lamb. A whimper escaped his trembling lips and he screwed his eyes shut, praying that his body would make a quick recovery though he highly doubted that would be the case. John lay on Sherlock's heaving chest, panting. His entire body ached, his lungs burned, but he had never felt more satisfied. He started giggling against Sherlock's chest, nuzzling his nose against his chin.

'That was... Amazing,' he gasped out. 'Jesus. Wow.' He heaved one more giant sigh before he managed to gather enough strength to raise himself up to gauge how Sherlock was doing. 'How're you feeling, Sherlock?'

Sherlock exhaled. 'Exhausted and in agony - but I suppose that's to be expected. Most of all though I feel ... Fantastically loved.' John grinned and pressed a tender kiss to Sherlock's lips.

'Sorry about all the agony. I've never explored that part of myself before. I... I was a lot rougher than I... Than I normally am during this sort of thing.' John swallowed. He hadn't wanted to bring up that he'd done this with only women before, and he thought Sherlock might be able to take some rougher play. 'Maybe... Maybe next time we should have a safe word handy? Just in case things get a little too intense or painful.'

'It's fine,' he panted in exhaustion. 'I think I can handle it. I'm just not used to being fucked, let alone so roughly.' His lips quirked upwards. 'Though I've always had this fantasy that you'd ride me so hard I can't walk for about a week. I believe that fantasy is now complete.'

'Mmm,' John smiled. 'Glad I could be of service.' He rolled off of Sherlock and lay beside him, still panting slightly but not nearly as hard as before. He closed his eyes and breathed, relaxing. He could feel paint chips under his back and grimaced. He really had done a number to the wall, not to mention Sherlock's arse. He was going to have to learn to control himself. But Sherlock mentioning his fantasy had John thinking of his own. He hummed and smiled, the image playing in his mind like a mini movie. 'You know, I've got a fantasy of my own, Sherlock. And I would love if we could try to fulfill it someday.'

'Oh, do tell,' Sherlock purred, wriggling his eyebrows seductively. John laughed at the sight and rolled over to face Sherlock.

'In my fantasy, you're bent over a microscope in the kitchen. I'm reading the paper or typing up the latest case when you accidentally blow something up. Maybe I've had a stressful day at the surgery or you've just been especially aggravating that day, but I snap and start ordering you about to clean up your mess, in full-on Captain Watson mode. You've heard me shout orders before, but none towards you, and you stiffen. You turn towards me and your eyes are dark, and you tell me to order you to do something again. So I do. I order you to drop to your knees and you nearly collapse as I walk over to you, your eyes watching my every move.' John paused to suck in a breath, closing his eyes as the fantasy took over him. Sherlock sucking him off without using his hands, only allowed to use that skillful mouth and tongue of his, John carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair, not really pushing him but just to feel Sherlock's hair traveling through his fingers.

'You suck me off, only allowed to use your mouth, and god Sherlock you're fucking brilliant at it. But I don't want to come down your throat, I want to fuck you into oblivion, so I stand you up and rip your clothes off your body. Mine are gone soon too and I turn you to face the table, bending you over it and spreading your legs, gazing upon your magnificent arse.' John bit back a groan at the image, knowing what it looked like now only added to the fantasy. His body moved closer to Sherlock unconsciously, wanting to be nearer to the man who had supplied so many beautiful fantasies over the past few months. 'I open you slowly, my fingers reaching deep inside you, teasing you into submission. And you're making such delicious noises and I can't wait to be seated fully in you. So I don't waste any time and I shove my prick in you roughly, loving how you cry out in pain and ecstasy. And I fuck you on that table, holding you down as I pound into you, ignoring your cock until I decide you get to cum. And when you do you bring me with you and it's fucking glorious.'

John opened his eyes and stared into Sherlock's, breathing deeply and listening to the hammering of his heart in his ears. 'That is what I want to do to you, Sherlock. And there is so much more, but that right there is what I want to do to you right now. Take you into the kitchen and fuck you over the table, disrupting all your experiments but not being arsed to care.'

Sherlock's eyes twinkled as the image John had just placed in his mind danced in his every thought. 'I find your captain mode extremely sexy.' He snuggled up against the army doctor, taking a huge whiff of his beautifully oaky scent. 'However, perhaps it would be best to give my arse a break. You've really done quite a number to it.'

Sherlock exhaled. 'Perhaps it would be best to wait anyway. That way it will be more spontaneous and that anger will be real. I'm quite looking forwards to having angry sex.' John nodded in agreement. He really had done a number to Sherlock's arse, and Sherlock had spanked the living daylights out of his earlier. Maybe a break was in their best interests. And the idea of angry sex intrigued him as well, and he grinned maliciously at the prospect.

'It's probably mid-afternoon by now Sherlock. We should probably get up and eat something, regain our strength. Plus we still have dinner to go out to as well.' He kissed Sherlock chastely, not wanting to stir either of their cocks. 'Now get dressed and I'll make you something special.'

Sherlock groaned at the prospect of getting up. 'Not going to happen. Anything below my groin has been rendered useless.'

John smirked but let it slide. 'Then I'll bring the food to you. Or,' he paused, the idea making him grin playfully. 'Or, I could carry you out to the sofa after pulling some clothes on you. And then you can watch me cook for you.'

Sherlock licked his lips. 'Sounds delicious ... and I don't mean just the prospect of food.'

John grinned and rolled off the bed. He rifled through Sherlock's clothes, pulling out a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. He grabbed some of Sherlock's clothes for himself and pulled on the too-long bottoms and pulled on the shirt that actually fit quite nicely. He then stalked over to Sherlock, clothes in hand, and grabbed him by the ankle. He pulled him closer so his legs dangled off the edge of the bed and stuck each leg into the bottom's pant legs, yanking them up so they sat over Sherlock's hips. The t-shirt went on a little easier as Sherlock was at least able to move his arms. Once that was one he took Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him, nipping his lower lip as he pulled away. He looped one arm under Sherlock's legs, the other around his shoulders, and lifted him up bridal style, adjusting his hold once Sherlock was securely in his arms.

'Shall I make you breakfast now?'

Sherlock was ecstatic as he lay spread out in John's arms. 'Oh most definitely.' He nuzzled his chest. 'I wuv you,' he laughed. 'I really do.'

'I wuv you too,' John smiled, nuzzling Sherlock's nose with his own. He carried him out the door and into the living room, placing him gently onto the couch so he could see the kitchen. 'Now is there anything specific you want to eat? Other than me, of course,' he smirked.

Sherlock winced ever so slightly as his arse came in contact with the sofa. He considered John's question for a moment.

'Pancakes,' he grinned.

'Pancakes it is,' John grinned. He kissed Sherlock's forehead and walked to the kitchen. He grabbed all the necessary ingredients and set a pan on the oven to heat. As he beat the ingredients together he began to hum to himself. He was just making the notes up as he went, and he rather liked what he was humming. He stole a glance at Sherlock and smiled.

'Beautiful,' Sherlock smiled back. 'And the humming is of equal beauty.'

John blushed at Sherlock's words and continued his song. He flipped the first pancake with a flourish that would have made Delia Smith proud. As it cooked he rummaged around in the fridge for something to have with the pancakes and was surprised to find fresh fruit. Mrs Hudson must have been shopping and bought them some groceries. Bless her heart. She might not have been their housekeeper but she certainly took care of them like one.

As the last of the pancakes cooked John turned on the electric kettle to make them some tea. He grabbed a tray and began setting plates and utensils on it, grabbed the jars of honey and sugar from the cupboard, and their matching mugs from the sink. He put two bags of Earl Grey in one mug and poured the hot water over it, letting them steep for a few minutes before he transferred them to the other mug, letting them steep for a considerably less amount of time. He knew Sherlock liked his tea just a touch weaker than he liked his coffee, and he also took a spoonful of milk and a teaspoon of honey. He set the mugs on the tray and flipped the last pancake, cooking it until it was a delicious golden brown. He gave them each four pancakes, set the fruit in a bowl in the center, and turned off the oven before he left for the living room. He brought the tray out to the living room and set it down on the table by the sofa.

'Sit up,' he told Sherlock as he sat on the arm of the sofa by Sherlock's head. Sherlock hissed as he struggled to lift himself up into a sitting position. He wrinkled up his nose. 'Blimey,' he muttered in discomfort. John wriggled between Sherlock and the arm of the sofa, letting Sherlock rest against him to keep himself upright. He handed Sherlock a plate of pancakes and grabbed the other for himself.

'I got honey and sugar in case you wanted them on your pancakes,' he said, spooning honey on each of his pancakes. 'And I made your tea just the way you like it too.'

'Thanks dear,' he said in a surprisingly domestic voice, kissing John on the lips for a brief second before pouring honey all over his pancakes and slowly sipping at his tea.

John smiled against the kiss before it ended and watched as Sherlock drowned his pancakes in honey. John sawed off a section of his own with his fork, popping it into his mouth and humming at how delicious it tasted. His thoughts drifted to last night, how frantic and hurried the events had been, and here they were eating breakfast on the sofa like a perfectly normal couple. They had been fucking each other like animals and suddenly it had calmed down and they were having breakfast, calling each other terms of endearments like 'love' and 'darling'. The domesticity was shocking but not unwelcome, and it would probably be like that all the time. Periods of fast and hurried fucking followed by the calm after the storm, so to speak. And that was probably as close to normal as it would get at 221B, and John was perfectly fine with that.

John's free hand found its way to Sherlock's curls and began stroking them languidly. They were still damp from the shower they had taken earlier (and he used that term loosely as they had dirtied themselves up again so soon afterwards it was pretty much moot) but had dried enough that they had a bounce to them. John smiled as he ate another bite of his pancakes, stabbing a strawberry on his fork and popping that into his mouth as well, enjoying the combined tastes.

'So, what shall we do between now and dinner?'

Sherlock thought about it, humming happily as he chewed on the pancakes, enjoying how the honey swirled across his tongue and soothed his throat. Something that was much needed after some of the events that had occurred.

Licking his lips he said, 'Well we should probably see what case Lestrade had for us.' He wrinkled up his nose. 'But there's one conversation I don't want to have.'

John groaned at the memory. He really didn't want to have to face Lestrade after that, but he knew Sherlock needed a case. Why else would he have been experimenting with homemade drugs? He sighed and laid his head against the back of the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

'Okay. Okay, we can go see Lestrade. But we aren't going to be the ones to bring it up. If he does, we can just say we don't have a comment on the matter and we just want to focus on the case. If he doesn't, well then we can breathe a sigh of relief and move on by ignoring the issue completely.'

'Or we could avoid him. If it were that important he would have left a text message. As it happens he hasn't,' Sherlock grinned. 'I can think of a few activities I'd much rather do. Like snogging you long and hard whilst rutting against you until you're begging to cum and the need for a release is painful. A release you'll get only after we've had dinner.'

John's hand paused, his fork poised in the air in front of his open mouth. His eyes were blown wide open and he was staring straight ahead at nothing, Sherlock's words dancing around in his head. He managed to lower his fork but his mouth remained open until Sherlock gently shut it, his fingers pressing lightly to the underside of John's jaw until it closed. John swallowed thickly, could feel the heat in his cheeks, could feel the blood pumping in his ears. He turned to look down at Sherlock who had a wicked grin on his face.

'I actually like that idea better,' he said, his voice deep with want. 'I really, really do.'

Sherlock chuckled darkly. 'Oh, I thought you would. Though what would sexually frustrate you more ... Actually doing that or going out on a case now that that image is in your mind?' His lips quivered into a smirk. 'Imagine it. I'd be deducing, I'd look at you with eyes so full of lust, and then maybe I'll gently touch your shoulder. Your cock certainly wouldn't stand a chance.'

John moaned and threw his head back on the sofa, his arousal blatantly obvious through the loose material of Sherlock's pajama bottoms.

'God yes,' he panted. 'Yes, Sherlock, please.'

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes, blatantly ignoring John's erection. 'Of course. I could do that.' He chewed on the remainder of his pancakes. 'But I'm not going to.'

John whimpered and flexed his hips, hoping to get some sort of friction from the material of his pants. Sherlock was just going to toy with him like John had done to him earlier in the shower. He didn't like being teased in such a way but somewhere deep in his mind he actually really did. Being denied release for so long gave him the most extraordinary orgasms and he moaned at the prospect of having one. He continued to move his hips, hoping to entice Sherlock into playing. Sherlock shook his head, placing his empty plate aside and swigging the rest of the tea John had made him down his throat.

'I presume this is some new dance move I don't know about,' he commented, expression amused, voice teasing and steadfast steady.

'Yes. It's called the "You Better Do Something About This Right Now Before I Attack You And Wreck Your Arse Further,"' John smirked, his hips never faltering in their movements.

'Oh, I see. I suppose that was a threat. Believe me John I do not take kindly to threats.' Sherlock sent him an 'I'm not going to do anything about it but me what are you going to do?' look.

John glared back at Sherlock with a 'challenge accepted' look on his face. As calmly as he could manage he set his plate down on the table, wincing slightly as his hard cock brushed against his stomach. Then he stood up abruptly so that Sherlock fell against the sofa with a thud and climbed on top of him before he could register what had happened. He straddled his waist and moved his hips against Sherlock's. Sherlock was able to hide the rampant lusting side of himself in his mind palace. This stopped him from moaning out loud when John began moving against him. He grabbed John's wrists.

'No,' he bit out, rolling them over so he was now in control. He lifted his body upwards, ghosting his fingers over John's arousal. 'You have gotten yourself into a lot more trouble than you would have been in now.' Sherlock grit his teeth together. 'I said that I don't take kindly to threats.'

'Then what are you going to do about it?' John challenged, rutting his hips up so Sherlock's hand involuntarily palmed his erection, moaning at the contact.

'Everything but what you want me to do,' Sherlock stated, removing his hand, and lifting his body higher so only his thighs had contact with John. He then began to kiss him heatedly, nibbling on his lower lip. John tried to put all his newfound sexual frustration into the kiss, tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair and pulled him closer, his tongue plunging into Sherlock's mouth, biting down on Sherlock's tongue when it tried to do the same. Sherlock bit John's tongue back and growled menacingly. For that he decided to be extra cruel. His hand moved to John's arse and groped it. He squeezed and pinched and prodded with all his might.

John gasped and his eyes flew open, his hips lifting to try to get his arse away from Sherlock's cruel hands. His arse was still tender from the spanking he had received and he had been shocked he was able to sit down at all earlier. But when Sherlock's hands began stimulating the reddened flesh it hurt like a bitch. He cried out and arched his back off the sofa, his hands clutching Sherlock's hair so hard it must have been hurting him. But John couldn't be arsed to care. All he cared about was that he was in pain and he wanted it to stop.

'Say the magic word John and I'll stop,' Sherlock panted. He grabbed John's hands and tugged them from his hair before using his own hands to grope John's arse once more.

'Oh fuck!' John gasped. He knew that wasn't what Sherlock wanted to hear but it was all he could say at the moment.

'Nope.' Sherlock shook his head. '"Fuck" isn't the magic word nor is it what you're going to get.'

John grit his teeth and tried to muster the words that would end the torture. But he almost didn't want it to stop. Maybe he had a trace of masochism in him. But when Sherlock pinched him rather harshly he knew he didn't. It hurt too goddamn much for him to actually get any sort of pleasure from it.

'Sherlock, please,' he panted. 'Please stop. It hurts. It hurts so bad, please. Please stop.'

Sherlock's eyes twinkled as he moved his hand, skimming it up and down John's thigh. 'So tell me John. Ready to beg?'

John took deep breaths through his nose, calming himself as Sherlock's hand traveled up and down his thigh. Such a fucking tease, John thought. He opened his eyes and stared into Sherlock's, hoping he would see the reserve on his face and not the lust in his eyes.

'No,' he smirked. 'Make me.'

'It shan't be too difficult,' Sherlock stated, still rubbing John's thigh. He began placing kisses along John's body, slowly moving downwards. He grinned as he reached John's erection. His tongue poked out and gently prodded it, running along it swiftly. John's entire body shuddered at the minute contact. His hands gripped the sofa tightly, trying not to grab Sherlock's hair and force his face back to his crotch.

'I thought... I thought you weren't going to give me what I wanted?' John gulped between gasps.

'Oh ... I'm not,' Sherlock smirked. 'That was for my benefit.' He moved upwards, nipping John's ear lobe.

'You're a fucking tease, you know that?' John growled, his hands groping Sherlock's arse and squeezing tightly.

Sherlock grunted in pain. 'Again not helping your cause,' he hissed, sliding himself off of John and just about managing to stand.

John whimpered and sat up. 'Where are you going?' He reached a hand out towards Sherlock and managed to grasp onto his pajama bottoms.

'To get dressed. I do believe I'm in the mood for a case,' Sherlock replied, starting to stiffly walk towards his bedroom. He turned briefly to look at John. 'Don't wank it off. If you do I'll deduce it and I will be most displeased. If you manage to sustain yourself I'll reward you after dinner.' He smiled sweetly. 'Feel free to come with me but only come if you're wearing your tightest jeans.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week gone. Where does the time go? We'll be back next week with some fun at the Yard ;) And then some angst thrown in because this has been quite mushy :p
> 
> See you next week!
> 
> TSA + IB


	5. Games at the Yard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take a trip to the Yard. Fun, games, and a little bit of angst ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock
> 
> Me: John, Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: teasing, orgasm denial, Anderson being a dick, and some angst near the end.

John glared after his retreating figure, smirking slightly at the knowledge that he had wrecked Sherlock's arse so badly he could barely walk. He sat up and closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing and trying to think of something so utterly repulsive in order to get his erection to wane. It worked and he managed to make it up the stairs to his room without much difficulty. He rummaged through his wardrobe until he found the trousers Sherlock mentioned. They weren't skin tight like the blue jeans the women wore nowadays, but they certainly sat on his hips perfectly and made his arse look fantastic.

If we're going to play this game then I won't make it easy for him either, John smirked. He plucked his red button-down off its hanger, knowing how Sherlock's cheeks had turned almost the same color as the shirt the last time he'd worn it. He pulled on the clothes, purposefully 'forgetting' his pants, and put on his socks and shoes before heading back downstairs. He was perfectly composed but he was not prepared for the beautiful sight that greeted him when he returned to the living room.

Sherlock was wearing his purple shirt, or, as many of the fan girls reading John's blog called it, the purple shirt of sex. The top three buttons were undone, revealing a tuft of chest hair. He wore a slim suit and tight trousers that showed just what was going on underneath the material. His hair was slicked back with gel and he was wearing eyeliner to make his eyes look even wider with lust. John gulped at the sight and couldn't tear his eyes away from the bulge in Sherlock's trousers, his own erection back with full force. God fucking dammit, he swore, bracing his hand against the doorframe to keep himself upright.

'You, um... You look...' John stammered. Absolutely fuckable, like you were carved out of marble, abso-fucking-lutely delicious, and hot as fucking hell all came to mind but John was too dumbstruck with lust to voice them. He just gulped and stared at Sherlock's eyes rimmed with black, caught in his gaze, mesmerized. Sherlock walked over to John, beaming wickedly. He eyed John up.

'You don't look too bad yourself, soldier,' he laughed, kissing John and pressing himself tightly to him, rubbing his erection against John's. John moaned into the kiss, moving his hips against Sherlock's, his hands gripping Sherlock's suit jacket tightly.

'You're a bad man,' he whispered against Sherlock's lips, nipping his bottom lip playfully.

'Oh the worst I agree,' Sherlock growled, increasing the intensity of his movements. John leaned against the wall, spreading his legs so Sherlock would have better access. He began panting and met Sherlock thrust for thrust, ripples of pleasure traveling throughout his body. He was close, and he knew if he came then he wouldn't get his reward after dinner.

'Stop. Sherlock, stop. I'm too close,' he warned through gritted teeth. Sherlock giggled, ramming one last thrust against John before stepping back.

'Right, we should be off,' he said, sliding one hand to caress John's arse.

'You bastard,' John spat, a grin on his face despite his tone. 'If I survive this little game of ours then I am going to ride you so hard we both won't be able to walk for a week.'

Sherlock clicked his tongue. 'I believe it's my turn to ride you.' His fingers darted to John's erection, palming it. John clenched his eyes shut and threw his head back, barely managing to bite back a moan.

'No, no, stop, too close, fuck,' John gasped. 'What... What I meant by riding you was that you would be fucking me but... But I'd be sitting on top of you. Your cock would still be up my arse, only you'd be on your back and I'd be sitting on your cock basically.'

'Oh,' Sherlock purred. 'I do like the sound of that.' He smiled maniacally. 'I can't wait to drive you home.'

'Jesus Christ,' John groaned, the image of Sherlock fucking him like that made his cock even harder, if that was even possible. 'Go... Go get a cab. I need to calm myself down.' He closed his eyes and tried to picture something disgusting again. The head in the fridge, the taste of the octopus he'd had to eat for a case once, stepping in a puddle of water with socks on, anything to get his mind off his aching groin.

'Right!' Sherlock exclaimed, clapping his hands in glee. 'Good luck with that,' he called over shoulder.

'Fuck you you sexy bastard!' John called after him, grinning like a mad man. He sighed and rested his head against the wall, focusing on at least getting his heart rate down. He breathed deeply, imagining a calming scene in his mind where he could relax. And it worked too, his body relaxed but his prick was still hard as a rock. This was going to be a difficult case, especially if he had to run anywhere. With a frustrated sigh he pushed himself off the wall and walked down the stairs, albeit with some difficulty, and met Sherlock at the kerb.

'Feeling better?' Sherlock asked in mock worry as the cab pulled up. He eyed John up, licking his lips.

'Not much, but I'll manage,' John replied, ignoring looking at Sherlock as he knew what that would do to him. He climbed in the cab and slid across the seat, wincing as both his arse and prick were so sensitive. As soon as the cab door closed the atmosphere changed. He was in the back seat of a cab with his new lover and they were playing a game to see if they could both last until dinner and the air was thick with tension and want. John gulped, refusing to look at Sherlock, and told the cabbie to take them to the Yard, his voice heavy with how much he wanted the man beside him to swallow his cock and bring him to orgasm in a fucking London cab.

'I'm sorry honey,' Sherlock pouted teasingly, placing a hand on John's lap. 'I promise to make it up to you.' John stiffened at the touch, his aching cock seeming to gravitate to Sherlock's hand. He risked a glance at the cabbie and caught his gaze in the rear view mirror. He was glaring at them, but John minutely shook his head, telling him they weren't going to go that route today. The man just shook his head and sighed, turning his attention back to the road.

'Sherlock, you had better fucking worship me tonight,' John growled, his voice low so the cabbie wouldn't overhear. 'And by "worship" I mean you had better fuck me so fucking hard that I can't sit down for at least a week.'

'We'll see,' Sherlock whispered back, groping John's thigh ever so slightly. 'We'll see,' he reiterated.

'You're fucking infuriating,' John grit out, trying to stop his hips from thrusting into Sherlock's hand. One of his own latched onto Sherlock's thigh and gripped it tightly, if not to tease him as well but to let him know of the state John himself was in. Oh Sherlock knew what state John was in. It was rather sweet. Fortunately his mind was in case mode so there was little room for his brain to comprehend what John's hand was doing to him.

'Jonathan! Not in public,' he tusked playfully, batting the offending hand away. John blushed crimson and snatched his hand away, putting both hands under his bum to keep from touching Sherlock or himself. He grumbled to himself the rest of the way, muttering how the whole game was idiotic and how Sherlock was being a teasing prick, but then his voice of reason would come in and explain that he had signed up for it and Sherlock was just playing the game. Damn it all to hell.

Sherlock took hold of John's shoulder. 'We're here dear,' he smirked. 'Come on. Time to put on a good show.' Sherlock meant that he was going to be an utter genius whilst John praised him but it was clear that the cabbie didn't see it like that. John grinned as he understood what Sherlock meant, but one glance at the cabbie's shocked expression and he turned as red as his shirt. He opened his mouth to explain but no words came out. He snapped his jaw shut and just tossed a random assortment of bills at the man, not caring if it was too much or not enough. He just needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. He scrambled out the door and slammed it shut before Sherlock could crawl out after him. He didn't want to witness that, just imagining it sent sparks directly to his prick and he clenched his hands into fists at his side, his nails biting into the skin.

Sherlock winced as the full force of the door slamming rippled through him. He glared at the cabbie for a long moment before retreating out of the cab and cautiously walking over to John. The detective smiled to himself. John was a beautiful crimson shade of red, causing his blue eyes to brighten in volume, and the bulge within his jeans was large and prominent, jutting out and almost looking as annoyed as the man it belonged to. The detective reached for the fair haired man's hand, gently linking their fingers together and squeezing.

'I'm sorry. I'll let up a little now we're here,' he said, genuinely feeling a little bad for John. A little bit.

'You don't have to let up, Sherlock,' John sighed, squeezing his hand back. 'I just... I didn't like the way that cabbie was looking at us. Like we were... Like our relationship was...' He struggled to find the right word, squeezing Sherlock's hand tightly. 'But I don't care. I love you and that's all that matters.' He finally looked up at Sherlock, his breath catching at the sight, and pulled him in for a quick kiss. 'Now let's go solve a murder,' he grinned against Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock slid his hand down John's body till it reached his hard on. He smiled and breathed out, 'I love you too.' His eyes darkened, enhanced by the eyeliner. 'Now do lead the way. I adore a good murder.'

John sucked in a breath, bucking his hips into Sherlock's hand, his own dark eyes boring into Sherlock's. If they were really going to do this, then he was going to walk in there with his head held high and his cock hard as a fucking rock. But there was no way he was going to walk into the Yard without setting some ground rules first.

'Some rules first, Sherlock. One, no arse grabbing of any kind. It's too painful for both of us right now. Two, no crotch grabbing, not in front of anyone at least. Keep that private. Three, if anyone asks, don't tell them it's because we're toying with each other until dinner. They'll all know anyway, but I'm not ready to confirm it just yet. I want to at least have had sex with you on every surface of the flat first.' He grinned widely at the prospect and waited for Sherlock's confirmation.

'Understood,' Sherlock replied, voice trembling with the mere image of what John had just suggested floated in his mind.

'No touching. I presume eye sex is still allowed though,' Sherlock said with a lick of his lips.

'Oh most definitely,' John agreed, staring deep into Sherlock's eyes. They were a pale green today, but that might have been the eyeliner affecting the color. 'But you can still touch me on my arm or back or something. Just nothing so intimate. That's just for us and no one else, alright?' He squeezed Sherlock's hand again before planting a small kiss on Sherlock's cheek.

'What, like this?' Sherlock quizzed, letting his hand migrate to the small of John's back.

'Yes. Precisely that,' John smiled, reciprocating the touch himself. Sherlock purred, throwing his head back in approval. He hummed softly and nodded. His hand curled against the material of John's shirt tightly.

'This should be fun.' John was too lost in the moment to truly comprehend Sherlock's words. All he saw was Sherlock's exposed neck and his lips gravitated toward it, planting a kiss beside Sherlock's Adam's apple before his teeth nibbled on it.

'We should really go inside,' he whispered against Sherlock's neck. 'I'll lead the way, shall I?'

Sherlock bit his lip. 'Yes dear,' he croaked, his voice feebly cracking. John's touch made the detective's heart flutter and his cock twinge.

'Mmm. I think this will be fun,' John smirked, nipping the underside of Sherlock's jaw before turning and nearly sashaying toward the Yard's main entrance, glancing over his shoulder and winking at a rather dumbstruck Sherlock. Sherlock groaned. This man would surely be the death of him. He hurried after John and entered the crime scene where they were greeted by a most unhappy Lestrade.

Lestrade glared at the two men as they entered his office, but it quickly faded into a look of utter shock at their appearances. 'Do I even want to know?' he asked.

'No. Definitely not,' John smirked, subtly running a finger down Sherlock's spine. Sherlock felt himself inhale sharply. Oh he was going to get John back and when he did he wasn't going to have any remorse.

'What have we got?' Sherlock rubbed his hands together, trying to steady his ragged breathing. He moved his hand to rest just above John's arse. It was still technically his back and not his arse so it wasn't exactly against the rules that had been laid out. John's breath hitched in his throat and he felt his cheeks heat up at how close Sherlock's hand was to his arse.

'Triple homicide over at Brixton. No murder weapon, the doors were locked from the inside, and so far nothing in common with the victims,' Lestrade rattled off, handing a file of crime scene photos over to Sherlock. 'We know some sort of gas was used, we just don't know what. The windows were sealed shut so the gas couldn't escape. We had to clear the building before we could allow anyone to investigate. Don't worry, the gas should still be in the victims' tissues. Talk to Anderson about having a look at those,' Greg explained when Sherlock looked up sharply at the whole 'we let the gas escape so we could get the bodies' part.

'Anderson!' Sherlock yelled gruffly, shaking his head. 'He won't work with me.'

The hand above John's arse began to stroke his lover tenderly. It was as though by doing that the irritation that Anderson caused lessened. John allowed the touch for a moment but shifted slightly so Sherlock would know he needed to stop.

'Just rattle off some deduction about him and Donovan,' he whispered to him. 'He's usually too in shock to deny you access to bodies.'

Greg just raised an eyebrow, but knew it was the truth. 'Sorry, but Anderson's all I've got. He's the forensic anthropologist on the scene and that Hooper girl down at the morgue isn't due to get them for another day. The case is pretty fresh, and I know you like to get them as soon as I hear about them.' He glanced up at the two and blushed, remembering the awkwardness from earlier. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided it would be best to ignore the issue altogether. He shook his head, knowing that if they weren't in a relationship already they were bound to get together at some point. It was pretty damn obvious how they felt about each other, even if they seemed utterly clueless. He smiled despite himself and said, 'I'm happy for the two of you, really.'

'Kind of you,' Sherlock muttered, pausing his hand's movements and sending John a nervous glance. He growled under his breath and sighed. 'Anderson will have to do.'

John glanced back at Sherlock, offering him a small smile. 'We would appreciate it if you wouldn't go spreading it around, Greg,' he said, turning to look at him. 'We're not ready for everyone to know.'

Greg snorted and waved his hand in the air, letting them know that he wasn't finished yet. 'If you boys wanted to keep this a secret, what's with your attire? I mean, really?'

Sherlock glared and took a step forwards. He was taller than Greg so took pleasure in making the D.I. feel intimidated.

'What we choose to wear and the reason behind it is not something that concerns you.'

Greg was having none of it. He stood up to his full height (which wasn't much compared to Sherlock), crossed his arms over his chest, and squared his shoulders. He didn't even need to speak. John knew was he was threatening, and he grabbed Sherlock's upper arm to pull him back.

'Sherlock, it was an innocent question. He wasn't mocking us,' John said. 'But yes, the reasons behind our attire don't concern you, Greg. That is between me and Sherlock. Now, we'd still like to help with this case. What else have you got?'

God Sherlock wanted nothing more than to snog John right there and then. He was beautiful even when he was annoyed and coming to his defense.

'I apologize. Now I think it's time I learnt more about these bodies. Where's Anderson?'

'Where do you think he is?' Greg nodded his head behind them and they turned to look. Anderson was leaning against Donovan's desk, glaring at them in Lestrade's office. 'Anything else about the case you'll get from him and the bodies. I've done my part.' Greg sat in his chair and sipped at his coffee, propping his feet up on his desk. 'He's been particularly foul today guys. Be warned.'

John nodded and held the door open for Sherlock, grabbing his arm again before he could bully Anderson into letting them help.

'Play just a tad nicer and I'll reward you later,' John whispered in Sherlock's ear, squeezing his arm gently. 'If he is especially foul, I give you permission to give him hell. But only if I give the go ahead. Understood?'

Sherlock groaned. 'Fine, but I shall have to take my frustration out somewhere else. And considering what we're going to be doing tonight I hope you're prepared to be bed bound for at least a week. A week being the minimum.'

'I look forward to it,' John grinned, pinching Sherlock's side. Greg snickered but let the boys alone. It was about fucking time in his opinion.

John stood off to Sherlock's side as they approached Anderson. He looked more pissed than usual to see Sherlock, and Donovan was trying her best to ignore him as well. That was never a good sign.

'Anderson,' John nodded politely. 'Greg sent us over to get a look at the bodies of the triple homicide.'

'I know why he sent you here,' Anderson sneered. 'And I'm not gonna let you two poofs look at anything.' Donovan's head snapped up from the paperwork she was pretending to do, embarrassment etched all over her face. John clutched onto Sherlock's shirt tightly, his other hand curling into a fist at his side. It was bound to happen sooner or later, but he had almost expected better from Anderson. Almost. John could feel Sherlock vibrating with rage at his side. He knew he had to say something before Sherlock flew off the handle, but he was at a loss for words.

'Got nothing to say?' Anderson sneered. 'I though as much. I knew you two were poofs as soon as I saw you two together. When I said at the pink lady's crime scene that I didn't want it contaminated I didn't mean it in the traditional sense. I didn't want it contaminated by your homosexual filth.'

Anderson continued but John wasn't listening anymore. Sally had gotten up to leave but had squeezed his shoulder apologetically before disappearing. John's hands were clenched so tight his knuckles were white and his nails were digging into his palms. He stiffly turned to Sherlock who was looking at him, vibrating with rage, pleading with his eyes.

'Lay it on him, Sherlock,' John grit between clenched teeth. Sherlock grit his teeth and strolled across the room to loom over the smug man.

'Anderson, I understand you have a problem with me but if you dare bring John into this little feud between ourselves then you will regret it.' He wrinkled up his nose and pulled back his lips into a snarl. 'And don't just think that was an empty threat because it wasn't.'

He smacked his wrist on the desk Anderson was lounging against with immense force. 'If I ever hear those sorts of names again I swear I'll – I dread to think what I'll do!'

The fuming man steadied his voice. 'Now I suggest you get the files of the case victims, results from the gas, and fast access to the bodies,' Sherlock growled. 'Be quick about it.' He pointed to the door and watched as a shaken up Anderson slowly got to his feet and left without saying a word.

John watched as Anderson slunk away to retrieve everything Sherlock demanded. As soon as he disappeared from sight John pulled Sherlock into a fierce kiss. He stumbled backward until his legs hit the edge of the desk behind him and leaned against it to keep himself upright.

'I have never been more proud or more turned on in all my life,' John breathed against Sherlock's lips. 'God I want you so bad right now.'

Sherlock grinned, grabbing John's wrist and pulling him to the corner where they would be unseen. That way they were sure to have a little privacy. 'You are inclined to a little preview of what you're going to get.' He pulled John against him, kissing him and grinding his still very prominent erection into John. He moaned as he felt John grow a little.

'Blimey,' he mumbled against his lover's lips. John moaned and arched into Sherlock, pulling the taller man flush against him. His hands slid all over Sherlock's back, stopping when he reached the dip just above his arse and squeezed.

Sherlock pulled back. 'I thought we agreed. No squeezing around – that area.' He narrowed his eyes and smiled softly before moving his hand forward and groping John's erection with all his might. 'Two people can break rules.'

'Oh Jesus fucking Christ,' John swore, throwing his head back and swallowing down a rather obscene moan. He rocked his hips into Sherlock's hand, shaking at how wonderful it felt against his hot, aching prick. He laced his fingers with Sherlock's and rocked into their hands, staring into Sherlock's eyes to intensify the moment.

'Oh my, you like that, don't you?' Sherlock groped John with more force. 'Well there's plenty more of this to come, but only if you sustain your condition.'

'Like it? Sherlock, I bloody love it,' John gasped. He squeezed their hands on his prick and his hips bucked up at the sensation. 'Your long fingers were made for this.'

'My fingers were made for a satisfying amount of things,' he retorted seductively. He rubbed his thumb across the throbbing bulge. 'It's quite sweet that I affect you like this. I can't believe you've lasted for all this time.'

'Sometimes I have a surprising amount of self control,' John smirked. 'That, and being around Anderson kinda killed it for a while.'

Sherlock hummed. 'I can appreciate that. He's an annoying bastard.' He smothered John's lips with his and removed his hand, replacing it with his own aching groin. He began to use very subtle thrusts to drive John insane. John gasped into the kiss and hitched a leg around one of Sherlock's, giving him leverage and Sherlock better access to his groin. He thrust against Sherlock, their pricks sliding against each other's through the fabric of their clothes. John let out little mewls of pleasure as he neared his release.

'Oh fuck, Sherlock. I'm gonna... Gotta stop. Stop. Stop!' He shoved Sherlock back with surprising force and balanced himself against the wall as he tried to calm down. That was a close call. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, thinking of Anderson's ugly face in order to get his prick to die down. When he opened his eyes Sherlock was grinning at him but just behind him was Anderson. He had dropped the files Sherlock had demanded on the floor and was staring at the two of them with a look of pure horror and disgust on his face.

Sherlock growled beneath his breath, turning around. 'I'd think carefully about it if you're going to say something Anderson.'

The man in question said nothing. He just turned and walked rather briskly to the men's loo. John sighed in relief and sank to the floor, laughter on his lips. That quickly turned into fits of shaking and he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, closing his eyes to block out the precinct.

Sherlock chuckled. 'I think we scarred him for life. Are you ok?' He crouched down to John's level. 'I'm sorry I brought you so close and in front of Anderson.' Of course he was only sorry about the latter part.

'No. No, I'm not ok,' John sighed. 'What the hell are we doing, Sherlock?' He looked up at his lover, his beautiful, gorgeous lover, and sighed, dropping his head. 'We were both so scared when Lestrade popped by not a few hours ago and look at us. Parading around in our best clothes, trousers so god damn tight and erections so prominent people can see what religion we are. And then you've got your hair slicked back and your eyes lined and I just... It's a teasing game for us, but all I'm seeing are people passing notes to one another because of the bets on our relationship. And it sickens me and I... I'm not ready for all that. I'm not ready for people to know.' He buried his head in his hands and took in deep, shaky breaths.

Sherlock sighed and pulled John into a hug. 'May I just remind you I was quite literally trapped in my mind because I was so terrified?' He rocked his lover, lovingly nuzzling his neck. 'However, I have come to a revelation since then. I love you. You're mine. And my heart belongs to you. And as long as that is true nothing else matters.'

Sherlock kissed John lightly on the lips. 'So what if people are betting on our relationship? Isn't it a little sweet that they spend so much time thinking about us?' He smirked. 'Does it scare you because of what they think? Or is it simply because of who they think you're with?' Sherlock looked a little sad. 'Would you feel different if I were a woman ... Or simply if I were normal?'

John clutched tightly to Sherlock. 'It's not sweet that they think about us so often, it's fucking creepy. I've overheard some of their conversations about who tops or bottoms, who gives the best head, one was even about us supposedly becoming so aroused at a crime scene that we had to leave and fuck each other like rabbits.' John reached for one of Sherlock's hands and laced his fingers with his. 'I am not ashamed of being with you, Sherlock. I love you with all my heart and nothing will ever change that. I do not wish that you were a woman and I wouldn't trade you for the most boring, normal human in existence. I love you exactly the way you are, I love everything that you do, and I love you because you let me into your home and into your heart.' He caressed Sherlock's face with his free hand and moved it up so he could look into his bright eyes.

'I love you for you and I wouldn't change a thing about you,' he whispered before he brought him forward for a soft kiss. Sherlock ravaged John's lips for several minutes before having to pull back for air. He grinned.

'Ignore them. They think we're just fucking each other brainless.' His lips quirked. 'Which we most definitely are. But they don't understand that we truly love each other. Now, Mr John Hamish Watson, care to solve a case with me?'

'Why Mr Sherlock Holmes I do believe I would,' John grinned. He gave Sherlock a quick peck on the lips before a rather delicious idea popped into his head. He grinned maliciously at his lover as he crawled across the floor to the files Anderson had dropped, giving Sherlock full view of his arse in his best jeans, wriggling it for good measure.

'Tease,' Sherlock growled, reaching out his hand and spanking John, watching as he writhed from the contact. John's entire body stiffened at the slap and he grit his teeth in pain.

'Ok, from here on out the rules apply again,' he ground out.

'Oh, I see. You get to tease me but I don't get to get you back,' Sherlock pouted, caressing John's right bum cheek.

'No, you just don't get to slap my arse. It hurts and it's against the rules,' John hissed, batting Sherlock's hand away. 'Unless you want me to pinch your sore arse in return that is.'

Sherlock wriggled his eyebrows. 'That would only give me further cause to wreck that arse of yours more than I already have.'

John considered that a moment, cocking his head to the side as he organized the papers strewn about on the floor. 'So what you're saying is, the more I tease you the harder you'll fuck me after dinner?' he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

Sherlock groaned. 'I should not have said that.' He shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. John smirked and handed the files over to Sherlock, making sure their fingers touched. He sat back on his heels and began fanning himself.

'It's rather warm in here, don't you think Sherlock?' He slowly unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, his hand lingering over the third before undoing that as well. Sherlock's eyes bulged as he tried to ignore the urge to rip John's clothes off right there on the spot.

'It certainly is,' he replied. His top two buttons were already undone but he started plucking at more buttons despite that fact.

'Now, now, Sherlock,' John tutted. 'It won't do for you to be arrested for indecent exposure today. You are in the center of Scotland Yard with hundreds of police officers abound. Quite a few of which would love to see you behind bars.' John hummed at the image. 'Now that I picture it, I would kind of like to see you behind bars. My hardened criminal, my bad boy.' John was practically vibrating and his hand dropped to the crotch of his trousers, his fingers skimming along his erection.

'Come now, love.' Sherlock snogged John and wrapped his hands around his erection. 'Surely this isn't helping.'

John moaned and thrust into Sherlock's hand, pulling him down until he was on his back with Sherlock looming over him. 'No, it isn't helping. But it feels fucking amazing.'

Sherlock groped John. 'Tell me to stop when it gets to be too much.'

John nodded and thrust up into Sherlock's hands, his back arching up off the floor. God he wanted Sherlock's cock so bad. He batted Sherlock's hands away and pulled him down by the waist, their groins coming into contact. John sighed and rocked his hips up in a steady rhythm, making sure Sherlock would be just as hot and bothered as he was.

Sherlock was trembling with anticipation. This moment was one of the rare moments that he let himself indulge in feeling human and it seemed only right that it was John who made him feel that way. He pushed himself as close as possible to John and felt in wonderment as his cock throbbed against the surface of his trousers. Said trousers were now stretched to their maximum with the V now tenting out. He started pounding himself against John, grunting and wheezing.

John braced his feet against the floor and met Sherlock thrust for thrust. He was lost in the moment, completely forgetting that they were humping each other on the floor in Scotland Yard. All he knew was that Sherlock was trying to fuck him through his trousers and it felt way too fucking good to care who spotted them. Sherlock's thrusts were becoming harder and harsher and John could tell he was close. Well that just wouldn't do. They had after dinner plans to look forward to. Mustering as much self control as he could he forced his body to stop moving and pushed Sherlock away by his shoulders.

'Too close,' he said in a ragged breath. 'And you are too.'

Sherlock groaned. It was true that he was on the very cusp of coming in his trousers. Somewhere in his mind told him that perhaps what they were doing was wrong in such a public place. But that part was drowned out by the part that wanted to fuck the living day lights out of John.

'Yes I am,' he exhaled deeply, brushing a finger over his groin.

'Which is why we should hurry up and solve this case.' He pushed himself up and grabbed hold of John, pulling him up. He moved behind the desk and sat down. Patting his knee he said, 'Come sit down on my lap Jonathan.'

John's cock lurched when Sherlock used his full name. It did when he said 'John' as well, but 'Jonathan' just felt more intimate and personal. He sat down in Sherlock's lap without a second thought, his right arm draping over Sherlock's shoulders to keep himself balanced but also so he could rub soothing circles on the back of Sherlock's neck.

'Yes, Sherlock,' he whispered huskily into the detective's ear. 'Hurry and solve this case so you can take me home and fuck me with no mercy.'

Sherlock ignored the way his cock throbbed beneath John's arse, picking up the files. His mind went into overdrive and suddenly he'd come to a shocking discovery:

All of the victims were short, stocky blond men... Much like John.

His heart pounded in his chest. This had Moriarty written all over it.

John was perusing through the witness statements when he felt Sherlock's body stiffen.

'Find something?' he asked, peering to look at the photographs of the victims.

'John, I need to make a quick phone call. Can you get off of me for one moment? And perhaps leave the room. Don't ask questions. Just trust me.' Sherlock's jaw was taught and his whole body was tense.

Shit. It was pretty serious then. John nodded and stood up, grabbing onto Sherlock's arm before he could sprint away.

'I just want you to know, that no matter what happens, I love you and I trust you with my life.'

Sherlock sighed and nodded as he watched John retreat. That was what he was rather afraid of. Plucking his phone from his pocket he dialed in the number to the only person he knew could help him. Much to his discomfort said person was his brother.

John left the room and went to sit on one of the benches randomly dispersed throughout the Yard. He felt like a little kid, banished from the room so the adults could talk alone. He sighed and ran the toe of his shoe along the carpet. What had gotten Sherlock so worked up? It must have involved him, he wouldn't have reacted so drastically if it hadn't. A cup of coffee materialized in front of him and he looked up to see Sergeant Sally Donovan standing there.

'Oh. Hi Sally. Thanks,' he said, accepting the cup and letting it warm his hands. Sally nodded curtly and turned to leave but she stopped. She sighed and strode back to John on the bench, sitting down next to him.

'I feel like I should apologize for Anderson's behavior,' she explained.

'Oh, no, that's fine,' John stammered quickly. 'You don't have to do that. Sherlock already threatened him and I'm pretty sure we scarred him for life earlier too. Don't ask,' he added quickly.

'I'm still sorry he said those things to you two,' she said. 'In all the time I've known him he never seemed like the, the...'

'Homophobic type?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, I never saw myself as bisexual until I moved in with Sherlock. And even at that I don't think I'm completely bisexual.'

'How do you mean?'

'I mean, Sherlock is the only man I've ever been attracted to. In my entire life, even throughout the college experimentation years, Sherlock is the only man I have ever been attracted to and the only man I have ever wanted to be in a relationship with. Only him.'

'That actually sounds really sweet when you put it like that,' Sally smiled.

'He may not look it, but he's actually quite the sentimental fool,' John grinned. 'Oh god, don't tell him I told you that. He has got a reputation to maintain after all.'

'Yeah. Freak's gotta be respected somehow.'

'Don't use that word,' John nearly growled, glaring at her.

'What word? Freak?'

'Yes, that word Sally. I don't like it, I never have, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would stop using it. It's a simple word but it holds a lot of power. So please, stop.'

Sally actually had the decency to look morose and she nodded apologizing. 'I have to get back to work. Good luck on the case by the way. We, well, I really appreciate you two taking the time to help. It's a strange one.'

'Tell me about it. Sherlock is in full on case mode. One look at the photos of the victims and he's already spouting theories.'

'There was something off about those people,' Sally mused. 'Tan, blonde, well-built. They sort of reminded me of you.' She shrugged and stood up to leave, squeezing John's shoulder as she left. John didn't feel it though. He didn't see Sally leave, didn't hear the noise of the Yard, didn't smell the cheap coffee in the cheap cup in his hands. All he could think about were Sally's words: 'They sort of reminded me of you.' That must have been what made Sherlock so tense and protective. He suspected someone was after John, and he had a hunch he knew who.

This was more than a bit not good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit. Our boys are in trouble. What will they do and how will they cope? Tune in next week for the exciting conclusion! Sorry, I couldn't help myself. But we'll see you all next week, with some more angst and sexy times ;)
> 
> TSA + IB


	6. A Fresh Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock & Mycroft  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: some bondage while men go at it, Moriarty sending Sherlock a warning.

Sherlock's hand shook vigorously as he held the phone to his ear. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his beating heart down. It would do him no good to be in a state of panic. He had to be strong right now. If not for himself then for John. It seemed like time stretched on endlessly as the phone rang out and for a moment he panicked. Could it be the one time he came seeking his brother's help that the man didn't pick up his call? However his panic was soon put to rest as the line crackled as the sharp voice belonging to Mycroft Holmes rushed to his ear.

'A phone call. Should I be worried?'

'Maybe,' Sherlock bit back a little more harshly than he had intended.

'What's wrong?' Mycroft's reply was quick and got straight to the point. The government official knew that whatever the cause for Sherlock ringing him was serious. The younger Holmes brother sounded truly shaken up.

'Is this line secure?' Sherlock questioned.

'Of course. I presume this is isn't a social call then?'

'God forbid if it were a social call,' Sherlock snorted. 'It's about John.'

'Oh? And what about our mutual friend has gotten you in such a state?'

The detective swallowed down hard at the term 'mutual friend.' That term certainly didn't apply to John anymore. He wasn't quite sure if he should tell his brother. Would he laugh? Would he be called a sentimental fool? Would he simply be stunned into silence out of pure horror? John certainly wouldn't be happy about it and Sherlock wasn't all that comfortable about his brother knowing that he'd finally lost his virginity and that he did indeed hold a heart capable of feeling such things as human emotion.

'Sherlock?' Mycroft questioned, worried by the sudden silence on the other end of the line.

Sherlock shook his head and exhaled deeply. He hadn't realized just how zoned out he'd been. 'I believe his life may be in the gravest danger. I need your help.'

'What sort of danger?'

'Does it matter!?' Sherlock exclaimed. 'I need your assurance that you'll try to help me. Maybe together we stand a chance against him.'

'Him?' Mycroft questioned, puzzled.

'Yes. Jim Moriarty. A devil in a suit,' Sherlock retorted. 'Now, can I have your assurance?'

'You can. We must meet in person. You can fill me in on the details when you reach my office. I will try my best to help you.'

'I'll meet you later tonight. I'll come alone,' Sherlock said, his voice bitter and ice cold.

'You haven't told him?'

'No.'

'Are you going to?'

'No. I'm going to protect him from the truth as far as humanely possible.'

'Very well. Is it wise that you're going to leave him alone?'

'No. It is an incredibly foolish thing to do. However, I somehow doubt Moriarty will make a move yet. He wants me to solve this puzzle. He likes to watch me dance.'

'Indeed it would appear so. I shall see you tonight. I'll heighten security around your flat for the time being.'

As the line hung up Sherlock let his head drop onto the desk. He silently asked himself why it seemed bad things always happened to anyone and anything he let into his heart. And John was now his everything, his world, his love, his crutch to the real world. He couldn't lose him. He wasn't going to let Moriarty take him away from him.

John stayed on the bench, his coffee cup abandoned at his feet. He sat ramrod straight, his feet planted on the floor, his hands clasped in his lap. Whenever he was nervous he always reverted to sitting at attention, a habit of his army days. He stared at the door Sherlock was behind, probably on the phone with Mycroft. If Moriarty really was after him, John knew Sherlock would want nothing but the best security offered, even if he had to go through his brother to get it.

Sherlock's been in there for a while. Is everything alright? Should I go check on him? No. No, he asked for your trust and you have to trust him. He'll come get you when he's ready.

Sherlock gradually brought himself to stand. He walked over to the door and placed his hand on the door handle, freezing as he mentally prepared himself. When he walked out he asked Lestrade where John had gone to. The D.I seemed a little concerned but told him anyway and it didn't take him long to find the army doctor sat patiently on a bench.

'John, we're going home now. I'm sorry. Our dinner plans have been rescheduled. We can get a take away if that's what you so wish but I'm not particularly hungry right now.' He tried to make eye contact, he really did, but that was so difficult. He hated not being able to tell John what was going on but really it was for the best.

'Oh.' John's face fell. While he had been looking forward to dinner, the severity of the situation took precedence. 'I'm not particularly hungry right now either, so we can just go home.' Is he going to tell me? Should I even ask? 'What um... Is anything wrong?'

'Wrong?' Sherlock questioned innocently. 'Nothing's wrong.' As the words left his lips his heart dropped into a bucket of icy cold water. Voices within his mind palace began whispering against his ear drums.

Wrong. Everything is just so wrong. You're lying to him. Yes to protect him. What if it's not enough? What if he gets hurt despite your best efforts? What if it drags you down too? You could lose everything … because John is your everything.

He blinked and shook away his thoughts, drowning out the poisonous voices with a cold numbness.

'This case has proved to be a little tricky, that's all. I think I have it under control though.' He placed an arm around John, almost tugging him into a death grip. He placed a loving kiss upon his Adam's apple. 'I love you,' he whispered softly. 'Now, let's go home and rest. And by rest I mean—' He trailed off, waggling his eyebrows a little playfully. Perhaps he could distract John from asking further questions. He could certainly try anyway.

So he isn't going to tell me. Interesting, John mused. He pursed his lips as Sherlock avoided telling him what he already knew was the problem. But why? Did he think leaving John in the dark would protect him? He didn't get very long to think on that as Sherlock had grabbed him in a rather tight embrace and was telling him that he loved him. Oh no, it must be life-threatening.

'I love you too Sherlock,' he whispered against the taller man's hair. He knew what Sherlock was trying to do, he wasn't an idiot, but he allowed the distraction because it would benefit them both. 'And yes, I do think some "rest" would do us some good.'

Sherlock placed more kisses down John's neck, only too glad that he'd managed to avoid more questions, at least for now anyway. 'I'm going to show you how much you mean to me,' he said in a dark and sickly, honey-coated promise. 'Because I don't think you really understand how much you mean to me.'

God does this man mean a lot to me. When did these strange feelings creep up on me? It doesn't matter now Sherlock. You've fallen in love now. And Moriarty intends to use that against you. He intends to burn the very heart out of you. He intends to hurt John in order to hurt you. If he gets hurt it'll be all your fault.

'Yes, Sherlock, yes. Show me how much you love me,' John groaned, arching into the detective's touch, his libido winning over reason. 'But, not here. Take me home, Sherlock. Take me to bed.'

Sherlock's heart jolted with the first bit of happiness since the revelation he'd made about the current case. He hummed, grabbing John by the wrist and dragging him outside.

They were soon sitting in a taxi again, homeward bound. John fidgeted nervously on the cab ride home. He was anxious to get back to the flat and shag Sherlock senseless, but he was also nervous about the case. He didn't want to dwell on it, he didn't want to focus on it, on the possible danger his life was in. He shook the thoughts from his head and reached for Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently.

When the two arrived home Sherlock was almost hyperventilating. Blimey he needed a shag. It'd make him forget all of the worries now resting on his shoulders. John handed the cabbie the proper amount of bills that time before heading to the door of 221 Baker Street. He noticed Sherlock was shaking in anticipation, or was it anxiety over the case? Maybe it was both. He had somehow calmed down during the cab ride and the significance of what they were about to do and why had hit him like a ton of bricks. He needed to feel alive, especially with Moriarty after him, and he was willing to do whatever Sherlock wanted – needed – to do in order to assure himself that he was still alive.

As soon as they crossed into the sitting room of 221B, John spun around and crushed his lips on Sherlock's, pushing him backwards until his back hit the door. He pulled Sherlock flush against him, grinding against him subtly but enough to get his cock hard again (he'd lost his erection in the cab due to his mind wandering to depressing and serious issues).

'I want you to ravish me,' he growled into Sherlock's ear, thrusting his hips up sharply. 'I want you to destroy me, claim me, make me yours.'

Sherlock pulled John inside of his bedroom, kissing him heatedly. He lifted John up onto the bed.

'Wait a minute.' He smiled softly, walking to his wardrobe he pulled out his favourite scarf. 'I have an idea. I hope you approve.'

John eyed the scarf apprehensively. It was one of his favourites of Sherlock's rather impressive collection, and he had a pretty good idea of what Sherlock wanted to use it for. He stroked the bed sheets to calm himself, enjoying the feel of silk under his fingers. He glanced at the headboard, then back down at the sheets which had been changed. Either Sherlock had changed them before they left for the Yard or Mrs Hudson had come in. John told himself that Sherlock had done it. He didn't want to think about Mrs Hudson walking into their 'war zone' after the rough fuck he'd given Sherlock only hours before. He tore his eyes away from the sheets and looked back up at Sherlock who was still holding the scarf.

Whatever he wants, whatever he needs, John told himself. He smiled as coyly as he could manage and stood up, sauntering over to his lover.

'I am definitely liking the prospect of all that could be used for,' he said, stroking the scarf gently. 'But I think we have far too many clothes on to use that, don't you?'

Sherlock hummed softly, placing the navy blue scarf on the bed. He let his fingers skim delicately over John's buttons. He plucked them at almost an unbearable rate but since today's events John was like a piece of glass in the detective's eyes, and he was almost afraid of John shattering under his touch. He pulled the top from John's shoulders, dropping it neatly to the ground, and smoothed his finger tips down his chest. Somewhere in his mind he needed to feel John's solid form beneath his touch to tell him that everything was going to be ok, that John was alive and well, and out of all odds belonged to him.

He placed a waver light kiss to John's lips, his breath catching in his throat. Previously his hormones had been battering all of his thoughts of what was occurring around him. Somewhere between inhaling a homemade drug to see how far away it took him from reality to waking up for the first time in his life feeling safe and happy he had somehow gotten lucky. He had always thought John was special, that there was a connection between them, an unspoken bond, but now to be able to access every part of him in a literal and figurative sense was too good to be true.

His heart thudded almost painfully in his chest as he realized how dangerous both of their lives were, how fragile he seemed, how breakable his bones and hot flesh were.

All lives end. All hearts are broken.

He closed his eyes and exhaled softly as he unbuckled John's trousers. His eyes dilated as he saw that John wasn't wearing any boxer shorts. 'My, my. You were rather keen,' he spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours.

John's breath hitched as Sherlock methodically worked his way down his torso, first with his shirt buttons and then with his touch. He was being overly gentle, like John would break in his hands. He would have to remind him that he wouldn't break, but now was not that time. He smiled when Sherlock reached his trousers to discover he had forgone his pants, giggling slightly.

'I thought you might like that,' he grinned, looking down at him. 'I was planning on leaning over at a very inappropriate time at the Yard to tell you and see how you would react. Too bad I never got the chance.' He nudged his hips forward. 'Now finish undressing me so I can do the same to you.' Sherlock was only too happy to comply. He pulled John's trousers completely off and chucked them to the side.

'You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,' he whispered. 'I just thought I'd let you know.'

'And you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,' John whispered, his fingers releasing the buttons on Sherlock's purple shirt, trailing kisses down his chest as he fell to his knees at Sherlock's feet. The shirt fell to the floor as John worked on Sherlock's trousers, pleased to see that he had forgone pants as well.

'Who's keen now, Sherlock?' John smirked as he pulled Sherlock's trousers down to the floor. He stood up and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, pulling him into an intimate kiss. Their tongues danced for a few moments before John pulled back to whisper in Sherlock's ear.

'Now, I am very curious to see how you will be using that scarf,' he smiled coyly. 'Why don't you show me?'

'I have two ideas actually.' Sherlock pushed John onto the bed gently. He picked up the scarf, running the material under his fingertips. He climbed on top of John and began to slowly rock against him. 'Would you like to hear them?'

'Do I get to decide which one I like better?' John asked, sighing in content as Sherlock rocked above him.

'Of course,' Sherlock said with a manic grin.

The curly haired man ran the material over John's lips. 'I could either gag you. It could push against your throat as a thousand delicious noises try to escape. Or—' He chuckled. 'I could tie your hands behind your back whilst I'm making love to you so you can't move. You will be as powerless as a new born baby.'

Sherlock was careful to use the term 'making love.' He hadn't used it before. It had been 'fuck' or 'sex' and that had been ok, but somehow 'making love' made the act seem so magnificent.

John thought carefully on the two options. If his hands were tied he wouldn't be able to touch himself or Sherlock, but if he was gagged he wouldn't be able to say sweet and filthy nothings as Sherlock made love to him. Considering the recent circumstances, John knew which one was the better choice.

'Tie my hands together,' he said, staring Sherlock in the eye. 'It's your turn to be in control, so take control of me, all of me.'

'Turn around,' he ordered. As John did so Sherlock pressed himself against John's entire body. He grabbed John's wrists and ran the scarf's material over them before wrapping it around them and tying a firm knot. John let out a wanton moan as Sherlock's entire nude body pressed up against his. His prick rested perfectly between his butt cheeks and he rocked back teasingly. As his hands were bound he grabbed onto the ends of the scarf, holding onto the silk materials. If that was as close as he could get to touching Sherlock then he would take it. He wiggled his arse teasingly again and grinned against the sheets. Sherlock rubbed himself a little more frantically over John. His cock throbbed with want. He placed a kiss on John's right bum cheek.

'Now I do believe you said you'd sit on my cock whilst I drive you home.'

'Yes I did,' John hummed. 'But you're going to have to prepare me first. And then you're going to have to help me sit on your cock as I can't use my arms.'

Sherlock grinned and stuck two fingers by John's mouth. 'Suck,' he whispered gently.

John moaned and sucked the offered fingers in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and lapping his tongue around them like he did Sherlock's cock. He hummed around Sherlock's fingers, hungry in anticipation of what was to come. Literally and figuratively.

Sherlock moaned softly. 'You're too good at this.' John huffed a laugh and continued coating Sherlock's fingers with his saliva. He'd gotten pretty good at it in the short amount of time they'd been together. He'd never done it prior to last night, but after all their stints in that time he had developed a basic technique. He couldn't wait to hone it and become somewhat of an expert in that area.

Sherlock pulled his fingers from John's mouth. 'Prepare yourself,' he warned as he moved his fingers to where John so desperately wanted them.

He wouldn't normally have warned John but something had broken in Sherlock today that made him unseen to hurt John.

John pushed himself closer to Sherlock's fingers, desperate for the contact. 'Come on Sherlock, please. I'm ready. Please.'

Sherlock closed his eyes and taking a deep breath he plunged two fingers in. John gasped and clenched down around Sherlock's fingers. It burned a little but it wasn't painful. He pushed his face closer to the mattress, his hands clutching the scarf tightly.

'That's it Sherlock. Open me up. Open me so I can sit on that gorgeous fucking cock of yours and you can drive me home.'

'I don't want to hurt you,' he whispered, continuing to drive John mad with his fingers. 'Tell me if it gets too painful.' He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. 'I couldn't bear to see you hurt.'

'I'm not made of glass, Sherlock. I'm not going to break,' John told him, rocking back on his fingers. 'Need I remind you that I was shot, died on the table twice, but ultimately lived? I think I can survive you sticking your prick up my arse and fucking me with reckless abandon.'

'Don't say that!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'I never want to imagine you like that. I never want to think that we could have never met.' Tears swelled in his eyes and one splashed on John's back. John froze. He hadn't meant to affect Sherlock in such a way. Hell, he'd made Sherlock cry. This was not good. No. Not one bit. Tears welled up in John's own eyes and he swallowed thickly around the lump forming in his throat.

'Untie me, Sherlock,' he croaked out. 'Please.'

'No.' Sherlock's jaw tightened stubbornly as he began to move his fingers faster, throwing himself into the task at hand rather than paying attention to his emotions.

'Sher– oh fuck,' John groaned, his hips involuntarily rocking back on Sherlock's dexterous fingers. 'You can't... Oh god... Run away from your... Jesus... Emotions forever. At... Shit... At some point you're going to... Oh god there, yes... To have to face them. Talk about them.' John knew it was useless trying to talk about it now, especially with Sherlock's fingers doing such wonderful, pleasurable things.

Sherlock hit John's pleasure spot relentlessly. 'I'm not running away,' he bit back.

'Then let's talk. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!' Sherlock had hit John's prostate and in the emotional state he was in it was exactly what he needed to bring him back to their current activity. 'After you fuck me, preferably. Please, Sherlock. Can I have your cock now?'

Sherlock removed his fingers and grabbed John, turning him around. Before John could even comment on Sherlock's teary eyes his cock was inside of him and his lips started to attack the soldier's. John gave an 'mmph' against Sherlock's sudden attack on his lips, but it quickly turned into a moan of pleasure and he kissed Sherlock back, hard. He rocked his hips against Sherlock's, rutting on his cock as Sherlock writhed above him. He broke the kiss and gasped for air.

'I thought I was going to ride you?' he asked, somewhat disappointed. 'But this is good too.'

Sherlock pulled at John and leant back onto the bed, watching as John fell onto his cock heavily. 'Better?' he asked softly. He glanced away from John. He didn't want the other man to see how emotional he still was.

'Oh god yes,' John moaned. He threw his head back as he impaled himself on Sherlock's cock, his hands grasping the silk scarf but slowly going slack as he focused on giving Sherlock pleasure too.

'Hey. Sherlock, hey,' he said gently. 'Don't dwell on what I said. Forget that I said it. Delete it from your mind. Look at me. I'm alive and am sitting on your cock. Don't think about what could have been. Think about what is, what's happening now, and don't get lost in your mind. Please.'

He wiggled slowly up then slowly down Sherlock's cock, hoping to draw him out of his reverie and maybe get a rather delicious moan out of him as well.

'I won't,' Sherlock gasped, thrusting upwards. 'I promise.' He moaned and bit his lip. His cock was already begging for a release but he told himself he'd hold on.

'Good,' John half smiled as Sherlock thrust up in earnest. 'Oh fuck. I'm close, Sherlock. Don't stop.'

Sherlock grunted as he frantically bucked upwards. 'I'm close too. I guess it's because we teased the fuck out of our cocks before.'

'That's definitely it,' John ground out. 'Touch me.' Sherlock reached out, wrapping his cool fingers around John's beating cock.

'Oh fuck,' John gasped, fucking himself on Sherlock's cock and in his hand. 'God, so close. Tell me something filthy, Sherlock. Use my name. Help me cum all over your torso as I fuck myself on your cock.'

'Jonathan Hamish Watson I hope you know that by the time my cock is done ramming itself up your arse you won't be able to stand,' Sherlock growled.

'Ooooh yes, Sherlock, yes,' John gasped, frantically moving above Sherlock. 'More. Tell me more.'

'You'll be so raw from this that even moving your legs will pain you.' Sherlock ran one hand to John's arse and lightly spanked it.

Ok, so perhaps his lust was winning over his concern to not hurt John, but that skin on skin sound sent Sherlock to pure ecstasy. That extra jolt was all it took to send John over the edge. He screamed Sherlock's name until his voice had gone hoarse. Sherlock twisted his hand around John's cock as he began a frantic pattern of thrusting upwards so hard John almost slid off of him and bringing his hips back down so John landed on him with a heavy thud.

'Oh fuck Sherlock yes!' John cried, still cumming. He tried to impale himself on Sherlock's cock again. When he realized his legs weren't working (god damn, Sherlock had been right about the not being able to walk thing) he leaned back and used the pads of his fingers to stroke Sherlock's sac.

Sherlock gasped. 'Oh god.' He shook his head. 'A little longer.' He was determined to be at this for a little while longer. The longer he was here the longer he didn't have to leave to see his brother to discuss the danger John was in.

John's cock was still in Sherlock's hand and his arse was still clamped around Sherlock's cock, and the combined stimulation was making him hard again. Fastest non-drug-induced recovery time, John thought sarcastically to himself.

'Look at that, Sherlock. With your prick up my arse and my prick in your hand you've gotten me hard again already,' he grinned down at his beautifully debauched lover. 'See how good you make me feel? How good does it feel to have me still riding your cock? Fucking your hand? Oooh Sherlock it all feels so good, I think I'm gonna cum again.'

'It feels tremendous,' Sherlock groaned. 'Now cum for me and if you're very lucky I will too. In fact beg. If you want me so badly you'll have to beg.'

John writhed frantically over Sherlock, panting in exhaustion and from being so close to cumming for the second time in only minutes.

'Please, Sherlock, please. Cum for me. Cum in my arse, make me cum all over you again. Stay with me, stay in me, don't stop.' Sherlock arched his back and groaned as he finally allowed his cock its release.

'Yes, Sherlock, yes,' John moaned, arching his back so Sherlock's cock would reach a new angle. 'Oh fuck, fuck! I'm cumming!' He threw back his head in ecstasy has he began cumming all over Sherlock's torso again. Sherlock's eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he rode through their joint orgasm.

'Thank you,' he muttered. 'I needed this distraction.' John collapsed on top of Sherlock, landing with an obscene splat in his own cum. If he didn't feel so sated he would have been disgusted.

'Oh, I needed this too,' he grinned goofily against Sherlock's chest. He wriggled his arms to let Sherlock know he wanted out of his restraints. Sherlock's fingers trembled as they untied John. He gently placed the scarf to one side and pulled himself out of John.

'No, but really. I can't thank you enough." The tears were starting to form again. Sherlock could tell he had wet eyes. He blinked and smiled weakly at John. John nuzzled his nose against Sherlock's jaw.

'I needed it too, Sherlock. More than you know.' He sighed, brushing away thoughts of Moriarty before they ruined his 'I just had sex' high.

'Help me into the covers?' he asked weakly. 'It seems you did render my legs useless.' Sherlock lifted the cover and dragged John's limp body beneath it.

'Sorry,' he croaked. 'I got terribly carried away.'

'Like I said earlier, Sherlock, a rough fuck is ok every once in a while. And I'm not made of glass. I'm just so sated that I can't move properly. It's happened before and it will happen again.' He grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him down for a soothing kiss, draping the covers around them. 'I'll be fine, love. No need to worry.'

'No it's not ok!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'It's not right that you have to get hurt because of me.' Of course he wasn't talking about sex anymore. His thoughts steered towards Moriarty, his brother, and the protection Sherlock had to get John in order to keep him safe. John blanched at Sherlock's tone. This wasn't about the sex anymore and they both knew it. And it was apparent Sherlock didn't know that John knew, so John decided to test him one more time.

'Sherlock, this isn't just about sex anymore, is it?' he questioned quietly. 'Something's wrong. More than wrong. I can feel it in your tense muscles and your over-protectiveness. Please, Sherlock, tell me what's wrong.'

'Some aspects of my life don't concern you.' Sherlock closed his eyes. 'Now go to sleep. It's been a long day.'Too long, a small voice added in the back of his mind.

John nodded and sighed in defeat, knowing not to push Sherlock too far into talking about something he most definitely didn't want to talk about. The last time that had happened they'd shouted at each other for hours, John had gone to bed angry, and Sherlock had rearranged the contents of the fridge so that John had to move bags of eyeballs and fingers to get at the milk. In the end they had both sort of surrendered, but the issue had never truly been resolved. He couldn't even remember what they had been trying to discuss. He laid his head on Sherlock's chest, listening to the erratic heartbeat as his chest rose and fell with shaky breaths.

He cares so much, and it scares him, John swallowed. He buried his nose in his chest and inhaled deeply, loving Sherlock's natural musk mixed with the smell of sex. If he could bottle that into a cologne he would do so in a heartbeat. He clutched weakly at Sherlock's arms, trying to give himself as much skin-on-skin contact as possible.

'Stay with me until I fall asleep,' John whispered, nuzzling his nose into the hollow at Sherlock's throat. 'That's all I ask. Please.'

'I'm not going anywhere.' Sherlock swallowed thickly, knowing that that was one more lie on top of a thousand other lies to come. He wrapped his arms around John tightly and sighed softly as John snuggled up against him. He wished he didn't have to lie. He kept on telling himself that it was for John's own good but then why was there that gut wrenching feeling of doing wrong bubbling in his gut?

John sighed and snuggled closer to Sherlock. For being all bones and angles his body made a surprisingly soft and comfortable pillow. John thought sleep would be a long time coming, but with the physical exhaustion of his two orgasms plus the mental exhaustion from teasing each other for over an hour plus the threat of Moriarty looking over them, his eyelids began to droop and his grip on Sherlock slackened just a bit.

'I love you Sherlock,' John grumbled into his chest, tilting his nose up so his lips were at the underside of Sherlock's jaw. 'I love you so much. I just thought you should know that.' He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's jaw, hoping to tempt him into a soft kiss before he fell asleep.

'I love you too.' I love you a little too much.Sherlock brushed his lips against John's. 'Now sleep.' John hummed against the kiss and settled his head against Sherlock's chest, drifting off to sleep safe and warm in Sherlock's arms.

It was horrible watching John sleep. It was like looking at those photos of the young men all over again, and if it wasn't for the slight movement of his chest Sherlock would have found himself terrified that he was dead. His mind was ticking frantically. It hurt to think. His mind palace was under attack left, right, and center, and with it his pulse beat frantically as his heart pumped out of control. He slowly pulled himself away from the sleeping man. John gave off a disgruntled sound but apart from that remained completely still. Satisfied John was fast asleep he began to talk, knowing full well that the doctor couldn't really hear him.

'I'm sorry, you know. I've been selfish. I let you get too close to me. I'm a dangerous man to be close to, believe me. However I am more sorry for what might happen now that you are in danger. Just know this: I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.' He let himself have the guilty pleasure of leaving a light kiss on John's head before dragging himself from the bed. He sighed heavily as he began to clean himself up and pull on his clothes. He grabbed his coat and with a small smile pulling at his lips picked up the scarf that only moments ago had been used for far less innocent reasons than keeping warm.

'Goodbye Jonathan,' he muttered, shutting the door to the bedroom and heading out of the flat and into the dusky night.

John slept soundly and dreamlessly, safe and warm, clutching onto his Sherlock pillow. He gave a small sound of discomfort when he felt his pillow shift but was too far into his sleep to really wake up and do anything about it. He could hear Sherlock's voice, muffled and almost distressed breaching through his sleep-addled mind. He didn't understand what he was saying but his voice echoed through his mind and it gave him some rather delicious dreams. As his body started to register that there was no longer another warm body by its side his dreams turned into nightmares.

He was running after Sherlock. Whether they were on a case and he was trying to catch up or he was simply chasing after him was unknown. All he knew was that Sherlock was getting farther and farther away from him and no matter how hard he tried to catch up he couldn't. He tried shouting but Sherlock didn't hear him. There was a loud bang in his dream and he continued to run to investigate but when he rounded a corner he found Sherlock's body on the ground and Moriarty standing over him, pointing a gun at John with a malicious grin on his face. As soon as Moriarty fired the gun at him John jolted awake with a harsh cry and clutched at his chest, his wounded shoulder protesting at just the idea of being shot. John gulped down deep breaths to stead himself, telling himself it was only a dream, that Sherlock was alive and he was alive, they were both alive and safe. He flopped back down on the bed and shut his eyes, forcing himself to fall back asleep, not even realizing that Sherlock wasn't in bed with him.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock arrived at Mycroft's office at the dead of night. He'd walked, wanting to clear his head without the silly interruptions cab drivers seemed to make. He hadn't even needed to knock on his brother's door. It was wide open. Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong here, not quite right, out of place. He walked silently in, monitoring the room with expert eyes, trying to hone in on anything that was fishy or out of order. He froze as he heard a muffled groan.

He swallowed down hard as he walked in the direction that the sound had come from. He felt a little bit of himself break when he came across the sight that now lay before him. Mycroft was now crumpled on the floor. There was a gash running straight through his brother's forehead and blood was gushing from the wound heavily. It looked as though his brother had taken a punch to the nose too and his cheeks and neck were dotted in an array of purple bruises.

Sherlock dropped to his knees and exhaled softly. 'Oh, Myc.' Myc was a reference to the nickname their mother, and in turn he, had called the younger Mycroft Holmes. It was a sign that Sherlock was terrified and, in truth, he really did feel just like a ten-year-old boy way out of his depth.

As the two Holmes brothers clutched at each other in the dark all Sherlock could think was, Moriarty will pay for this. Because, without even asking, Sherlock knew that only one person could have done this to his brother. This was a warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the cliffhangers. But I torture myself with these as much as I do you guys. Sorry, but not really. We'll see you next week. Happy Red Pants Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	7. How I've Missed You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short. I would hate to call it a filler, but that's kind of what this is.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft
> 
> Me: John, Greg
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: mostly just angst, but there's a lot of it.

John woke the next morning feeling more exhausted than he'd been when he went to sleep. After the nightmare he didn't sleep well at all, and every now and again it would come back. He didn't jump in surprise anymore; just let himself wake up before forcing himself to fall back asleep. He'd stopped dreaming after the nightmare began for the third time, but it was a restless sleep.

As he started to rouse himself from the little sleep he'd gotten he groped blindly for Sherlock, hoping to pull him close and get a few more minutes of sleep, but all his hand encountered was cold, empty sheets. He slowly lifted his head to see that he was the only one in bed. Maybe Sherlock had gotten up before him? Maybe he hadn't slept? He was probably out in the kitchen working on an experiment or trying to solve the triple homicide.

'Sherlock?' he called, not that he would hear if he was in experiment mode. He sat up slowly, his arse protesting but at least his legs worked again. He stood up and went to grab his pajama bottoms before he remembered he wasn't in his room. He groaned and ran his hands over his face. _Maybe Sherlock won't mind if I borrow his pajamas again,_ he thought to himself. Sherlock's blue dressing gown was still on the floor and the pajamas John had 'forced' him into were on the floor as well. He picked up the clothes and pulled them on, smiling when he was enveloped in the essence of Sherlock. He pulled on the dressing gown and ran his hands down the silky fabric, wrapping it tightly around himself.

'Hey, Sherlock, are you home?' he asked as he padded out into the kitchen. Sherlock wasn't there and his coat wasn't on its hook by the door either. John figured he had gone to the Yard to work on the case, possibly Saint Bart's to examine the bodies. He went back to Sherlock's room to pull his mobile from his jeans and dialed Greg's number.

'John! Good morning! Did you sleep well?' Greg's voice chuckled. John merely sighed and ignored the question.

'Is Sherlock there? He's not at the flat and I was just wondering if he was working with you?'

'No. Sorry mate, he's not here. I figured after how quickly you two dashed out yesterday that you would be a little more... preoccupied.' Greg coughed slightly before continuing. 'He might be at Bart's, but have you tried calling him?'

John slapped a palm to his forehead. _Idiot! You have your fucking mobile and you call **Greg** first instead of **Sherlock?**_

'I'm taking your silence as a no,' Greg said. 'Call him, and if he doesn't answer for a while call me back. He seemed pretty shaken up yesterday.'

'Yeah Greg, thanks,' John said, hanging up quickly. He hit speed dial 1 and let the phone ring and ring and ring. Sherlock wasn't answering. If John called he always answered. Always. Now John was scared. He didn't really want to call Greg back so soon, and he didn't want to call Mycroft at all. He was going to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt and give him time to come home before dinner. If he wasn't home by then he would call Greg and they would figure something out. He sighed, placed his mobile in the dressing gown's pocket, and made himself some breakfast, hoping Sherlock was alright.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock held a damp cloth to Mycroft's head wound. 'I'm truly sorry that you had to get caught up in this. I never meant for you to get hurt.'

'It's quite alright,' the government official grunted through gritted teeth. 'It is I who should apologize.'

Sherlock's brow creased. 'Why do you say that?'

'Because I led him to you,' the elder Holmes brother's voice wavered.

'What?' He swallowed down hard. He couldn't quite believe it.

'I was trying to pry some very important information from him and he would only talk if I gave information in return.'

Sherlock shook his head and pressed a little harder than necessary on Mycroft's head wound. He hissed, inhaling sharply.

'I am sorry. I didn't think. I never dreamt that—'

'Leave your explanations Mycroft,' Sherlock spat angrily. 'So this is why you were so keen to help. You made a mistake and wanted to make it up to me by playing the hero.'

'No, you're my brother. I wanted to help,' Mycroft sighed tiredly.

Sherlock nodded. 'Yes well, it's a little too late to start playing happy families now.'

It was then that Sherlock became aware of a faint buzzing in his trench coat pocket. Reaching inside he realized that it was John trying to call him and not for the first time either. He had missed several calls from his flatmate.

His first instinct was to panic but his cold and logical brain told him to answer the phone.

'Hello?' He swallowed down on a lump in his throat as he waited for a reply.

'Sherlock! Thank God!' John sighed in relief. He clutched a hand to his chest and forced himself to breathe, closing his eyes as Sherlock's cool voice spun around in his mind. 'I've been trying to reach you for hours. I figured you were either at the Yard or Bart's working on the case. So, where are you that it took you so long to answer your phone?'

'Erm yes, sorry. I was at Saint Bart's examining the bodies from the latest case,' Sherlock lied coolly. 'I was rather preoccupied. I'll be back soon.'

'Alright,' John sighed, relief flooding his bones. He wasn't sure if Sherlock was lying to him again or if he had really gone to Saint Bart's but he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He hummed into the phone and decided to try to hurry Sherlock home with a bit of seduction.

'When I woke up I was rather disappointed you weren't here in bed with me,' he said into the receiver. 'I was looking forward to some rather passionate morning sex. But it's fine now. I've been lounging in your pajama clothes all day, couldn't be bothered to get properly dressed. At first it was your pajamas and dressing gown, but then the clothes got too hot so I took off the shirt. Then I kept tripping over the pant legs, so I took those off too. Can you guess what I'm wearing now, Sherlock?' He was panting into the phone, his own words turning himself on. 'I am sitting in your chair wearing nothing but your blue dressing gown and the silk feels fantastic against my bare skin.' He moaned into the phone as his hand danced along his inner thigh, teasing himself on. 'Hurry home so I can _ravish_ you.'

Sherlock bit his lip hungrily. 'I will most definitely ravish you.' When he hung up Mycroft was grinning.

'Oh shut up,' Sherlock growled.

'I presume a congratulations is in order.'

'You presume correctly.'

John grinned in triumph. He sat his phone on the arm of Sherlock's chair and continued to stroke small circles on his thighs. Knowing Sherlock and how he was at the morgue he'd be at least another hour, maybe more. But with the promise of a thorough ravishing in the future he'd probably try to be home sooner. John hummed at the prospect and gripped his thighs tightly, just enough pain to help his erection wane but not kill it completely.

'Hurry home, Sherlock,' he whispered to the flat.

Sherlock stood to his feet and placed a gentle kiss to Mycroft's head. 'Take care of yourself.'

'You're not angry with me?'

'Of course I am,' Sherlock retorted. 'But that doesn't mean I don't worry about you.'

'He's really softened you up,' Mycroft stated, not even having to say who he was.

'Is that a bad thing?' Sherlock quizzed.

'Not entirely no. Love suits you brother.'

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but then decided not to.

'Goodbye Mycroft.' He curtly ended their talk. 'We will talk soon about putting some strong security in place for John.'

'Yes, very well. Enjoy ravishing our famous blogger for me.'

Sherlock blushed bright red. 'If you want to use that mouth of yours for something more useful than making jibes at me try eating that chocolate cake that you've secretly stashed away.' He smirked, strolling away with at least a little bit of dignity.

Instead of turning himself on further John had fallen asleep in Sherlock's chair. He had been awake and stressing over Sherlock's abrupt absence for hours and his mind suddenly decided that since it knew Sherlock was safe it was alright to relax and take a break. He began dreaming of running after Sherlock again but this time he was able to catch up and tackle him to the ground, kissing him soundly until Sherlock began laughing against his lips. He smiled in his sleep.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock stood outside the flat puffing on what was his third cigarette. It wasn't often that he smoked but when he did he did it in excess. It was his rather feeble attempt to calm himself down and to an extent it really did help de-stress his mind. As he walked up into the flat he wrinkled up his nose. He smelt terrible. It was the smell akin to a pub. He just hoped John wouldn't notice.

When Sherlock entered the flat he couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of John fast asleep in his chair. John shifted in the chair. He was dreaming about the fangirls again, about how they thought he was 'cute and adorable' like a hedgehog or a Hobbit. He wasn't cute and adorable god dammit! He was a soldier! He'd killed people, he'd brought people back to life, and he'd been shot for his efforts. He wasn't cute and adorable. He wasn't.

'I'm not a Hobbit,' he mumbled in his sleep, his head turning from side to side. 'Mm not.'

Sherlock sniggered and knelt down besides the sleeping John. 'Yes you are,' he cooed softly. 'You're my little Hobbit.'

There was a new voice in his dream. It wasn't taunting like the other voices in his dream. This one was deeper, soothing, and one he would be able to recognize anywhere. His lip twitched in the resemblance of a smile and he hummed, his mind trying to break free of sleep. John turned toward the voice, his eyes opening slightly. He smiled fully when he recognized Sherlock's form, the great coat on his shoulders and the scarf ( _that scarf_ ) around his neck. He reached out and snaked a hand around Sherlock's shoulders, up his neck, and into his hair, pulling his face closer. He smelled strongly of cigarettes but John was too tired to care at the moment.

'Missed you,' John whispered, still not truly awake.

'I missed you too,' Sherlock replied softly. He then found himself torn between kissing the living daylights out of the man and pulling away. Kissing him was probably an incredibly bad idea. If John didn't work it out on his own a kiss would surely be the tell tale sign that Sherlock had been smoking. He didn't want that. It would cause John to worry. John always worried when he smoked. In the end he settled for a light, somewhat clumsy kiss on John's forehead. John huffed in protest and pouted. He clutched at Sherlock's hair and tried to pull him down for a real kiss.

'John I'm really not sure that—' Sherlock's sentence was cut off by John's lips. He froze and grimaced as he awaited John's reaction. John mashed his lips with Sherlock's, humming at the contact. His tongue darted out to taste Sherlock's lips, but something was off. They didn't taste right. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and pulled away.

'You've been smoking,' he said bluntly. It wasn't meant to be accusatory but concerned. Sherlock only ever smoked when he was nervous these days, so the taste and smell were cause for concern.

Sherlock sighed. 'Yes, but only one. It's nothing for you to worry about.' _**More** lies, Sherlock? _ The slightly uneasy man growled at the voice in his head and tapped his fingers against his skull slowly in attempt to rid himself of it. Oh how he hated himself for lying. The lies were beginning to pile up now and his head was beginning to pound. John nodded, resting his forehead against Sherlock's, his hand still gripping Sherlock's hair.

'This case is different, isn't it?'

Sherlock zoned out for a few moments, his eyes unfocused, his jaw taught with the tension building up within him. He exhaled and swallowed down hard. 'It's a little trickier than most, yes.' He finally managed to move his mouth to speak but the words sounded addled with angst and he instantly flinched at his own emotion spilling out into the already tense atmosphere.

John squeezed the back of Sherlock's neck gently. 'Sounds like you need a distraction,' he murmured. He grabbed Sherlock's other hand by the wrist and placed it on his inner thigh, the dressing gown's material falling away oh so subtly. 'May I distract the great Sherlock Holmes?'

Sherlock shook his head and laughed. 'Oh John,' he sighed happily, dropping himself onto the inviting lap that awaited him. John smiled and chuckled, his hands exploring all over under Sherlock's great coat before coming to rest on his ample bum cheeks. John rubbed his hands over Sherlock's bum soothingly as it was probably still rather sore.

'How do you feel, Sherlock?' John moaned, gently groping a bum cheek in each hand as he thrust his hips upwards.

How did he feel? 'Horny, stressed, emotional, and beyond all exhausted,' he replied truthfully. Despite feeling as though he wanted to collapse in a heap on their bed he began bucking fast and hard against John. John moaned and rocked against Sherlock, his hands squeezing Sherlock's bum tightly.

'Let me treat you to something special, Sherlock,' John breathed in his friend's ear. 'Let me show you how much I appreciate you. Let me distract you from the case.'

'Ooh,' Sherlock moaned heavily, his cock throbbing within its cage. He rubbed himself frantically against John's erection. John gasped and squeezed Sherlock's bum harder, pulling him closer. God Sherlock's trousers felt fantastic on his erection. But this wasn't about John. This was about Sherlock. John ran his hands up Sherlock's back onto his shoulders. He gripped tight and pushed him away, both men letting out a noise akin to a whimper. But John knew what he was doing. He quickly switched their positions so that Sherlock was sitting in the chair and John was straddling his body.

'This is for working so hard on the case, and to distract you from it,' he said, sliding down Sherlock's body until his knees hit the floor. He pushed Sherlock's legs apart and settled between them, pulling Sherlock closer until his bum was just off the edge of the chair. John ran his hands lightly up and down Sherlock's thighs before he began mouthing at his clothed erection.

Sherlock melted. 'Yes!' he exclaimed, thrusting upwards to his heart's content. The warmth on his arousal made his whole body shudder. John gripped Sherlock's thighs tightly as he sucked on one of Sherlock's balls through his trousers. He then licked his way up Sherlock's shaft before he couldn't ignore his need for Sherlock's cock in his mouth any longer.

His fingers flew to the button of Sherlock's trousers, struggling slightly in his lustful haze before getting them undone and tearing them down until they rested around Sherlock's ankles. He nearly moaned in relief as his gaze fell on Sherlock's gorgeous erection, standing at attention like the good little soldier it was.

John grasped the base and ran his tongue up the length, lapping at the sensitive glans. He swirled his tongue around the head, lapping up the bead of pre-cum that had formed. He watched Sherlock with rapt attention as he sucked just the head into his mouth. Sherlock whimpered and felt his whole body quiver. He closed his eyes and began puffing out huge breaths.

He let himself relax into the fantastic sensation. However as he started to relax everything that he'd been suppressing within himself began to rise to the surface. Every lie he had to tell, every emotion that he had to hide, all the events that had happened. His ragged breaths started to sound like sobs, his quivering turned into him trembling in terror, and hot tears pricked behind his closed eyelids.

John saw Sherlock's rather quick transformation from being so aroused he was practically melting in his chair into a quivering emotional mess, and not in a good way. John narrowed his eyes and sucked rather harshly on Sherlock's cock before he let it slide from his mouth in contempt.

'Alright! That is it!' he shouted. 'I am sick and tired of playing this game. Of us dancing around each other, pretending that nothing is wrong when we _both_ know that something is _very_ wrong here!' John pulled Sherlock's trousers back up harshly as yelling at Sherlock while his cock was hanging out made the serious situation almost silly. _Almost._

'I know that the bodies from the triple homicide were supposed to represent me, Sherlock. I know that you believe Moriarty is after me, and quite frankly I believe he is too. After all, he did say he was going to burn the heart out of you, and I am now your heart and soul. I _know_ I'm in danger, I _know_ you went to Mycroft for help, and I also know you had more than one cigarette before you came home. You wouldn't reek so badly if you really _had_ had just one.'

John stood up and began pacing, drawing the dressing gown around himself. 'I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, that you would tell me in time, but I just can't take it anymore! I know you were trying to protect me, to keep me safe from the knowledge that I was in danger, but you can't keep something like that from me! If my life is in danger I think I have a right to know! We are partners, Sherlock, in every sense of the word. Friends, lovers, confidants, and all we have is each other. If I were to lose you, or you to lose me, life would be incredibly dull and boring in comparison. I trust you with my life, Sherlock. So I'm asking you to do the same for me. Trust me not to go do something stupid when my life is being threatened. Trust me to be cool under pressure. And trust me to be the voice of reason in times of crises. I love you with all my heart and I know you feel the same, but I'm asking you to trust me the way I trust you.'

He paused and took a deep breath. He was shaking, his heart pounded harshly in his chest, and his left hand trembled at his side.

'And don't you _dare_ tell me that I shouldn't be concerned about my own fucking life. It is _my_ life, Sherlock. I have allowed you into it but that does _not_ mean you have permission to control it or decide what I should and should not know about it.' He turned back to look at Sherlock, his best friend, tears welling in his eyes and a few falling down his cheeks.

'You're all I have, Sherlock,' he said in a smaller voice, the tears flowing freely now. 'And I know for a fact that I am all you have as well. So please, don't hide something like this from me again. Maybe I can help, maybe I can prevent an attack on my life simply by knowing there's a threat, maybe I can even hurt the person before he or she hurts me. Just, please, don't hide something so important from me again.'

Sherlock bolted upright and strode over to John. By this point he was bright red in fury. He was furious at the world. He was furious at himself. He was furious at John. He stood there staring so intensely at John that it seemed the older man shivered in terror. He stomped his foot in anger.

'You don't understand!' he yelled. 'I thought you were different! I thought you understood.' And with that Sherlock fled from the building, tears rippling down his face, feeling suddenly small and childlike.

'Sherlock!' John yelled after him, but the man was already down the stairs and out of the building. John screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed. He clawed at his hair, his face, and then he started throwing random objects across the flat. He finally crumpled in on himself, his knees giving out, falling to the floor in a heap. He drew his knees into his chest and allowed himself to cry. He sobbed into Sherlock's dressing gown which only made him sob harder as it smelled like him and reminded him of how infuriating the man could be but he loved him god dammit.

He heard the stairs creek but thought nothing of it. _If Sherlock is going to find me then let him find me in the emotional wreck I am. I don't even want to pretend anymore,_ John thought to himself. The footsteps ascended the stairs and stopped just outside the door, assessing the room and the broken man lying on the floor. Before John could think of a nasty remark, a cold and familiar voice spoke and John froze where he lay.

'Well, that was easier than I thought it would be,' the voice said. John could hear the grin. 'I was going to have my boys create a diversion to separate you two. Knowing Sherly, he would want to leave his pet at home, especially after he got my warnings. But you two beat me to it. And he looked positively wrecked. What did you say to him?'

John didn't answer. He was frozen with fear. He didn't want to look up. That would make it real.

'The Iceman really has the most incompetent of security measures. It took my sniper only five minutes to take them all out.' He moved about the room, surveying all there was to see before stopping at John's frozen figure on the ground. He knelt down and John couldn't stop his gaze from flickering to look at the man kneeling over him.

'Hello again Johnny Boy. How I've missed you,' James Moriarty said with a wicked grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Moriarty provided by yours truly. I apologise for the cliffhanger, but I really couldn't resist. Please don't kill me. Resolution next chapter, I promise. And maybe, since this chapter is so short, I might post the next one sooner. Like by Thursday. Have a nice week!
> 
> TSA + IB


	8. Beaten and Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to update this a day early. It's raining and I was bored, so I decided to share some angst.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock
> 
> Me: John, Lestrade, random nursing staff
> 
> Shared: Moriarty
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: bondage (not the good kind), Moriarty (he's a warning all on his own), sorta graphic depictions of violence, blow jobs while in hospital

Sherlock ran and ran, his legs never faltering. He wasn't quite sure where he was running to but he knew that he had to get away from the suddenly too loud world. The world was usually so boring, so dull and quiet. However now it was far from it. Its noises screamed in Sherlock's ears and he wasn't sure just how much of the loud that he could take. Everyone sounded so happy with their lives.  _It's not fair_ , he thought spitefully. It came to him as a relief when he found a dark and peaceful back alleyway. He soon found himself collapsing against a brick wall. He pressed his cheek to the cool bricks and slowly let the anger within him spiral out into the London air.

'I'm sorry, John,' he whispered, barely recognising his voice. 'I'm so sorry.'

It was no use. His lover was on the other side of London, and his apology was far too late. Guilt twisted in his stomach. He shouldn't have to have anything to apologize for. Why was it that he had reacted in such a reckless way? Why couldn't he face his feelings as normal people did?

He let out a muffled groan as he felt his phone buzzing once more. He picked up his phone, secretly hoping it was John. His heart plunged in disappointment within its cage as he saw that it wasn't John but Lestrade. With an infuriated sigh he answered the phone. 'Hello.'

'Sherlock, this is a bit awkward but I need to ask you to turn yourself in to the Yard.' Lestrade's voice sounded strained.

'You have new evidence that you need me to look at,' Sherlock stated.

'Not as such.' Lestrade's reply was weak.

'Not as such? What is that supposed to mean?' Sherlock snapped impatiently down the phone.

'We have new evidence but we don't need you to come into the Yard to inspect it.' There was a small silence from the other end of the line. 'Sherlock, this evidence suggests that you had a part to play in the murders.'

Sherlock's world stopped.

'Sherlock, hello? Where are you? Are you at the flat? Is John with you? Don't do anything drastic.'

'I wouldn't hurt him!' Sherlock roared.

'I never said you would but if this evidence is correct, and if what Donovan has explained to me about the similarities between the young men that were killed and John I can only worry for his safety.'

'You believe the evidence,' Sherlock croaked, a lump rising in his throat.

'I don't know what to believe,' Lestrade replied. 'Just turn yourself in. I'm sure we can work something out.'

'That's what he'd want,' Sherlock hissed.

'Who?'

' _Moriarty,_ ' Sherlock ground out. 'That is exactly what he wants.' And with that Sherlock hung up the phone.

He cradled himself tightly. His brother was a traitor. His lover now detested him for lying. The Yard and soon the whole world would think he was a murderer.

He for once really didn't know what to do. He just cried because that was the only thing his body allowed him to do.

**…::-::…**

John couldn't speak. Not that he didn't want to; there were a million questions buzzing around in his head, he just couldn't find his voice to ask them. Moriarty simply grinned down at him. There was a new set of footsteps ascending the stairs and John minutely turned his head to see the sniper entering the room. Moriarty didn't even acknowledge the man's presence.

'Seb, be a dear and fetch the restraints,' the consulting criminal grinned wickedly at the doctor. 'Johnny and I here need to have a proper chat. Preferably without him interrupting this time.'

The man–Seb?–nodded and dropped a large bag at his feet. He rummaged through it and pulled out what appeared to be a set of leather belts and cuffs. John gulped and watched as the sniper handed Moriarty the straps, then returned to the door to keep watch.

'Sit up, Johnny Boy,' Moriarty ordered. 'You'll want to be comfortable for this portion.' John hesitated and got a belt to the face for it.

'I said,  _sit up_ ,' Moriarty ground out. John obeyed that time, holding tightly to the dressing gown that was the only thing keeping his dignity intact. Moriarty strapped one of the cuffs around John's ankles and another around each of his wrists, pinning his arms behind his back.

'Have a seat, John,' Moriarty smirked as he all but shoved John into his chair. Moriarty sat across from him in Sherlock's. They didn't do anything except stare at one another for quite a while.

'Why are you doing this?' John finally asked, his voice sounding feeble and weak. Moriarty actually had the gall to laugh.

' _Why?_ You want to know  _why?_ Seb, he wants to know why!' Moriarty laughed. 'Oh Johnny Boy, you don't know me at all do you?'

'No, and I never want to.'

'Tut tut, Johnny. How rude to talk to your guest in such a way.'

'You are no guest here, and you are  _not_  welcome in my home,' John spat. Then he actually spat in Moriarty's face. He simply wiped away the glob of saliva from his cheek but glared daggers at John when he flicked it onto the floor.

'The gag, Seb.'

Before John knew it a cloth was being forced between his teeth and tied tightly around his head.

'And tie him to his chair. Don't want him leaping up any time soon.'

Seb tied John to the chair with a thick length of rope. It bit into his skin but John grit his teeth and bared it.

'So, Johnny, still want to know why?' John didn't answer. 'Why not?' Jim smiled. 'Because I was bored. Because I wanted to end the two of you, but slowly, intimately, and in every way I know you fear. Is that reason enough?'

John still didn't answer, just swallowed loudly against the gag.

'Well now, let's get Sherly back here, shall we? Unless, of course, he's tied up at the Yard.' Jim smirked and plucked John's mobile from the pocket of the dressing gown. 'I hope you don't mind. Speed dial one, I presume?' He didn't wait for a reply, just hit the number and hit talk, a confident smirk on his lips.

Sherlock was aware that his phone was buzzing again. He lifted his head upwards with a great deal of difficulty. His whole body felt numb and too heavy to lift. He pulled his phone up to his eyes and was almost physically sick when he read the caller ID.

'Moriarty,' he said in a cold greeting.

'Hello Sherly baby.' The voice was teasing, mocking him.

'What do you want?' he growled back.

'Now, now. You better keep a firm hold of that temper of yours,' the voice tutted.

'Or what?' Sherlock questioned.

'Keep a hold of your temper or your little pet will die.'

'You've got John?' Sherlock spluttered. 'Let me speak to him.'

'I'm afraid he's rather tied up at the moment.' There was laughter, loud and outrageously humour-filled laughter.

'What do you want from me?' Sherlock asked, slowly feeling any power play he may have had on Moriarty slip through his fingers like sand.

'I want you to run,' Moriarty ordered.

'I'm sorry?' Sherlock murmured, deeply confused.

'You heard me. I want you to run all the way back to your flat. You have half an hour to be here. If you're late by so much as one minute your darling Johnny Boy will die.' There was a pause. 'Which is a shame. He's rather pretty. I hate killing the pretty ones.'

'Half an hour!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'I'm on the other side of London.'

'What a shame. Seb, after five shoot our little prize winning beauty.' Moriarty then began to count. 'One, two, three—'

'Alright! I'll be there!' Sherlock screamed on the number three.

'Glad to hear it.'

There was a crackle and then silence and then came the running, and the fear flooding through his veins.

Moriarty hit END on John's phone and tossed it onto the sofa.

'Your owner is on his way,' he grinned maniacally. 'Let's hope he gets here within the time limit. I would hate to kill you. It would be such a waste.' He stroked a hand through John's hair and John flinched back, breathing rapidly through his nose from the unwanted touch. He tried to snarl but it came out as more of a gurgle as so much saliva had collected in his mouth.

'Now, now Jonathan, you hurt my feelings,' Moriarty pouted. John tried to lunge forward at Moriarty's use of his full name. Only Sherlock got to call him that! Moriarty didn't even flinch at John's feeble attempt at intimidation. He just smirked and walked into the kitchen, turning on the electric kettle and rummaging through the cabinets until he found the rather impressive collection of tea.

My, my. You boys certainly have quite the assortment!' Moriarty grinned. He rifled through them until he came across a rather interesting stash hidden in the back. 'Oh. My. God.' John groaned, knowing what Moriarty had found.

'What are these, Johnny Boy?' Moriarty appeared behind John, holding a bag of tea in front of him for his scrutiny. John groaned in humiliation as a bag of John Watson tea appeared in front of him. 'There are more like this too. Sherlock Holmes, Red Pants, Mycroft, Lestrade, and multiple Doctor Who flavors. But  _Watson_  flavored tea? You bought tea that was based on yourself? Good god, I need to know what you taste like.'

John shuddered at the subtle innuendo laced in that statement. Moriarty disappeared again and poured himself a cup of John Watson tea, snickering the entire time. He sat down in Sherlock's chair again and very audibly sipped his tea, smirking across at John the entire time.

Sherlock ran faster than he had ever done before, shoving past the irritatingly slow people around him. His lungs were burning with exhaustion but he told himself that he couldn't stop, that he wouldn't stop.

When he finally came across the flat he thundered up the stairs, not really caring if it was a trap, just wanting to get to John as quickly as possible. When he sped into the flat he was instantly grabbed hold of by a large, muscular man. He was one of Moriarty's snipers, Sherlock presumed.

'Good boy Seb. He was cutting it a little bit close, don't you think?' Jim's voice washed over him like poison. 'Teach him a little lesson Seb.'

Sherlock barely had time to register John, who was gagged up and writhing on his chair, before he was tossed onto the floor like a ragdoll. He couldn't fight the man because he was too exhausted from running and besides, he was twice Sherlock's size. So he just lay there, whimpering as he took the punches.

John screamed against his gag, straining against his restraints. Sherlock was just lying there taking blow after blow from Moriarty's henchman. He didn't want to watch it, let alone listen to it, but if he closed his eyes it only made the noises worse. So he was forced to sit and stare at Moriarty who was calmly sipping at his tea as he watched Seb punch Sherlock into a bloody pulp.

Sherlock had long ago stopped screaming. He hardly registered the blows. He lay there, crumpled and bleeding out. There were probably quite a few bones in his body that were broken and, considering the floor was now painted red, he assumed he'd lost a lot of blood. He wished that he was stronger, that he could fight against Moriarty's henchman, but he was both emotionally and physically drained, and the battering he had taken so far had broken him. He glanced up at John through his matted curls, his vision now red with the blood dripping from a likely head wound he had received during his beating, but he could still see how terrified his lover was.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm so, so sorry.'

John watched Sherlock take the blows, blood pooling on the floor and gathering in his great coat. His nose looked broken, he probably had some bruised and broken ribs, and his mouth was bleeding profusely. John was horrified that Sherlock was going to be beaten to death but he couldn't scream anymore. His voice had gone hoarse from screaming and he instead had begun to cry. The tears flowed freely from his eyes as he watched Sherlock take blow after blow, his body going limp but the blows kept coming. Why wouldn't Moriarty end it?

'That's enough, Seb,' the man in question said suddenly, holding up a hand to stop his henchman's assault. Seb stopped with his fist in the air, gripping Sherlock by his shirt collar. Sherlock was limp in his grasp and was barely conscious, gasping for breath. Moriarty stood up and went over to the broken man, surveying the damage before he deemed it enough.

'Put him in his chair. Might as well make him comfortable in what time he has left. And then the two lovebirds can see each other before it all ends,' Moriarty grinned. Seb gripped Sherlock's shirt with both hands and hauled him up, depositing him in the chair Moriarty had vacated rather roughly. John couldn't tear his eyes away from Sherlock. He looked like shit and he wanted to get him to the hospital as soon as possible, but that was clearly out of the question. And if Moriarty was planning on killing them today it would be rather pointless anyway.

Sherlock's head lolled onto his chest. His breaths were shallow and his internal organs felt as though they were caving in on each other. He let out a small pitiful moan as he stared vacantly at John, his eyes dark with pain and anger.

'So you're going to just beat us up to death?' He took a deep, painful breath. 'I expected so much more of you.'

Jim snorted. 'Don't be so ridiculous.' His lips pulled back into a vicious grin. 'I'm going to set you up for a fall Sherlock.' He strode with purpose over to Sherlock, grabbing a bright shining apple and rolling it gleefully in his hands. Sherlock frowned, pursing his lips together in confusion. 'It's ok. There's no need to be frightened. Falling is just like flying.' He whistled and made a low sweeping noise like a bomb hitting the ground. 'Except it has a far more permanent destination.'

'I don't like riddles,' Sherlock hissed.

'Well, learn to!' Moriarty roared, his spit flying onto Sherlock's skin.

The detective groaned and slid down in his chair, feeling weaker by the second. 'What now Moriarty? What's the next step you're going to take on the chessboard?'

'Telling you would ruin the surprise,' Moriarty grinned, taking a large bite out of the apple. 'And I want you to be surprised when you fall. I want you to have genuine emotion on your face, running through your veins.' He took out a pocket knife and began carving in the apple. He was working methodically, like he was creating an intricate work of art. When he spoke again it felt more sinister, like the words had a greater purpose than the ones before.

'And it will start very soon, Sherlock. The fall. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I.  _Owe._  You.' He stuck the knife into the apple and set it down on the arm of Sherlock's chair. He straightened his suit and moved to the door.

'Well, I'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat. Seb, untie Johnny Boy for me but leave the gag. I rather like him that way.' He grinned and turned to Sherlock as Seb began freeing John from his bonds. 'You'll be hearing from me Sherlock Holmes.'

And then he was gone, his henchman following soon behind.

John just sat in his chair for what seemed like hours as he tried and failed to calm himself down. When he glanced back at Sherlock he jumped into soldier mode and became the army surgeon once again.

He leapt to his feet, tearing the gag from his mouth and knelt by Sherlock's side. He took his pulse and any other vital signs he could without hurting the man, all of which told him what he already knew: Sherlock had internal bleeding, broken and bruised ribs, a broken nose, and a sprained jaw (if he was lucky). He needed to be taken to a hospital, and soon.

'Sherlock, don't move. I'm going to be right back and I'm going to call Greg and I'm going to get you to the hospital.'

He dashed upstairs before the broken man could protest, hoping he would cooperate, and hastily pulled on the first pair of jeans and shirt that he found. He ran back downstairs and searched for his mobile, found it on the sofa, dialed Greg's number and hopped from foot to foot waiting for him to answer.

'Stay with me, Sherlock,' he said loud enough for Sherlock to hear. 'Don't you dare leave me now. Stay with me.'

'No,' Sherlock spluttered weakly. 'You can't call Lestrade. You just can't.' Who knew what investigation Scotland Yard would put him under once he was recovered from his injuries? His eyes were fluttering shut as his body was taken under by his pain and his fatigue. 'Please - John - just–' His jaw fell slack and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull as darkness ripped him from reality.

'Sherlock? Sherlock!' John cried, reaching out for him before he remembered how injured he was.

'John?' Lestrade said from over the phone. When had he answered? John couldn't remember him answering.

'Lestrade I need you to get an ambulance over here now!' John cried into the phone.

'What? Why? What's going on? Did Sherlock—'

'JUST GET IT HERE!' John screamed before he hung up and covered his face in his hands, crying into them.

'Sherlock, you don't get to leave me like this. You are a fighter, so fight! Don't let Moriarty win! Live, Sherlock. Please. For me. Please. I love you. I love you so much and I can't lose you. You're all I have. Just stay with me Sherlock. Stay with me.'

Sherlock grunted unconsciously. 'Sentimental fool,' he mumbled quietly.

'Yes, that's exactly what I am,' John told the unconscious man. 'But I don't care. I would rather be a sentimental fool than a machine!' He could hear the ambulance sirens in the distance, glad Greg worked so quickly for them without truly getting answers. The paramedics rushed upstairs and past John when they saw the unconscious and bloodied man sat on the chair.

'Be careful,' John pleaded. 'He's got some internal bleeding and cracked and broken ribs. Please be gentle with him.'

'Sir, we know what we're doing,' one assured him.

'So do I,' John bit back. 'I went to medical school, I joined the Queen's Army, I sewed people back together on the front line, and I think I should know what internal bleeding looks like.' The paramedics just nodded and loaded Sherlock onto the stretcher, securing him onto it. John followed behind, scrambling into the back of the ambulance before they could shut him out.

Sherlock flat lined on the way to the hospital but John, ever in soldier mode in a crisis, brought him back to a steady rhythm. It was easier to look at Sherlock if he pretended it wasn't Sherlock, that he was just another young kid on the line who needed to survive so he could get back to his girl. But it never lasted for long, the illusion, and when John would look at his friend's blood on his hands he would suck in a breath and close his eyes, trying not to pass out.

'You better live from this you stupid selfish bastard,' John said to nobody in particular. 'Because if you don't I don't know what I'd do. If you somehow make it through this, if you survive and recover to your full strength, I'll kiss you so hard you can't breathe and I'll suffocate you with love. Or with a pillow. Bloody idiot.' There was a small smile on his lips despite his murderous words.

When they finally reached the hospital Sherlock was wheeled off to emergency surgery. John had half a mind to tell them not to cut the Belstaff coat, but he was swarmed by nurses who wanted to collect samples of the blood from his hands and clean him up.

He was in the surgery waiting room, clean of blood, a cheap cup of coffee in his hands, when Greg showed up. They merely nodded at one another, neither wanting to speak. Greg was there for John should things go sour. John was there for Sherlock but his heart held revenge. Moriarty and his henchman would pay for what they did today. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would make them pay.

**…::-::…**

Pain. That was what Sherlock felt as he next awoke. Sherlock was finely tuned to his body and he could tell that he had several drugs pumping their way through his veins. His eyelids flickered open. Someone was calling his name softly. A woman. A nurse. His sluggish mind slowly retracted the information as he studied the blurred outline.

Suddenly it all came back to him. Moriarty. John. Hospital.

'Jo—' he mumbled incoherently. 'I want John.'

'Shhh sweetheart. It'll be over soon. Then you can see him,' the nurse reassured him.

**…::-::…**

John glared at the floor, his eyes tracing the patterns in the carpet until he could draw them from memory. Greg was still there, working from his phone. He didn't want to leave John alone, not after the threat Moriarty left them both. John hadn't had to tell him much as Sherlock had mentioned the man in their phone call earlier. That, and with Sherlock in critical condition, Greg now knew who to believe.

Sherlock had been out of surgery for hours but the doctor had advised John to wait until Sherlock had regained full consciousness. Given Sherlock's resilience to most drugs John knew that wouldn't take as long as a normal patient. He had been pacing until Greg sat him down in a chair and held him there until John's muscles relaxed. That had been almost half a day ago. Greg had gone to get coffee and breakfast when a nurse appeared at John's side. She was holding a chart, probably Sherlock's vitals, and was smiling brightly.

'Are you Doctor Watson?' she asked.

'Yes. Yes, that's me,' John said, standing up so quickly the blood rushed to his head.

'I'm Donna, the RN on duty for Sherlock. Normally I would tell you about his recovery but seeing as you're a medical man yourself I didn't see any harm in letting you see for yourself.' She handed the chart over and John scanned through it quickly. Sherlock's vitals looked good, his white count was a little high, but he looked good.

'Can I see him now?' John asked softly, pleading with his eyes.

'Of course,' Donna smiled. 'He's been asking for you for hours now. But he would always fall back asleep as soon as we assured him that he could. Now that he's regained most of his consciousness I think it's safe for you two to see each other now.'

John could barely contain himself. Sherlock was OK and he was going to be able to see him. He sent Greg a quick message to let him know where he was and followed the nurse to the lift. She took him to the appropriate floor and led him to Sherlock's room.

He looked frail and weak in the hospital bed, hooked up to so many tubes and needles. But he was alive and that was all that mattered.

'Sherlock,' John sighed softly, his shoulders slumping in relief.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open at the sound of John's voice. A lop sided smile wriggled across his features. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. Instead he told John everything with his eyes. John sniffled and rushed to Sherlock's side. He gingerly took one of Sherlock's hands in his and pulled a stray curl off Sherlock's forehead so he could place a light kiss to it.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, stroking a hand through Sherlock's hair. 'I'm so sorry. This happened because of me. If I had run after you this never would have happened. And I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry.'

John was outright sobbing now, clutching onto Sherlock's hand but trying not to squeeze too hard to hurt him. He buried his face in Sherlock's hair and sobbed.

'My fault,' Sherlock gasped, trying to find his voice again. 'All my fault. Don't cry.' Tears were forming in his own eyes as he watched John slowly turn into a sobbing mess. 'I was a heartless bastard. I lied. I ran away.'

John couldn't say anything else other than 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry' over and over as he cried into Sherlock's shoulder. He managed a 'Don't blame yourself' and a 'You were trying to protect me' before he went back to his sorry mantra.

'John!' Sherlock exclaimed, yelping as a bolt of pain tore through him. He coughed and struggled for breath. 'Please stop apologising,' he whispered softly as he rode through the inability to draw breath in his lungs. John jumped back when he heard Sherlock's heart monitor beep frantically. He had been holding Sherlock too tightly and had hurt him.

'Sorry,' he grumbled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Then he wanted to apologize for apologizing as Sherlock had asked him to stop but held his tongue.

'Hey.' Sherlock lifted his fingertips to John's chin. 'I'm ok, really I am.' He exhaled loudly. 'Stop feeling so bad.'

'You look like death warmed over,' John sniffed. 'How could I not feel bad?' He avoided Sherlock's gaze, closing his eyes as more tears slid down his cheeks.

'I wish you would stop.' Sherlock trapped an escaped tear under the pad of his thumb and briskly wiped it away. 'You're breaking my heart.' Just as a confirmation his heart monitor skipped a few beats. John held Sherlock's hand on his cheek, reassuring himself that Sherlock was safe and alive albeit looking like shit.

'I don't want to break you any more than has already been done,' John choked out. 'I love you so much Sherlock, and it's killing me seeing you so broken like this. Now I know why you wanted to keep me from knowing about the danger I was in, and I'm sorry for trying to push you into telling me and then for flying off the handle and yelling at you and for... for...' He nuzzled his face into Sherlock's palm as he tried to hold back the tears. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll trust your judgment from now on. I'm so sorry.'

'Oh John,' Sherlock sighed. 'It's fine. It's all fine.' He gently tugged at John's jaw. 'Could you perhaps kiss me now?' he asked, almost sounding like he was begging and, in a way, he supposed he was. John laughed weakly and wiped the tears from his eyes.

'I can do that, yeah,' he said softly, a small smile on his lips.

He moved closer to Sherlock's bedside and gently carded his fingers through Sherlock's curls. He rested his forehead against Sherlock's, his hand gripping the back of Sherlock's neck, tilting his head back slightly. His lips hovered over Sherlock's, nervous about hurting him but wanting to kiss him all the same. Sherlock's heart monitor started beeping faster and John smiled. He liked knowing that he could affect Sherlock like that, make his heart beat faster, skip a beat, just by being in his presence. He really did love him. And with that he brought his lips to Sherlock's in a very passionate kiss. Sherlock hummed against the kiss, moving his lips as fast as was humanly possible. He groaned as he had to pull away to breathe. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to do anything in fact.

'That was…' He licked his lips and chuckled. 'I can't even describe it.' John chuckled and cupped Sherlock's face in his hands, his thumbs skimming across his cheekbones. He kissed Sherlock again, softly that time, and pulled away but still held his face.

'I love you,' he whispered. 'I love you so much. And you may think me a sentimental fool but I don't care. I will continue to love you no matter what. Not even Moriarty could tear us apart.'

Sherlock frowned. 'I love you too but don't be so foolish as to think that Moriarty doesn't have the power to hurt us more. I think that he's coming back – bigger than ever.' John sighed and pressed his forehead against Sherlock's, clutching his face in his hands.

'Then we'll just have to prepare for the worst.' He kissed Sherlock again. He never wanted to stop kissing him. He never wanted to fight again. He broke away when Sherlock's heart started beating rapidly again as he didn't want the nursing staff to worry.

'And Mycroft needs to get better security. Moriarty said it took his sniper five minutes to take them all out.'

'It isn't Mycroft's fault.' Sherlock's voice broke. 'I went to talk to him about security and–' His lower lip trembled. 'He was hurt badly. Obviously not as hurt as me but still, you should have seen him John. I don't blame him for being a little distracted. We never really got around to talking about what measures needed to be taken.'

'Moriarty got to Mycroft?' John pulled back to look Sherlock in the eye. 'Is he alright? What happened?'

Sherlock nodded. 'He's fine. A little battered about and shaken up maybe. The last time I saw him he was grinning like the cat that got the cream after he overheard our phone call.'

The blood drained from John's face. He gulped audibly and he stared at Sherlock. 'Your brother knows about us? Like, "us" us?'

'Yes,' Sherlock sighed but smiled slightly. 'He seemed relatively happy for us in fact.'

'Of course he was. Just as long as he doesn't tell Queen and Country about our relationship I'll be fine,' John scoffed. 'It seems that everyone was under the impression that we were a couple from the very beginning. I just wish it hadn't taken us so long to actually become one.' John paused and grinned. 'Although I really enjoyed helping you work off that homemade Viagra. That was some of the best sex I'd ever had.'

'The sex was magnificent,' Sherlock giggled. 'Although, my cock still hurts even thinking about it. Saying that I had considered… Ah never mind.' He shook his head. 'You'd think I was being stupid.'

'Nothing you say could ever be considered stupid,' John grinned. 'Not with that brilliant mind of yours.' He stroked his thumbs across Sherlock's cheekbones again. 'What were you considering? You can tell me and I promise not to call it stupid.'

'That there may be a chance that I could make the drug I used safe for consumption without all the nasty side effects.' Sherlock smirked. 'Just the one desired one of course.'

'I was hoping you'd say that,' John grinned broadly. 'Got any ideas on where to start?'

'A pretty good idea, yes,' Sherlock purred. 'Might need to run a few experiments first though.'

'I volunteer as guinea pig,' John smirked. He pulled Sherlock into another kiss, his tongue licking at Sherlock's lower lip, asking permission. Sherlock let John in, kissing him with force despite his fatigue.

'I'm glad to hear that,' he mumbled, flicking his tongue in a greeting with John's. John's cock gave a lurch at Sherlock's tongue meeting his. He moaned and pulled Sherlock closer, ignoring the monitor that was beeping wildly. He sucked Sherlock's tongue into his mouth briefly before his own went to dance with it again. They were still attached at the lips, John's tongue down Sherlock's throat, when a nurse burst in and pried them apart. They were given a lecture on proper procedure after a patient had had major surgery but John didn't care. All he saw was the tent that had formed in Sherlock's sheets and he smirked, his eyes dark with desire. The nurse left quickly and John was instantly back at Sherlock's side.

'Sorry about that, I just want you so bad,' he breathed against Sherlock's lips. 'And I interrupted your blow job last time, and I want to treat you to another. Once you get out of here I'll pick back up where we left off. I promise.'

'Ignore her, stupid woman,' Sherlock sniffed, wrinkling up his nose. 'I was rather enjoying it.' He grinned but it soon faltered. 'How much longer do I have to be here?' He sighed in annoyance. 'I don't want you pried off me every time we kiss – or talk about doing other things.'

'I may be able to convince them to let you go early. I'm a doctor myself and you'll be in my care, so they may let us.' He brushed some hair off Sherlock's forehead. 'But I think it would be best for you to stay here for a couple days. Just to get your strength back.'

'I'm stronger than you might like to think,' Sherlock commented sharply.

John was about to say something in return when there were three light knocks at the door. 'Can I come in?'

Sherlock swallowed down hard and raised his eyes to meet the D.I.'s. 'Come to take me away Lestrade? Don't bother.'

'No, actually, I came to see how you were recovering,' the D.I. said, tracing the toe of his shoe along the floor. 'John explained everything, and with all that happened at the flat I now know who to believe. I... I'm sorry for doubting you.'

'As you can see I'm utterly fine Greg but thanks for your concern,' Sherlock snapped, not really wanting to have to deal with the D.I.

'Sherlock—' John warned, but Greg cut him off.

'No, John, it's alright,' the inspector sighed. 'I deserve whatever he throws at me. I knew in my gut that Sherlock wasn't responsible for the triple homicide, but I couldn't deny the evidence. But in light of recent events and an alibi provided by John of your whereabouts at the time of the murders, the charges have been dropped. We've got a look out for Moriarty and the "Seb" guy who assaulted you and kidnapped you. Well, held you against your will.'

Sherlock snorted. 'You'll never catch them. Moriarty is a spider of an ever expanding web. He won't show his head if he doesn't have to. He just has to pull a few strings and he probably has the entire criminal society in the palm of his hands. Even the best of men wouldn't be able to take down the whole of the web.'

He scanned his eyes over Lestrade, deducing because in the light of recent events it felt good to be able to put his brain to cold hard work, blocking out any irrelevant emotions to the moment. 'You've had a meeting with my brother,' he mused, lifting his eyebrow in a mild amount of amusement. He chuckled. 'I knew he had chocolate cake. I suppose he made you eat it too. That way he felt like he was obliged to break his diet.' His eyebrows bunched together. 'How is he holding up? How's the head?' he questioned softly.

Lestrade looked down at the crumbs on his jacket that Sherlock had clearly spotted.

'Your brother is fine,' he stated. 'A bit battered and bruised, but fine all the same. His head wound needed a few stitches but nothing critical. And after an experience like that I think he deserved that chocolate cake.'

He paused, going over Sherlock's words in his head. 'What makes you say we couldn't find Moriarty? You may think us incompetent but we got along fine without you before you turned up. Yes, our solved cases percentage has gone up since you started helping, but we were – never mind. If you say we can't find him then I know we can't either. Even  _I_  think our officers are idiots sometimes.'

'Don't worry. Stupidity is a common flaw of most human beings,' Sherlock grinned a little cheekily at Lestrade. 'You're not that bad though. You just don't observe in the proper manner.' That was as close as a compliment that Lestrade was going to get from Sherlock, but still it seemed to please the other man.

He winced a little uneasily as he suddenly felt a sharp and unexpected pain ebbing in his side. The drugs he was on were clearly no longer working. He'd been given the normal dosage for a male of his age, height, and weight but Sherlock Holmes wasn't normal. After years of experimenting with homemade drugs he was easily resistant to most drugs. He moaned loudly as the pain seemed to intensify within seconds.

'John can you get them to top me off? The strong stuff this time,' he pleaded softly, removing his eyes from Lestrade for a moment. John sprang into action, hitting the nurse's call button. He quickly explained the situation and the nurse dashed off to get a stronger dose. She returned within moments and hooked up the new bag, making sure it made it into Sherlock's bloodstream before she left.

'Well, it would seem you're in good hands,' Greg said. 'I'll be off doing paperwork, clearing your name from the case. Here's to a quick recovery.' He waved to Sherlock and John and closed the door behind him.

'So how're the new drugs treating you?' John asked, carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair. 'Feeling better?'

'As better as I possibly can in this situation,' Sherlock whispered sleepily. 'I hope you don't mind but I'm probably going to kip for a while. You should do the same. You look shattered.'

'Didn't sleep a wink at all while you were in surgery,' John yawned, trying to hold back the exhaustion. 'And yeah, you should probably get some rest. You look pretty beat up.' It took John a moment to realise his choice of words and he blushed crimson.

'Sorry! Sorry! Poor choice of words. Oh god, I'm sorry,' he apologised quickly. He hung his head until his forehead touched Sherlock's again. 'Sorry.'

He placed a light kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 'Maybe I can bring you home tomorrow. Depending on how you feel and whatnot. I'm not making any promises but I'll see what I can do.' He kissed Sherlock soundly and whispered against his lips, 'I love you,' before he pulled away to find a chair. He sat it by Sherlock's bedside, the one where he wouldn't be in the way of the machines he was hooked up to in case something went wrong in the night, and grasped his hand, lacing their fingers together.

'Now sleep, love. I'll be here.'

'I will if you promise to stop beating yourself up. Neither of us is to blame for what happened.' Sherlock squeezed John's hand tightly. 'Sweet dreams,' he murmured softly, his eyes flickering shut as the drugs lulled him to sleep.

John watched Sherlock sleep for nearly an hour, observing and listening to everything. The steady rise and fall of his chest, restricted by the bandages that were holding his ribs in place; the beeping of the heart monitor, slow and steady in his sleep; how Sherlock's entire face looked so different when he was asleep, vulnerable and open but still somewhat closed off out of habit. He looked almost childlike, innocent. John almost smirked as Sherlock wasn't so innocent anymore; he had made sure of that.

His eyelids began to droop and his head lolled toward his chest. Sleep was taking him whether he wanted it to or not. He rested his head on his arm, his body tense despite his exhaustion. He squeezed Sherlock's hand before he closed his eyes. He fell asleep with a smile on his face when Sherlock squeezed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Sorry for all the angst and the whole beating Sherlock up thing. But it will be ok... for now.
> 
> And, if anyone is curious, those Sherlock teas are real. Over at adagio teas, search for Cara McGee. She's areyoutryingtodeduceme over on tumblr and I was lucky enough to meet her at a con and sampled some of her teas for the first time. I have Sherlock and John right now, and Sherlock is my favourite at the moment. When I get more money I plan on buying Reichenbach Recovery and a punk!Lock print of hers.
> 
> But yeah. I will go back to the regular weekly schedule after this. We'll still get a chapter this upcoming Monday. I'm not going to skip it simply because I posted two chapters this week. But finals are drawing near and updates may slow. Depends on if I have the time to edit and my partner has time to read over the chapter before it's posted, and if I can get to the library every Monday once I'm back home. If updates do slow I will warn you all ahead of time, but I'll try to stick to some sort of posting schedule.
> 
> See you Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	9. In Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft
> 
> Me: John, Molly, various nurses
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: some angst, eating bananas seductively, blow jobs (while attached to a heart monitor)

It took a long while for dreams to wriggle through Sherlock's drug riddled mind but when they did they weren't pleasant ones. John was yelling at him, screaming, grabbing at him. His brother was standing in the corner staring completely blank at him. Lestrade was next to Mycroft, looking on with accusing eyes. Anderson was there too, turning the already horrid dream into a full blown nightmare. Moriarty was there, grinning like the insane and irksome prick he was and his henchman stood by his side. And then the first punch came from Moriarty's henchman's fist and Sherlock bolted upright. He gasped for breath as his heart thundered on the inside of his chest.

'John!' he screamed, tears frolicking down his face, shaking and whimpering like a pathetic child.

John bolted upright as soon as Sherlock called out to him. His mind went into overdrive, soldier-mode activated. He quickly surveyed the room for danger but found none. He then turned to Sherlock and nearly started crying at the sight.

He was a wreck, tears streaming down his face, his free arm wrapped tenderly around his side, his hand clutching to John's tightly.

'Sherlock, Sherlock it's ok,' John whispered soothingly. He shooed away a nurse who had appeared and she nodded, disappearing down the hall. 'Shhh. Shhh, I'm here.' He sat on Sherlock's bed and pulled him into a soft embrace. 'It was only a bad dream, Sherlock. It's alright. You're safe. I'm here. I'm here.'

Sherlock gripped onto John weakly, sniffling into the crevice of John's neck. 'You were so angry with me,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't mean—' he sobbed. 'Everyone hated me so much. You, my brother, Lestrade, Anderson—' He snorted. 'Ok perhaps that one is mutual.' He sighed loudly, hiccupping on another sob. 'And  _they_  were there - the henchman and Moriarty.'

'Shhh, it's ok now,' John whispered, rocking Sherlock gently. 'I'm not mad at you, not anymore. I forgive you for not telling me, I do.' He smoothed Sherlock's damp curls off his forehead and kissed it lightly. 'No one hates you, not Lestrade or your brother. Anderson is a mutual hate between us all,' he smirked. 'And Moriarty and his henchman can't hurt you here. I won't let them.'

He clung to Sherlock, continuing to rock him gently until his shaking eased. 'I'm going to get you out of here and back to the flat as soon as possible,' he said into Sherlock's hair. 'We'll be safer there, I promise.'

Sherlock wound his hands in the material of John's shirt tightly. 'Isn't that where all of this started? We're not safe there John. I don't think we should go back. And I shall advise Mrs Hudson to move out for a while too. I'm not going to risk her  _and_  you.'

'Understood,' John nodded. 'But where should we go? Should I call Mycroft and have him set something up for us?'

Sherlock bit his lip and rested his head fully on John's shoulder. 'Yes, I think that would be the best course of action.'

'OK,' John pet Sherlock's head soothingly. 'Do you want me to call him now?'

'Yes, please.' Sherlock's voice shook. 'Actually, could you perhaps get him to come here?' He surprised himself by the request but strangely he found himself craving his brother's guidance in this situation.

'Of course, love,' John whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Sherlock's head. He reached into his jeans and pulled out his mobile, found Mycroft's number, and hit TALK. He held onto Sherlock the entire time, not wanting to let him go but also because he knew Sherlock probably wouldn't let him go either. He was clinging to him like a child would to his mother's leg.

'John, this is a pleasant surprise,' Mycroft answered rather jovially. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

'I need a favour from you. Well, a few.'

'Oh? And how can I help?'

'Well, I need you to come to the hospital so we can talk in person. No offense but I don't trust phones right now. And I'm sure it's well within your power to find Sherlock's room.'

'Of course. I'll be there as soon as I can.' There was a slight pause. 'How is he?'

'Better than he was,' John answered. 'Just, get here soon, OK? Please.'

'Of course, John.'

And they hung up.

'Thank you,' Sherlock whispered gratefully. 'I bet you think I've turned into complete softie.' He chortled. 'I just… when I thought that I was going to die in the flat it prioritised things in my mind.'

'I don't think you're turning soft, I think you're becoming human,' John smiled. 'After all that happened I can understand you wanting family near.' John paused at Sherlock's fear of dying, tears pricking in his eyes as he remembered the ambulance ride.

'Sherlock, there was something I didn't tell you. When... When you were in the ambulance... You... You...' John swallowed harshly, the tears escaping. 'You flat lined on the way to the hospital, and I brought you back. And the doctor said you came close again while you were on the table. I was so close to losing you, Sherlock. Now I know why it bothers you whenever I bring up my own "death" and I'll never bring it up again. I don't want to think about life without you and I don't want you to think about life without me either. I'm sorry.' He buried his nose in Sherlock's hair and inhaled deeply, his tears falling on Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock clutched at John tighter. 'It seems we have both become emotional wrecks. I hate the damn things - emotions that is. I hate seeing you cry. I hate to think that you were in pain for a single moment because of me.' He brushed his fingers under John's chin, forcing him to look at him. 'I am alive. You are alive. We are together. I think it was you who told me to focus on the now and not on what could have been. Now I am telling you that you should do the same.'

John nodded and wiped his eyes. He looked into Sherlock's eyes and almost began crying again. Instead he kissed him, hard, plunging his tongue down Sherlock's throat. He grabbed Sherlock by his hair and tilted his head back so he could kiss him deeper. Sherlock's heart began to beat out of control once more but it wasn't a nurse to pull them apart this time it was his brother with his infuriatingly bad timing.

'Dear me, can't you save that for somewhere a little less public?'

John blushed and slid off Sherlock's bed, sitting back in his chair. He held onto Sherlock's hand though, not wanting to eliminate all form of contact.

'You didn't waste any time getting here,' John stated.

'Given the current circumstances I am never far away from Sherlock,' Mycroft replied. 'Now I do believe we have a various amount of things to talk about.'

'Yes, we certainly do,' John agreed. 'First things first, Sherlock and I need to be put in a safe house of some kind. We don't feel safe at the flat anymore and we need to get away. Mrs Hudson too. We don't want to risk losing her. Send her to her sister's, give her her own safe house, let her share with us, I don't care. Just as long as we're all safe.'

'Of course. I agree that your flat is no longer safe - at least for now. I shall make arrangements today.' He pursed his lips together. 'Of course this might mean staying low for a while. No case solving Sherlock and no blogging about cases John. As for Mrs Hudson, I can arrange for her to be taken to her sister's.'

John sighed in relief. 'Of course. Thank you.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand for lack of anything else to do. 'I suppose it goes without saying that we'll need clothes?'

'I'll have Anthea pick something up for you both,' Mycroft stated, smiling at John and Sherlock. 'And perhaps she could pick up a new coat for Sherlock too.' His eyes glazed over for one moment. 'I hear his original was rather badly damaged.'

John nodded and sighed. Not only had the coat soaked up most of Sherlock's blood but it had to be cut off him before he was transferred to surgery. John had a lot of fond memories of that coat, and he was surprised that he would miss something as silly as that. But it wasn't any ordinary coat. It was Sherlock's, and it was almost as famous as he was these days.

'Is there anything you want, Sherlock?' John asked him. 'Anything that I haven't already asked for?'

Sherlock thought long and hard about that. 'My skull. I want my skull.' He smirked a little. His brother rolled his eyes but it seemed to be in amusement than anything else.

'Very well little brother. As you wish.'

'And your violin,' John added. 'Don't forget about that.'

Sherlock laughed loudly. 'Yes. My violin!' he exclaimed cheerfully.

'I thought that might make you happy,' John grinned, placing a small kiss on Sherlock's knuckles. To Mycroft he said, 'If you think of anything else we may need by all means get it for us. Thank you for helping us.'

'It's the least I can do after what has happened,' Mycroft replied softly. 'John, may I have a moment alone with my brother?'

John hesitated. He didn't want to leave Sherlock alone, even if he  _would_  be with Mycroft. He looked to Sherlock and he didn't see the normal apprehension in his eyes where Mycroft was concerned. John sighed and nodded.

'Alright, but if you need me for any reason don't hesitate to call. I'll be getting something to eat.' He looked to Sherlock again as he stood up, their hands still tightly clasped. 'Love you,' he whispered as he placed a small kiss on Sherlock's lips. He untangled their hands and made to leave, pausing at the door to gather his wits about him, and then left, closing the door softly behind him.

Mycroft walked slowly but with purpose over to Sherlock's bedside. He licked his lips a little nervously, noting every injury his baby brother had attained. He dropped to his knees with a defeated sigh and rested his head on Sherlock's lap.

'I am sorry Sherlock. I have failed you.'

Sherlock reached out and awkwardly patted his brother's back. 'You've done no such thing.'

'I should have protected you,' Mycroft bit back.

'What like I protected you when you got hurt?' Sherlock retorted.

'It's different. I'm older than you. I should have been taking better care of you.'

'You've done more than enough for me and John,' Sherlock smiled fondly.

John made his way to the cafeteria, grabbing a banana and a cup of coffee. He couldn't stomach much anymore. Sherlock had been rubbing off on him with the whole barely eating thing, but for the past two days all he'd had to eat were pancakes and fruit. Had that really only been yesterday morning?

John thunked his head on the table and groaned. Had all this really taken place in only two, maybe three, days?

'John?' A soft voice was above him, one he recognised but he was too mentally exhausted to put a name to the voice. He rolled his head over so he could see who was talking to him and sat up once he recognised her.

'Oh. Hi Molly. What are you doing here?'

'I'm on break from the morgue. The food is a lot better here,' she smiled weakly. 'What are you doing here?'

'Visiting a loved one,' he answered evasively. He knew Sherlock wouldn't want Molly to know that he had been injured, let alone that they were together. It would break the poor girl's heart. She'd been pining after him for so long now.

'Oh. Well, I hope they get better soon,' she smiled.

'Thanks,' John grinned back.

'I should probably go and let you get back to them. Is someone up there now?'

'Yes, family, they aren't alone.'

'Alright. Well, I wish them a speedy recovery,' Molly smiled again. 'Take care.'

'You too.'

'I think I'm going to die.' The words came out sounding strangled and deformed from Sherlock's lips.

Mycroft lifted his head and stared at his baby brother in disbelief. 'I won't let you.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'There's nothing you can do to prevent it. Moriarty said he owed me a fall.' His breath hitched. 'I think that was his twisted way of telling me he is going to kill me.'

The elder Holmes bit his lip. 'No Sherlock. That is not going to happen. I'll make sure of it.'

John couldn't stomach being in the cafeteria anymore. The people were too cheery for being in a hospital. He wandered the halls before he came to a little gift shop. He was apprehensive at first but as soon as he saw the little hedgehog plushie in the window he couldn't resist. When he found the otter it was just perfect. He purchased both with the widest grin on his face and he headed back to Sherlock's room, waiting outside the door until Mycroft left.

Sherlock tensed as he heard footsteps from outside. He looked up and saw John hovering outside the door. 'We'll talk about this another time, Mycroft.'

Mycroft glanced up and upon seeing John sighed. 'You really love him, don't you?'

Sherlock was a little taken aback by his brother's question. It wasn't the type of thing he had expected him to ask. He answered it all the same. 'More than I could have ever dreamed of having the capability to, yes.'

The elder Holmes stood to his feet, smirking slightly. He playfully ruffled Sherlock's curls. 'I'll see you soon.'

Sherlock nodded, ending their unusually friendly and brotherly chat.

Mycroft stood to his feet and briskly walked out, nodding at John as he passed him. 'I'll be in touch with the details of your new accommodation. Look after him John.' And with a whirl of his umbrella he left.

John watched Mycroft leave before he entered Sherlock's room. 'Did you two have a nice brotherly chat?' he asked.

Sherlock's brow scrunched together. 'Yes, I suppose we rather did.' He sighed heavily. 'Some of the topics that came up were - difficult however.'

'Understandable,' John nodded. His face broke out in a wide grin. 'I got you something.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and bit back a smile. 'You did?'

'Yep,' John grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 'Do you want to guess or should I give it to you now?'

Sherlock giggled at John's strange behavior. 'I want to see it now.'

John smiled widely, his tongue poking out through his teeth. He thrust the gift bag into Sherlock's hands. 'Here. Open it.'

As Sherlock opened the bag and saw the two plush toys he let out a loud laugh of joy. He first of all picked up the hedgehog. 'I think I'll call this one John.'

John laughed. 'Of course you will,' he smiled. 'And the otter? What are you going to call him?'

'I'm going to name him after the first man I ever fell in love with.' Sherlock grabbed the otter and smirked. 'Myself of course.'

John snorted and covered his mouth with his hand. 'Of course, you narcissistic bastard. But I mean that in the most loving way possible.' He picked up the hedgehog and touched its nose to the otter's.

'You really wouldn't have me any other way,' Sherlock stated knowingly, briefly kissing John's nose.

'No, I love you just the way you are. Narcissism and all.' He kissed Sherlock's nose as well, sitting on the bed and taking his hand in his. 'So... What do we do now?'

'We get out of here as quickly as possible and lay low,' Sherlock replied, chewing on his lower lip in thought.

'Sounds like a plan. But we'll have to stay here until we hear from Mycroft. Until then, you should try to eat something, get some food in you so you can get some strength back. I know you're strong, Sherlock,' John said, holding up a hand to silence Sherlock's protest, 'but you had major surgery and lost a lot of blood and you haven't eaten anything to add some nourishment back to your body.' He hovered his hand over the nurse's call button. 'So, food?'

'Fine, food it is.' Sherlock shriveled up his nose. 'I hate hospital food though so don't expect me to eat much.'

'You don't have to eat a lot, I know you won't anyway,' John said as he hit the call button. 'If all you eat is a banana I will consider it to be enough. At least it's  _something_.'

Sherlock grinned. 'I love bananas. Bananas are good. So there're two doctors out there that seem to have a mad obsession about the yellow fruit.'

'"Good source 'o potassium,"' John smiled. 'Yes. When all else fails, go for a banana. Bananas are very good.'

Sherlock chuckled and shook his head. 'Look at us. Laughing in a hospital. It hardly seems proper. Still, better than laughing at a crime scene,' he said, smiling fondly at the first crime he and John had been involved in. It had been the thing to seal their friendship. John hummed fondly at the memory. He had shot the cabbie for Sherlock for the case he had titled 'A Study in Pink.' It had not only solidified their friendship but it proved that John would be a trusted and loyal companion. He nuzzled Sherlock on the nose and then a nurse finally walked in.

'Hi there,' she smiled. 'How can I help you two?'

'Sherlock needs something to eat,' John answered. 'Just something light, nothing too heavy. We were thinking bananas.' He winked at Sherlock and grinned.

'Sure thing,' the nurse said. 'Bananas coming right up.'

Sherlock budged up slightly and patted the space beside him.

'Sit with me,' he smirked, his heart beating a little faster. John wiggled his eyebrows and scooted closer, his own heart beating wildly in his chest. His pupils dilated as he came closer to Sherlock, his breath hitching slightly.

'You seem a little nervous,' Sherlock stated, frowning ever so slightly. 'You have nothing to be nervous about you know.' He snuggled up to John, eager for more contact.

'I'm not nervous,' John squeaked out. 'Just... Really,  _really_...' he swallowed. 'Oh, fuck it.' He grabbed Sherlock's face and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Sherlock kissed John for what seemed like forever. He moaned softly and traced patterns on John's side with his fingers. John moaned into the kiss and ran his hands gently down Sherlock's arms. One stopped on his hip and the other traveled down until it reached his thigh, squeezing gently. Sherlock hummed and rubbed himself against John. When a loud grumble came from his stomach however he couldn't help but fall into a fit of laughter. John snickered against Sherlock's lips before he burst out laughing. He covered his face with his hands and fell back against Sherlock's pillows. He had to hold his stomach he was laughing so hard.

'Never in all the time I've known you did I think your  _stomach_  would actually interrupt you from doing anything,' he gasped between breaths.

Sherlock huffed and pouted. 'My stomach is an utter pain in the arse.'

'I believe the title of "Biggest Pain in Sherlock's Arse" has been taken by me, thank you very much,' John grinned, tapping a finger on Sherlock's nose. The nurse came back with a large bunch of bananas, a wide smile on her face.

'Enjoy you two,' she grinned, handing John the bananas.

'Thanks,' John smiled back as she left. He broke off one banana and handed it to Sherlock, then took another for himself.

'I believe it has indeed,' Sherlock said as he began slowly and methodically peeling his banana. His lips pulled upwards as he began to chew on the yellow fruit, swirling his tongue over it and glancing over to John, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. John let out a noise akin to a whimper as he watched Sherlock 'eat' his banana.

 _Fucking hell,_  he swore, pressing his legs together.  _You can't give him a blow job in the fucking hospital. Not while he's hooked up to the heart monitor. Control yourself, Watson. Don't give in. Okay, okay, you can play along, but don't do anything stupid!_

He pressed the heel of his hand to his crotch before he decided to up the ante. He licked his way up his banana, swirling his tongue around the end before he bit into the skin, pulling the peel down with his teeth. He sucked on the 'head' of the banana before 'swallowing' it down and coming back up to take a rather harsh bite out of it and swallowing it whole.

'You'll get indigestion swallowing your food so quickly,' Sherlock quipped, gently chewing on his own. 'You might even choke without properly chewing on it.'

John did choke, but not on the banana. He choked on his own laughter.

'So you apparently have the ability to ignore my sexual advances at the most inopportune of times while also being able to arouse me simply by eating a banana?' John laughed. 'That is some talent, Sherlock.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Believe me when I say I know exactly how much I affect you with the little things and I am perfectly aware of your advances. That's not to say I'll stop pretending I am ignorant. Quite the opposite. It will only spur me on to feign innocence and ignorance.'

'I... I don't even know how to respond to that,' John stammered. 'Wait. Yes I do. You pretend to ignore my advances so that I'll get sexually frustrated but you also flirt back with me until I get to the point where I can't stand it anymore and attack you.' He nibbled on the banana in thought. 'An unorthodox seduction technique but effective.'

'I hope to perfect it,' Sherlock moaned softly, chewing slowly whilst running his hand over the now visible tent in the middle of his legs.

'You are such a fucking tease,' John moaned, pressing the heel of his hand against his own erection. Sherlock hummed and shifted in the bed so that his erection was pressed firmly against John's thigh.

'What were you saying?' he fluttered his eyelashes innocently.

John moaned and shifted his thigh so Sherlock's erection rubbed against it.

'You know, Sherlock, you shouldn't be twisting your sides like that,' John said, pushing on Sherlock's shoulders until he lay back on his back. A hand skirted down Sherlock's torso until it reached his thigh, his fingertips drawing patterns on it, up and down and across, coming closer and closer to the place they both wanted them to be. Sherlock groaned and whimpered. His heart monitor began to race inexplicably fast.

'Down a little bit John.' He chewed on his lower lip and wriggled under his covers. John grinned wickedly but his hand didn't move any further.

'Calm your heart rate for just a moment, love,' he whispered in Sherlock's ear. 'I will be right back.'

He stood up to search for the signs he knew hospitals kept hidden in the rooms. He heard Sherlock's heart monitor slow down slightly, enough to keep the nurses off their scent. He needed the sign though so when Sherlock's heart did speed up again they would see the sign and understand. He found them stashed in the wardrobe behind the spare sheets and grabbed the one he needed: 'Private Physical in Progress. Do Not Disturb.' As soon as he put the sign on the door he locked it behind him, his dark eyes boring into Sherlock's. He sauntered back to Sherlock's bed, crawling up from the end until his body loomed over his lover's.

'Now, what would you like, Sherlock?' he asked, his hand trailing up Sherlock's thigh again. 'Hand or mouth?'

'Mouth,' Sherlock rasped. 'That way there won't be any evidence,' he smirked.

'Mouth is it,' John grinned before kissing Sherlock once again, sucking his tongue into his mouth. He released him only when he heard the heart monitor skip a beat. He shimmied his way down, pushing the sheets out of the way as he went. Normally he would have trailed kisses and bites down Sherlock's torso, but with the bandages holding his ribs in place he decided against it.

He positioned himself between Sherlock's legs, pushing them further apart with his shoulders. When Sherlock's legs were draped over his back and his cock waving in front of his face John allowed himself to smile. If they had gotten that far without anyone interrupting them then they would be able to get away with it.

John's hands rested on Sherlock's hips, holding him down as his tongue licked a thick, wet stripe from base to tip, swirling around the head. He hummed at the wonderful taste of Sherlock on his tongue. God, he was delicious. He sucked just the head of Sherlock's cock into his mouth, his tongue lapping at the underside to tease him.

Sherlock bit back a scream of pleasure as fire jolted through his every fiber. The fire was only increased by the mere thought of getting caught in their current compromising situation. He rolled his hips or at least attempted to. John was teasing him into a shivering ball of racing emotions. He whimpered as his damaged body ached as John caused him to writhe.

John swallowed down a moan as he slowly sucked more of Sherlock into his mouth. He was nervous about getting caught but just the thought made him quiver in excitement. He bobbed his head on Sherlock's cock, sucking tightly on the head before plunging back down.

Sherlock was pulled under John's mystical spell. He let out a sound a little bit more loudly than he had intended.

'Gahh!' His face rippled with joy and blatant desire as he attempted to thrust his hips upwards.

John gripped Sherlock's hips tightly, forcing him to stay still. He sucked down on Sherlock's cock until the head hit the back of his throat. He then began to slowly swallow Sherlock down his throat until his nose was tickled by Sherlock's hair. He swallowed for good measure before he rose, sucking on the head again, and moved back down to swallow Sherlock whole.

'Close,' he mumbled under his breath. 'So close.' John growled around Sherlock's cock, sucking him harder. He gripped Sherlock's hips and pulled him closer, his cock sliding just a little farther down his throat. He moved one hand to Sherlock's sac and stroked gently, knowing that if he was close just the lightest touch would make him feel like his skin was on fire.

Sherlock came and with it the suppressed scream carrying John's name flew out of his lips. Fuck. Someone was sure to hear him.

John swallowed Sherlock's load and he released Sherlock's cock with an obscene pop. He kissed him thoroughly so Sherlock could taste himself on John's tongue. He was lost in the post-orgasmic haze even though he himself hadn't had one. Once the frantic beeping of the heart monitor returned the sound of someone pounding angrily on the door came with it. Then he remembered Sherlock yelling his name rather loudly as he came. Combined with his frantic heart rate it wouldn't be hard to guess what they had been up to.

Fuck.

He moved from between Sherlock's legs and stood up, covering Sherlock once again. He straightened his own clothes so he looked presentable and wiped his mouth of any evidence that he may have missed. He slowly approached the door and, taking a deep breath, opened it to come face to face with a rather annoyed nurse.

'Are you two idiots?' she hissed. 'You can't do... something like that so soon after a major trauma and surgery to boot! Doctor Watson, you are a medical man yourself and I expected you to know better.' She stalked over to Sherlock's machines, punched in a few codes and numbers, glared at them both, and then stalked out, slamming the door rather harshly behind her.

John winced. He had been expecting a slap of some sort. He was just thankful it was a verbal slap versus an actual one. He stepped back to Sherlock's bedside, sitting on the edge.

'Well, that was embarrassing,' he laughed lightly. 'Could've been worse though.'

Sherlock hummed in a mutual agreement. 'Much worse. It could have been Greg or, god forbid, Mycroft.'

'Oh god,' John laughed. 'Can you imagine the looks on their faces if it  _was_  one of them?' John laughed heartily at the mental images.

'I can indeed,' Sherlock panted. 'Just give me a minute to, catch, my breath.' His lungs spat out air and took it in frantically as he struggled to put his body back to its factory settings.

'Take all the time you need, love,' John said softly, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. 'I don't know about you, but I'm rather looking forward to washing your hair again.'

Sherlock shriveled up his nose. His hair was indeed a knotted, greasy, and bloodied mess. 'Me too. When do you think they'll give me clearance to leave?'

John thought about that. His medical side said up to a week, but the side that wanted Sherlock hidden and under protection said otherwise.

'We'll wait until we hear from Mycroft, then I'll tell the staff that I'm taking you with me. Since I'm a doctor they should let me. Private patient care and all that,' he answered. 'Until then you're stuck here I suppose. And I'm not leaving your side until we hear from your brother.' He turned so his back was against Sherlock's pillows and pulled Sherlock to him, his head resting on Sherlock's.

**…::-::…**

Mycroft Holmes was certain Sherlock would detest the choice of location that he had chosen for a safe house. He had come to the decision that the Holmes family residence was the perfect place to keep both John and Sherlock hidden and safe. His and Sherlock's mother was currently in France so the building would be empty and a perfect location for his brother to recover.

He quickly sent a text to John.

_Location for safe house has been sought up. –MH_

**…::-::…**

John's mobile chimed in his pocket, indicating he had a new message. Without letting go of Sherlock he fished his mobile out of his pocket and unlocked it to read the message.

'Text, from your brother,' he said. He smiled when he read the rest. 'He's found a safe house for us.'

He messaged Mycroft back.

_Bring us the details in person. Don't trust phones. –JW_

When Mycroft arrived at the hospital he managed to arrange Sherlock's removal but with a little more hassle than he had first thought as he learnt of the horrifying antics John and his brother had gotten up to.

'Well, well you two. You have been busy, haven't you?' he smirked knowingly as he walked into Sherlock's private room.

The blood drained from John's face at Mycroft's smug words. 'Oh god, they told you?'

'The poor woman that overheard you was quite traumatised and was furious at the idea of Sherlock being left in your care. Don't worry though. I soon convinced her that you would minimize your, activities.' Mycroft snorted. 'Not that I believe you will.'

John blushed deeply. 'So, where are we going?' he asked, ignoring Mycroft's jab about his and Sherlock's 'activities.'

'I can't tell you of the exact location for both your safety. What I  _can_  tell you is that Sherlock will be right at home and both of you will be safe and at a suitable distance from here,' Mycroft replied.

'So someone else will be driving us there, I presume? Seeing as Sherlock is unable to and I... can't,' John admitted ashamedly. 'All our things will be transferred there too?'

'All arrangements have been made, John. You will leave after Sherlock has had one final check over by the nurses and my driver will drive you both there. Your things have already been packed and they will be sent with you,' the elder Holmes explained.

'Yeah, sorry. I just... I really want us to get away from here,' John sighed. 'How soon till the final checkup so we can leave?'

'Now, if that isn't too soon,' Mycroft informed John.

'That works for me. How about you, Sherlock?' John asked, turning to him and squeezing his hand slightly.

Sherlock nodded eagerly. 'That sounds great,' he beamed happily, only too grateful to leave the hospital.

'Alright. Get the nurses in here and let's get out of dodge,' John grinned.

Mycroft lifted his umbrella and, as though it had magical powers, he summoned a nurse.

It wasn't just any nurse though. It was the nurse who had scolded them earlier. John watched her with wide, apprehensive eyes, waiting for her to strike. But she looked perfectly composed. She shooed John off the bed so she could check Sherlock's progress, take his vitals, punch some numbers into the machines, etc.

'You seem to be recovering very nicely,' she smiled warmly at him. 'Surprising after what had happened.' She glared at John out of the corner of her eye and John groaned. 'Just so long as it doesn't happen again while your body is still in the early stages of recovery you should be fine.' She straightened up and walked to the door, glaring at John the entire time. 'Take care of him,  _Doctor_.' She spat the word in contempt before leaving.

John ran his hands over his face, refusing to look at anyone. When he composed himself he straightened up and turned to Mycroft.

'Let me get Sherlock dressed and we'll meet you at the lift.'

Mycroft nodded and swiftly left, his lips turned up in amusement.

Sherlock blew out air through his nostrils and pouted. 'I don't like her. She's stupid. I'm perfectly capable of dealing with our activities.' He gave John a look as though to say 'Please don't listen to her.'

John sighed morosely and moved back to Sherlock's side. He took Sherlock's hand in his and linked their fingers.

'I won't make love to you until your ribs are better,' he said softly. 'But I will give you as many blow jobs and hand jobs as I see fit. It has been proven that orgasms have a lot of health benefits. And as a medical man it is in my job description to keep you healthy.' He winked at Sherlock and smiled.

'Now, let's get you dressed and let's get out of here.' He trotted to the end of the bed and found a small bag lying on the floor. A pair of Sherlock's pajama bottoms and a loose t-shirt were inside.  _Mycroft,_  John thought, a small smile on his lips.

'Seems your brother thought ahead,' John grinned, walking back to Sherlock's bedside. He helped Sherlock shift so that his legs dangled off the side and slowly pulled the bottoms on him. The shirt was a little more difficult as Sherlock was still attached to the heart monitor and the IV drip.

'Stupid nurse,' John huffed. 'She didn't even complete the checkup.' He went to shut off the machines himself and carefully removed the needle from Sherlock's skin, tossing it in the biohazard bin. He bandaged Sherlock's arm where the needle had been and then pulled the shirt over his head.

'You feeling alright?' John asked, steadying Sherlock as he sat him in the chair by the bed. 'You look a little pale. Well, pale for you.'

Sherlock shrugged. 'I'm just tired,' he admitted. 'That, with the added fact I have no idea where the safe house is.' He exhaled loudly. 'I hate not knowing things. It gets to me. Makes me feel a little ill. Iller than I already am.' He rubbed his ribs and winced. 'Probably not helped by my body's coming into terms with its recent beating.'

'We can't know where we're going for our own safety,' John said softly, kneeling down so he was at eye level with Sherlock. He gently held Sherlock's cheek in his palm and stroked his face with his thumb. 'I can get you some strong pain medication before we go. I don't want to see you in pain.'

Sherlock nodded in agreement. 'Believe me when I say it's no fun at all being the one in pain. I'll need it.' He raised one of his hands and placed it on John's. 'You're doing it again. Feeling guilty. Stop it.'

'Sorry,' John smiled weakly. He rested his forehead against Sherlock's and inhaled deeply. 'I'll have the nurses bring the drugs and a wheelchair. I don't want to leave you alone.' He hit the nurse's call button for the last time.

Sherlock gave John a lopsided grin. 'I love you,' he said so softly that it was barely audible but he knew John had heard him. 'You daft, sentimental, adorable, jam eating man.'

'I love you too,' John grinned. The nurse came in then, thankfully a different nurse than the one who had scolded them earlier, and John told her what they needed. She nodded and scrambled off, returning a few moments later with a wheelchair and a bag with different varieties of pain medication. John thanked her and she left.

'Now, let's get your bee pant wearing arse in this chair and get out of here,' John smirked, helping Sherlock move from his chair to the wheelchair.

'John I – bees?' Sherlock suddenly became like an excitable puppy, wiggling in his wheelchair and beaming like a maniac. 'BEES! I love bees!' he exclaimed, laughing heartedly.

'Yes, I know you love bees,' John laughed. 'That's why as soon as you're better I'll give them to you. I've had them stashed away for a while, never really knowing when I would give them to you. But I think they're now perfectly suited as a Get Well Present.'

He rolled Sherlock from the room and down the hall to the lift where Mycroft was waiting for them. As John helped Sherlock into the black car that had been awaiting him he said with a knowing smile, 'Make sure you have your red pants on for that occasion. There's something about them that really affect me.'

Mycroft snorted, rolled his eyes and sighed. 'Why should I be at all surprised?' he muttered, waiting for John to slide in before he too took a seat. John blushed and closed the door, the driver starting down the road almost instantly. John took one of Sherlock's hands in his and rested his head against the window.

'So how far away is this safe house?' John asked.

'Far enough to keep the two of you safe,' Mycroft informed John and Sherlock.

Sherlock groaned. 'Well this is going to be fascinating fun.' He leant his head on John's shoulder as his eyes began to slowly but steadily shut.

John grunted and shifted slightly, allowing Sherlock to rest more comfortably. His eyes began to slide closed as well, the hum of the car lulling him to sleep.

'Wake us when we're almost there,' he mumbled before he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I told you it would get better. I mean, yeah, Moriarty is still out there but now they're safe. Or they will be once they get to the safe house.
> 
> Finals begin for me next Monday, but I'll still update. I'll be going home next Friday or Saturday, depending on when my mom can come get me. After that for updates I'll try to continue the weekly Monday thing, occasionally posting twice a week if I end on a really bad cliffhanger and it's bothering me. But if I miss a Monday I'm sorry, but I don't have internet access at my house (we live with my grandparents and they don't even have cable TV), so I'll be making trips to the library to update this.
> 
> I hope you all have a fantastic week and I'll see you next Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	10. The Manor House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock and Mycroft
> 
> Me: John
> 
> Trigger warnings: blood and suicidal thoughts.
> 
> Other warnings: men sort of going at it, teasing, Captain Watson makes an appearance, and some drug experimentation by Sherlock.

Exactly one hour and thirty three minutes passed by in silence when the car finally pulled up into the Holmes manor house drive.

'We're here you two.' Mycroft gently shook John's shoulder. John grunted and pressed his face closer to the glass of the window. He had been having a wonderful dream filled with bees and hedgehogs and otters and jam. It didn't make a lot of sense but it was a nice dream nonetheless.

He cracked one eye open and gazed out the window upon the mansion of a safe house. He shifted his shoulder slightly so Sherlock would begin to wake up.

'Hey,' he whispered hoarsely. 'Hey, Sherlock. We're here.'

Sherlock moaned as he felt John shift. As he awoke he took in his surroundings and felt himself pale dramatically. His insides twisted and he began to feel nauseous. He gazed at Mycroft, his eyes startled and questioning, his mouth opening agape.

'This is a... It's big for a safe house,' John said. 'This isn't even a house. It's a mansion.' He turned to Sherlock and finally noticed his pale face and scared expression. 'Sherlock? Are you alright? What's wrong?'

'Nothing. My ribs are playing up that's all.' It wasn't a complete lie but he still felt guilty about not telling John what was really on his mind.

'Do you want some pain meds?' John asked, reaching for the bag.

Sherlock swallowed down hard and nodded. 'Yes please.' John reached in and found way more pills than he was expecting.

'Um... Scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how bad is your pain?' he asked, rummaging through the bottles.

'Oh it's bad. Ten,' Sherlock muttered as the car came to a stop and his entire chest constricted as he tried to breathe normally. John fished around in the bag and was surprised to find a bottle of liquid morphine inside. Jeez, when they said everything they literally meant everything. He passed the bottle over to Sherlock.

'Drink a few sips of that, but no more. Too much and you'll get sick,' he instructed.

Sherlock sipped at the bottle and spluttered. 'That's bloody strong.' He pulled a face of disgust.

'Well you said ten!' John argued. 'It's liquid morphine, what did you expect? Pumpkin juice?'

Sherlock puffed out his cheeks and folded his arms childishly. 'I suppose we should be off,' he sighed.

'Yes,' Mycroft said. 'Shall I leave you two to it? After all, Sherlock will know where you have to go to.'

'Sherlock will know?' John questioned, looking between the two Holmes brothers. 'What do you mean?'

'This is where we grew up,' Sherlock almost growled.

John did a double take at Sherlock's words. He looked from the mansion to the Holmes boys, back to the mansion before finally settling on staring at Mycroft.

'So, when you said Sherlock would be right at home you weren't kidding,' he mused.

'Indeed,' Mycroft retorted.

'I wouldn't be so sure of that,' Sherlock grunted.

'Boys, play nice,' John warned.

'Why should I?' Sherlock spat, glaring at Mycroft.

'After all he's done for us in the past 24 hours? Sherlock, you should be grateful,' John said. 'I realise that the safe house he chose may not have been your first choice but maybe it really is the best choice. You'll know your way around the place, it's familiar territory, and maybe that will help.'

Sherlock clenched his fists tightly and gritted his teeth. 'I suppose so,' he muttered. John sighed, accepting Sherlock's words even though he knew he didn't mean them. He shifted so he could shimmy his way out of the car and pulled the wheelchair out with him. He helped Sherlock into it, who was still pouting.

'If you behave, I'll treat you to a little something special after I wash your hair,' John whispered into Sherlock's ear.

'I look forward to it,' Sherlock purred, forgetting his grumpiness for one moment.

'I assume you two will be ok now. If so I'll go. I will be in touch soon,' Mycroft called from inside the car. 'Your things have already been dropped off. They'll be in Sherlock's old room.'

'Thank you, Mycroft,' John said, shaking the man's hand. 'Thank you so much.'

'You are quite welcome, John,' the elder Holmes almost smiled. 'Do not hesitate to call if anything comes up, but I will be in touch with you soon.' He released John's hand and nodded to the driver, who sped off rather quickly. John turned back to Sherlock, who was semi-pouting in his chair. John couldn't help but giggle at him. He walked back to him and began pushing the chair up the drive to the doors.

'Let's get your hair washed,' John whispered sultrily in Sherlock's ear. 'Then you can direct me to your room and I'll treat you to a little something special.'

Sherlock's mouth hung open. 'And what exactly do you mean by special?'

'I know how you don't like not knowing, so I'll give you some hints,' John whispered as he opened the main door, pushing Sherlock inside before shutting and locking it behind them.

'It involves you spread out on your bed, bare arsed,' he whispered huskily, his fingers trailing up Sherlock's arm before grabbing the arm of the wheelchair.

Sherlock moaned. 'Oh god. Mmm.' He looked up at John with a look of pure ecstasy on his features. 'This way,' he said, pointing at a room.

'Bath first,' he reminded him. 'I promise to take good care of you after your hair is clean.'

Sherlock nodded. 'I have my own bathroom. It's attached to my bedroom,' he smirked. 'I was a spoilt brat.'

'And you're still a spoilt prat,' John smirked, wheeling Sherlock in the direction he had indicated. He reached a door that had a handwritten sign on it. He giggled at the words, some of the letters written backwards.

'"Sherlock's Mind Palace. No Mycrofts Allowed,"' John read, smirking slightly. 'And how old were you when you wrote that?'

Sherlock blushed. 'About seven. I just never bothered to take it down.'

'We should make one for your bedroom door at Baker Street,' John smirked, opening the door. 'Or for the sitting room door. Based on how he likes to pop in unannounced, it may come in handy. Especially with all our "activities" now.'

Sherlock's room was a lot different than the one at Baker Street. At their flat it was modest, more mature (and John used that term loosely), but it fit Sherlock's personality. His room in his family home was brighter, memorabilia of his childhood took up shelves upon shelves, and there were posters of pirates and the like on one of the walls.

'Mycroft did mention your first career choice was becoming a pirate,' John smiled, eyeing the poster as he shut the bedroom door. 'It's a part of you I've always been curious about.'

'Arrr me hearty, I shall make Mycroft walk the plank,' he growled in his best pirate impression.

'Oh please do,' John laughed heartily. 'You have my permission to do so after this is all over.'

He opened the door to the bathroom and paused in the doorway. A large Jacuzzi bathtub sat in one corner, a walk-in shower in the other. A full-length mirror spanned from the tub to the sinks, of which there were three, and almost reached the loo which was in its own private little room. Two skylights let in warm sunlight, streaming down on the two men, warming John's skin.

'Wow. You were definitely a spoilt brat,' John breathed, looking around the room again. 'This place is almost as big as your bedroom itself.'

'I can't help being a rich bastard,' Sherlock shrugged, laughing out loud. 'Besides, this is nowhere as near as big as My's room,' he commented before realising his mistake. 'Mycroft's I mean that is.' He shriveled up his nose. 'I've always hated him for that.'

'Your room is perfect, love,' John said, pressing a light kiss behind his ear. 'Now, how are we going to wash your hair? I really don't want to get your bandages wet, so what's our best option? The sink or the shower?'

'The sink most likely though I'll have to take a shower at some point,' he replied.

'Alright then,' John nodded. He wheeled Sherlock over to the row of sinks, twirling the chair around so Sherlock's back faced them. 'Well, unless you want to stand up and bend over, which I do not recommend by the way, we're going to need a taller chair.'

'We could always use a few pillows to make me tall enough,' Sherlock mused, not particularly wanting to bend over. 'Or a quick shower might suffice. Can't you hold me upright? Then you could replace my bandages.'

'I suppose,' John mused, glancing over at the shower. 'Well, at least the shower head is adjustable. That should make things a little easier.' He paused. 'I don't have any extra bandages though. Should I have Mycroft send some over or do you have some stashed in this mansion somewhere?'

'There's some in my room under my bed.' Sherlock nodded in the direction of the open door. 'Don't ask why.'

John swallowed and nodded. He had almost forgotten about Sherlock's abusive father, almost forgot that he had painful looking scars along his back.

'Is that why you were scared when we arrived here?' John asked softly. 'Because of him?' He swallowed again as a realisation hit. 'Mycroft doesn't know, does he?'

'Yes, and to be honest John I really rather don't want him or my mother to know,' Sherlock sighed heavily, shoulders slumping.

'It's not my place to tell them,' John said softly, placing a gentle hand on Sherlock's shoulder and rubbing it soothingly. 'But... Let's not dwell on that now. He's long gone, you're alive, and you're with me now. And I would never do anything to harm you.' He crouched down to Sherlock's level and brought his fingertips to his jaw, pushing slightly so Sherlock would look at him.

'I love you,' he said against Sherlock's lips before kissing him briefly. 'Now let me clean that filthy hair of yours and then I'll make you feel all better. Add some far more pleasant memories to your childhood home.'

'I used to be such an innocent until you came into my life,' Sherlock chuckled. 'You won't believe the images in my mind now.' He pulled a fake look of utter horror. 'My mind palace is violated!'

'Then let's add some more dirty images to that palace, shall we?' John purred, sealing his lips to Sherlock's.

Sherlock moaned and whimpered. 'Agreed.' He swallowed and bit his lip.

'Now, let's clean you up you dirty boy, and then I'll dirty you all over again,' John moaned, opening the door to the shower to turn on the water. He turned and stripped Sherlock of his shirt, leaving his trousers on for the time being.

'Go ahead, Sherlock,' John moaned wantonly, dropping to his knees at Sherlock's feet. 'Undress me.' Sherlock's nimble fingers worked fast and soon John's clothes had all been tossed onto the floor.

'Now for my trousers,' Sherlock murmured huskily. John hummed and grabbed the hem of said trousers, pulling them down excruciatingly slowly. Once they passed Sherlock's buttocks he yanked them down with a flourish, tossing them across the room.

The bathroom was now hot, humid, and steamy from the water of the shower. The mirrors had fogged up, the tiles had become slick, and it was the perfect atmosphere in John's opinion.

He helped Sherlock up from the chair and led him into the shower, propping him in a corner until he shut the door to the bathroom and then the shower after he clambered in.

John found the bottle of shampoo and poured some into his hands, running a large amount of water over Sherlock's head before he lathered the product and began working it through Sherlock's hair. Sherlock felt himself come undone. The tips of John's fingers were turning him insane. Strange gurgling sounds rippled from his throat as he quivered against the most beautiful touches.

'Mmm.'

John rinsed Sherlock's hair of the first wash and started in on another. It was clear his hair would need to be washed more than once, possibly more than twice, for it to return to its natural curl and shine. John massaged Sherlock's scalp from the very top to the sides to the base, using the pads of his fingers to work the shampoo through the bloodied, matted mess. He rinsed and repeated once more before he deemed Sherlock's hair clean enough. Then he went to work gently cleaning Sherlock's body, massaging his muscles gently as he worked his way down.

'Ow!' Sherlock yelped as John's hands massaged somewhere tender from his beating. He bit his lip, glancing down at the blood red water gushing down the drain, trying to concentrate on anything but the pain.

'Oh god! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!' John said hastily, wrenching his hands away. 'Oh my god you're bleeding!' he cried, jumping out of the shower to grab the bandages stashed under Sherlock's bed and the bag of pain meds from the floor. He returned to the bathroom and thrust the liquid morphine into Sherlock's hands as he turned off the water.

'Sip that and sit down,' he instructed, gently pulling Sherlock from the wall and guiding him to the shower floor. If Sherlock was going to bleed best it go down the drain where the evidence would just wash away.

'Now, is it your ribs, or somewhere else?' John asked, trying his best to remain calm.

'Ribs.' He gritted his teeth together. The blood was coming faster now. 'Shit,' he ground out. He sipped at the vile tasting liquid and coughed. John gently peeled away the soiled bandages to reveal Sherlock's bruised and battered torso. There was blood everywhere, and for good reason. Sherlock's stitches had torn.

'Jesus fucking Christ,' John swore. 'Jesus. I'm going to need my medical kit.' He dashed out to Sherlock's room to search through their belongings. Knowing Mycroft and the current situation he had probably packed everything. He found the kit perched atop suitcases, snatched it, and dashed back, a needle and sutures already between his teeth.

'Now this is probably going to hurt, a lot,' John warned as he tried to clean the area, removing the old stitches carefully. 'It's going to pull and it's going to sting, but it's going to hurt. And I don't have any local anesthetic, so you may want to bite down on something. Preferably not me.'

He sterilized the needle and sutures with alcohol and steadied Sherlock's back. 'Prepare yourself,' he warned before he poked the needle through the top of the incision and pulled the suture through.

Sherlock bit down on his lip till the skin peeled and he drew blood. He took big sweeping breaths as he tried to stop himself from yelling out loud. The smell and taste of blood was making him feel physically sick, and the sensation of John pulling his wound closed tightly was making bile rise in the back of his throat. He whimpered, tears shining in his eyes.

'Almost done, Sherlock,' John said soothingly. 'Almost done. You're doing great, love.' He pulled the suture through one last time and tied it closed, snipping it with scissors to save the rest. He gently rubbed a cream on the freshly sutured wound that would help fight off infection before he grabbed the new bandages and gently wrapped them around Sherlock's torso, being mindful to make them snug but not too much nor too loose.

'You did great, Sherlock,' John praised him. 'You were fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.' He looked up at Sherlock then and wiped the tears from his cheeks. The guilt was rising in him again but he squashed it back down, knowing Sherlock wouldn't want that.

'Let's get you dried off and into bed, alright?' he said softly, standing up and bringing Sherlock with him slowly. 'We'll continue this later.'

Sherlock swallowed down on the bile that had been threatening to escape. 'Bed sounds good around now,' he agreed. 'After I've rested up I'll be able to show you the rest of the house. I can show you my old lab if you like.' He smiled softly at John.

'I'd like that,' John smiled, gently kissing Sherlock on his forehead. He manoeuvered them out of the shower and sat Sherlock back in the chair. He grabbed an incredibly fluffy towel from the rack and dried Sherlock's hair, laughing slightly when he stopped as it was all errant curl and hung in his face. He carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair until it was out of his face, a slight smile on his lips. He gently ran the towel down Sherlock's arms and legs before drying himself off.

'Now let's get you into bed and then I'm going to take a shower of my own. I'll crawl into bed with you after if you want.'

'I'd like that,' Sherlock sighed happily. 'I'd like that a lot.' In truth he didn't want John to go at all but he knew that a hot shower was just what the doctor had ordered for the older man. He noted the way every muscle under John's skin was tensed.  _Stress,_  Sherlock thought.  _Stress because of me._

John hummed and helped Sherlock get into his bed. 'Try not to lie on your side, alright? I'll be back and joining you before you know it.' He pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock's lips before covering him and walking back into the bathroom.

There was still some blood in the shower and it unnerved John. He started the hot water again, watching Sherlock's blood rush down the drain. Once the mirrors had fogged up again and a sheen of sweat had formed on John's skin did he allow himself to step into the scalding hot water.

It was a wakeup call, that was for sure. He needed to be more careful with Sherlock. He was fragile no matter how much the detective tried to convince him otherwise. John had hurt him, made him bleed, caused him pain, and it was all his fault. Sherlock was injured because of him. If he had just run after him, if he hadn't brought up his knowing about Moriarty, if he hadn't told Sherlock that he loved him that first morning post-homemade drug, if he hadn't let Mike walk him in to the Bart's lab and introduce the two of them... Sherlock would be fine. He would be absolutely fine. And John would be dead. He was on his way too, back to his flat to do just that (shot through the head from an illegal handgun. Quick, easy, efficient), when Mike stopped him, introduced them, Sherlock unknowingly saving his life. He clamped his hands around his head, trying to stop the voice from coming back that had plagued him for so long after being discharged.

_**It's your fault you know,**_ it hissed. __ **Your precious Sherlock is in this position because you put him here. You hurt him, got him hurt, when you promised him that no harm would come to him with you around. But look at what has happened. He has been beaten into a bloody pulp because of you, ripped his stitches because of you, and now he thinks you're no better than the father that abused him for years. He doesn't love you, he never did, and he never will. He is incapable of feeling, incapable of sentiment, and you've broken him. Broken him worse than his father did, and he loathes and detests you for it.**  
  
John crumpled in a heap on the floor, the voice unrelenting. All the guilt he hadn't allowed himself to feel because Sherlock hadn't wanted to see it, because he knew deep down he wasn't at fault, because neither of them were truly at fault, all came bubbling up to the surface. John cried out in anguish and slammed his hands against the tile for lack of anything better to do.

The voice was right. He was no better than Sherlock's father, bringing so much harm to Sherlock over the past few days. And he had promised that he would never let anything or anyone harm him again, and look where that got him. He was nearly beaten to death by Moriarty's henchman, had to have major surgery to fix him, then he had ripped his stitches and caused him more pain trying to stitch him up again.

Hot tears fell down John's face as the voice continued, recalling all the harm Sherlock had come to since John had walked into his life. The cabbie, the Black Lotus, The Gollum, Moriarty, Irene, the Hound, the H.O.U.N.D drug, and so many more. Now Moriarty was back with a vengeance and John was powerless to stop him. He had said he owed Sherlock a fall, that it had a far more permanent destination, and John was so scared that Moriarty was going to kill Sherlock out of boredom.

He pulled himself into a ball, clutching his knees to his chest, and sobbed. The water cascaded down around him but John couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything except the numbing pain in his chest. He needed to feel something other than pain; he needed a release he hadn't wanted since his discharge. He glanced up and saw the razor, the blades tempting and familiar. He reached out for it when a familiar voice came back to him, stopping him in his tracks.

'Don't do this, John,' it told him, the rich, deep baritone carrying throughout the bathroom. John wasn't sure if he was just imagining it or if Sherlock was actually there. 'This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault. I don't blame you for what happened and neither should you. I am not broken, I am healing. You saved me, and you shouldn't make promises you can't keep. I will always be in harm's way in my profession. You won't always be able to protect me. Please, John, please. Stop this. I don't blame you and I love you, more than I thought I would ever be capable of doing. Please, John, stop and come back to me.'

John opened his eyes to an empty room. Sherlock hadn't been there after all, but he had said all the right things. The voice in his head died down, John mentally placing it in a jar and closing the lid tightly, hoping to suffocate it. He stood up on shaky legs and scrubbed his face clean of tears. Taking a deep breath he steadied himself and reached for the soap, determined to make it back to Sherlock smelling clean and refreshed from the guilt and the grime that had settled in his skin from the past twenty four hours.

He toweled himself off before leaving the bathroom, pausing in the door to gaze upon Sherlock's sleeping figure. How had he gotten so lucky to receive the love of the great Sherlock Holmes? And how had Sherlock been lucky to get John's? John smiled and shook his head, closing the door as he quietly made his way to the bed and crawled under the sheets. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the palm before lacing their fingers together.

'I love you, you daft, overprotective, overbearing, eccentric prick of a man,' he whispered before falling asleep.

**…::-::…**

The bluest of blue eyes gazed upon the sleeping doctor, taking in everything about him. Each blond hair dipped in a pre old age silver was noted, each wrinkle embedded in his face was memorized and pushed back into the little room in his mind palace labeled 'John Watson' for later reference. John was perfect, not because of his looks, or his personality, or his mannerisms. Sherlock found him perfect because of every little imperfection he could spot made John more human. Sherlock needed some humanity in his life. Without it he would have simply stayed as an emotionless robot. He loved John because he was imperfect, human, and was the key to making him feel alive.

He tentatively reached out and stroked John's face, smiling to himself as the other man moaned and wrinkled up his nose in an adorable manner in his sleep.

He thanked himself for making the homemade drug in that moment. It had possibly been one of Sherlock Holmes's most life-changing moments and despite all the pain and disaster that seemed to have followed he wouldn't have changed things for the world.

And then there was the sex. Sex had confused Sherlock from a very young age. He hadn't seen any point in it. He had found it somehow disturbing, and unnecessary. However when he was with John it felt so right, and not disgusting, but completely and utterly satisfying. The sentiment that had followed the act had somehow set his attraction to John into something so much more meaningful and deeper, and now despite knowing he was now playing on the losing side he had John and he didn't care.

'You kind of look a little like a teddy bear,' he mused out loud. 'No, more like a sleeping kitten.' He kissed the tip of John's ear. 'Does my kitty want some jam?' he giggled. 'Or is my kitty feeling a little bit naughty?'

John was fast asleep it seemed as even the latter comment hadn't woken him up.

John slept rather peacefully despite the emotional trauma he had gone through in the shower. He was wrapped in warm blankets, silk sheets, and the softest pillows. He snuggled into the warmth, never wanting to leave. He felt a gentle touch to his face and scrunched up his nose. He heard Sherlock's voice but couldn't understand what he was saying. He snuggled closer to the voice, wanting to be safe and warm with the man that voice belonged to. A hand ran through his hair and he purred, arching into the touch like a cat. He fell asleep again soon after, the hand still petting his hair.

Sherlock twisted himself around, wincing as his ribs played up slightly. He smothered John's body in his, pressing himself against him, smiling into the base of his neck. He began to sing softly.

'Soft John, warm John, little ball of fur. Happy John, sleepy John, purr, purr, purr.'

There was a weight pressing down on him, but a comfortable weight. Then the singing started and he couldn't help but giggle in his sleep.

'Sh'lock, why are you singing the "Soft Kitty" song to me?' he mumbled sleepily.

'Why ever not?' Sherlock replied, trailing kisses down John's neck. 'That's what you are. My adorable kitty.'

'I'm not adorable,' John grumbled. 'And I'm not a kitty. On the fan forums I'm a hedgehog or a Hobbit.  _You_  are a cat or an otter.' He arched into Sherlock's kisses, moaning in content.

'Oh, but you should have seen this fan video on YouTube. You were hissing like a little kitty cat and it was the most adorable thing I've heard in my existence.' He continued to kiss John. 'And though I agree you are quite Hobbit like, and your mannerisms are even more hedgehog like, you are currently curled against my chest in a very cat like way.' Sherlock ran a finger over John's silvery blond hair. 'You remind me of my old cat, you know. I loved her very much. Much like you.'

'No more fan videos for you,' John groaned, turning his head slightly so Sherlock could kiss new places on his neck. 'And I didn't know you had a cat.' He let out a noise very akin to a purr, cursing inwardly at himself.  _Maybe I am a cat._

'Yes. Her name was Ash. She was quite a beautiful creature.' Sherlock nipped at John's neck, scraping his teeth on the slightly tanned flesh. 'Much like you. My beautiful kitty.'

John moaned and arched closer to Sherlock, his head tilting back. He wrapped a leg around one of Sherlock's and pulled him close, letting him know how his attentions had affected him. Sherlock chuckled, nipping harder on John's neck.

'Does my pretty little kitty like that?' he hissed down his lover's ear, licking along the bite mark he had just made in John's flesh. John moaned again, unable to form words. He nodded at least, pressing his neck closer to Sherlock's wonderful lips and his erection against Sherlock's thigh.

'Say my name,' Sherlock hummed, sucking his lips around John's Adam's apple and rubbing his own morning hard-on against the other's body.

'Ah, Sher–, mmm,' John moaned against the double sensations running through him. 'Oh, yes, Sher–' He twisted a hand in Sherlock's hair and held him close, rolling his hips against the other man. Sherlock dared not use his hips to tease John in case he ended up tearing his stitches once again. Instead, he used his long fingers to hook around the clothed erection. He began massaging John whilst continuing to nip and lick and suck at John's neck. John gasped and rutted against Sherlock's hand, so close already.

'Sh'lock,' he murmured, tightening his grip on Sherlock's hair and his other hand went to grasp Sherlock's on his cock. He laced their fingers together and rutted into Sherlock's palm, his hand holding his in the place he needed it most. Sherlock smirked but that simple smile turned into a shocked expression as John suddenly arched in ecstasy.

'Did–' He bit his lip. 'Did you just cum in your pants?'

John blushed and buried his head in Sherlock's shoulder. 'I do believe I did,' he laughed. 'Like a bloody teenager.'

'You must tell me the secret to breaking you like that.' Sherlock removed his hand. 'You're not usually so – quick to come undone.'

'Hadn't had an orgasm since the night before Moriarty,' John explained. 'Add two erections that I never did anything about to the mix and I'll cum in my pants pretty quickly.'

Sherlock's mouth formed a small 'o' shape. 'Do you mean if I denied you of one for a week or so you would be like putty in my fingers?'

'Perhaps,' John sighed. 'But don't start with a week, my cock would probably explode from denial.'

Sherlock shifted away. 'Tough.' He laid his calm blue eyes on John. 'I shall enjoy your torture.'

'Then enjoy yours as well,' John smirked, moving away from Sherlock's own erection. He turned over so his back was facing Sherlock and curled in on himself. He pulled a face at the feeling of his cum in his pants but made no move to remove them.

'I spent the whole of my life as a virgin, John. Believe me when I say I have my ways of distracting myself from... my lower region.' Sherlock was already turning his mind off from sexual desire. John scowled but paid Sherlock no mind. He wrapped the blankets tighter around himself and shut his eyes. In his post-orgasmic haze it would be pretty easy to fall asleep again.

Sherlock prodded John with a long boney finger. 'I'm bored,' he complained. 'And hungry.'

John groaned. He didn't want to do anything except sleep for three days. But Sherlock was his patient and he needed to take care of him. He threw the blankets off him and stalked to one of the suitcases, opening it to find a combination of their clothes inside.

He pulled off his soiled pants and replaced them with fresh ones, pulling on a pair of pajama trousers and shirt as well. He grabbed some for Sherlock as well, putting them on him gently. He helped Sherlock into the wheelchair and pushed him from the room, shutting the door behind them.

'So, where's the kitchen? Then we can go to your old lab and you can experiment to your heart's content.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Last door on the right,' he informed John. 'Are we going to have jam?' he asked excitedly. John snorted as he wheeled Sherlock down the corridor.

'I can make toast and put jam on it,' he smiled.

'Oooh yes please.' Sherlock glanced up at John, battering his eyelashes.

John grinned and bent down to meet Sherlock, their lips connecting awkwardly upside down. Sherlock moaned, working his lips roughly against John's and sliding a hand to the base of his neck. John moved his lips against Sherlock's, his tongue darting out to greet Sherlock's. The sensation of kissing upside down was wonderful, but the feeling of their tongues meeting upside down was bloody glorious. Sherlock pulled away as John wheeled him into the kitchen. He looked on at John as he began to search for some jam and let out a low whistle.

'Hard already?' he questioned in amusement.

'Nope,' John smirked, heading to the fridge to get milk. 'It only looks like it because my pants are wet from my cum and they're sticking to my cock, so you can see everything. It's a very unpleasant feeling, cum in your pants.' John shifted and grimaced.

'I can only imagine,' Sherlock purred. 'And I was the one who made you cum. You have no idea how that makes me feel.'

John blushed and adjusted his pants, his eyes widening slightly to realise that he  _was_  in fact hard and his pants were clean.

_Bugger, I forgot I changed them already,_  he sighed. He shrugged and straightened up, grabbing the milk from the massive fridge and heading back over to Sherlock.

'How does it make you feel?' he asked quietly, sitting the milk on the counter as he searched for cups and plates. 'Knowing that you, a previously inexperienced virgin, can make me cum in my pants like a bloody teenager?'

Sherlock tilted his head to one side. 'Like I've finally found my purpose in life and the place I belong.'

John stilled. He hadn't expected an answer like that.  _He feels like he belongs with me?_  John felt tears of joy prick in his eyes and he sniffled. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand and turned to face his love.

'You belong with me, Sherlock,' he choked out. 'Always have, always will, and nothing will change that. We... We were made for each other. I never used to put much stock in the whole soul mates thing, but that is what you are. My soul mate. And I love you, so much.' He'd started crying halfway through, but they weren't tears of guilt or sorrow, they were tears of pure, unadulterated bliss. And in order to make Sherlock know that he knelt down to his level and kissed him softly, quickly turning it into a kiss of passion.

Sherlock drew John against him as he kissed the beautiful man that fate had destined him with back. He held him tightly for what felt like eternity. He wasn't willing to let go of John any time soon.

'You and me – forever,' he said in a gasping breath, leaning his head against John.

'Yes, Sherlock. You and me, together, for all eternity,' John whispered, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. 'Now let's get that toast and jam going, shall we?'

'Yes, then I'll show you my lab as promised,' Sherlock said. 'It was the place where my early experiments took place.'

'And what sorts of experiments did you do?' John asked, popping the bread in the toaster. 'Anything as gruesome as the ones at the flat?'

'Hardly,' Sherlock snorted. 'Mummy would have never allowed such things. Though there were the occasional dissected rats and frogs.'

John laughed and jumped slightly when the toast popped up. 'So what did you do in your lab, then?' he asked, popping more bread into the toaster and then spreading jam on the fresh toast. 'Chemical reactions? See how long it took an ice cube to melt in just above freezing temperatures?'

'I mainly just hid and kept myself to myself.' Sherlock twiddled his thumbs and stared aimlessly into space as he carefully let himself delve into his past.

'So it was like your mind palace, but it wasn't in your mind?' John mused, pursing his lips. 'Where you could escape and be yourself without anyone judging you. You were safe there.'

Sherlock blinked twice and turned to John. 'Yes–' He paused. 'Safe. What a funny little word that is.'

'Was that...' John paused, not really wanting to bring it up. 'Was that where you went to escape from... from your father?' he asked softly.

Sherlock was suddenly wildly alert and he gave John a smile. It wasn't like the smiles he usually gave the world: the smiles that said he was practically a god, that he was unbreakable and untouchable. It was a smile that he only used when he was around John. This was a smile of a man who was never truly OK, who was haunted by ghosts long dead, and who had been beaten, not just physically but emotionally too.

'It was where I escaped everything,' he said simply. 'It was also for Mother's sake. I don't think she could have lived through another explosion in Mycroft's room. Which of course was where my experiments usually took place before the lab was built.'

John smiled softly and knelt down in front of Sherlock. He wasn't sure what he should say, so he let his actions do the talking. He carded his fingers through Sherlock's curls, resting his palm against his cheek, his thumb caressing his cheek soothingly. His eyes were soft, understanding, and let him know that John was there. John would always be there for his Sherlock, no matter what.

Sherlock shrugged. 'It was the past, John. There's no turning back. I have you now at least. That numbs my pain a little.'

'I wish there was something more I could do,' John whispered, resting his forehead on Sherlock's. 'I wish I could just take away the pain, make everything OK.'

Sherlock's lips twitched in amusement. 'You could perhaps try and not completely murder the toast.'

'Wha–?' John turned and saw black smoke pouring from the toaster. 'Shit!' He rushed over and popped the toast from the toaster. It was pitch black and smoking. John groaned rubbed his face in his hands, trying not to laugh but it bubbled in his chest nonetheless.

Sherlock sniggered. 'And I thought you were the domestic one out of the two of us.'

'It takes a certain level of skill to fuck up toast,' John smirked. 'You should be proud you have found a person with such skill.'

'I'm always proud of you,' Sherlock said sincerely. 'I always have been.'

'And I've always been proud of you,' John smiled. 'Your brilliant deductions, your beautiful mind, your emotional violin playing, even your crazy experiments. There will never be a day where I am not proud of you, of everything you do, and everything you don't. You infuriate me sometimes, but I love you nonetheless and you make me proud every single day.'

'It's a wonder it took us so long to get hold of each other's pants. Sorry to put it so forwardly but that  _is_  how we ended up together. Or you would have if I hadn't ripped them,' Sherlock pouted. 'They were one of my favorite pair of pants too.'

'I can buy you more,' John said, putting more bread in the toaster, hoping he wouldn't fuck up that batch. 'They really looked good on you. And, if I may be so forward, they felt fantastic on my bare arse.'

Sherlock wriggled his eyebrows and made a low growling sound. 'What a shame my cock had to go and ruin them.'

'Yes, quite a shame,' John hummed, paying no mind to Sherlock's seduction technique. He popped the toast from the toaster and smiled when it popped up golden brown instead of pitch black. He put in two more slices for good measure and spread the jam on the fresh toast. 'Like I said, I can buy you more. Silk, am I right?'

'Actually I was considering going commando from now on. When I'm with you I won't be needing any pants.' His eyes creased in the corners as he watched John turn a deep shade of pink and if he wasn't very much mistaken John had actually shrieked a little bit under his breath, reminding him very much of the fangirls. John cursed himself. Sherlock was keeping his promise to tease him into submission, but John was doing his best to ignore it. He swallowed around his arousal, blatantly obvious in his pajama bottoms.

'You do that, yeah,' he choked out. 'I may as well do the same. I mean, if we're just going to be at each other like animals we might as well spare one layer of clothing.' He smirked slightly and put jam on the last two pieces of toast. He put them all on a large plate, poured them both a large glass of milk, and set everything on the table. He wheeled Sherlock over to the table and sat across from him.

'Now, eat,' he commanded, taking a bite out of a piece toast, some jam dribbling down his chin.

'You have a little something.' Sherlock pointed out John's chin before taking great pride in licking the jam off of the doctor's slight stubble. He let his eyes wander to John's crotch and bit back laughter at John's clear state of arousal. Picking up a piece of toast he chewed it and threw back his head. He moaned as the jam set his taste buds on fire.

'Tastes so good,' he muttered under his breath.

John blushed deep red at Sherlock's daring move. His tongue was soft and warm against his chin, his cock going from half hard to full on erect at the contact. It was straining even in the loose fabric of the pajama bottoms. He swallowed his bite of toast rather roughly, unable to eat any more as Sherlock threw his head back and moaned rather obscenely. John whimpered slightly and pressed the heel of his hand to his erection, crossing his legs in the hope it would quell the pressure in his groin.

'Oh, I am sorry John. Have I got you in a rather "hard" situation?' Sherlock chuckled. He continued to eat his jam on toast and all the while he was making the most unusual noises varying from light moans to deep panting.

'Oh, I hate you,' John ground out, his eyes bright with mischief despite his tone.

'No, you really don't,' Sherlock stated. 'For that I might just have to make the sex ban a little longer.'

John groaned and threw his head back, cursing himself. 'By the end of this I really  _will_  hate you. And I'll hate myself too. But when this is over I'm going to bloody love you.'

'I should bloody hope that you'll love me.' Sherlock chewed on his lower lip adorably.

'You had better fucking  _ravish_  me when this is over,' John pouted, finally attempting to take another bite of toast. The jam was absolutely delicious and John moaned, closing his eyes to savor the taste.

'Believe me when I say I have big plans for us,' Sherlock chided.  _Big in every sense of the word_ , he thought silently to himself.

'Good. That might make this torture worth it,' John smirked. He took a rather large bite of toast and sighed around it. The jam, he couldn't get enough of it.

'Yes, quite,' he hummed and ate as much as his stomach would take.

'John?' Sherlock mused. 'Do you think that after all this is over you'll want to meet my mother?' It was a bit of a random question but it had been playing on Sherlock's mind.

John looked up from his mouthful of toast, surprised at Sherlock's question.

'You... want me to meet your mother?' he asked.

'Yes, I would like that.' Sherlock leaned forwards and linked his fingers with John. 'I've never brought anyone I know to meet her, let alone someone I am in a relationship with. And you are a very special part of my life now so...'

John smiled and squeezed Sherlock's hand. 'I would be honoured to meet your mother,' he smiled. 'I would ask you to meet my parents, but, well, you know.'

'Yes, I know,' Sherlock nodded in understanding. 'Though you may need to control those erections of yours. I am rather afraid that she might have a heart attack if she learnt of the greater details of our activities.' He stared intensely at John's still prominent arousal, licking his lips and groaning loudly.

John smirked and glared at his lover. 'It won't be nearly as noticeable in proper trousers. And I honestly don't think you would moan so obscenely in front of your dear mummy.'

'I wouldn't be able to help myself.' Sherlock shifted in his wheelchair. 'You just look so delicious.'

'I know I'm delicious,' John smirked. 'And if I could get away with it I would try to give you an erection in front of your dear Mummy Holmes as well.'

'I... Well, I suppose it can't be nearly as awkward as her finding Mycroft in bed with another man in the middle of sex,' Sherlock snorted, his lips quivering.

'Mycroft... I didn't... Oh my god, really?!' John spluttered, trying to hide his grin and failing miserably.

'Yes. My brother has always been certain of his sexuality. In fact, at the moment I'm fairly sure he's sleeping with Lestrade.' Sherlock shriveled up his nose at the unpleasant thought.

'Oh my god! Really?' John couldn't hold back the laugh that time. 'But... But Lestrade isn't... Is he? Well, he must be if he's sleeping with your brother. Or maybe he's bisexual, like me. Well, I guess I'm more Holmes-sexual, but only to a certain Holmes.'

'He's bisexual,' Sherlock grinned. 'And I should bloody hope I'm the only Holmes to fall in your category. So where does that leave me?' He tilted his head. 'I guess I just have a fetish for army men. It's the feeling of authority. It's a big turn on.'

'I'll definitely be using my Captain Watson side against you,' John smirked. 'I may even have to pull rank.' He grinned cheekily and took his final bite of toast with a rather harsh crunch and stood up straight, his Captain eyes boring into Sherlock's. 'Now, let's go see your first laboratory, shall we?'

'Yes sir! Whatever you say sir! You're so sexy when you go all captain mode sir!' Sherlock saluted John, his face set in a deadly serious expression.

'Control that enthusiasm,  _Private,_ ' John growled. 'It may get you injured, or worse, killed one day. Rein that in, that's an order.'

Sherlock flinched and reared back slightly, pressing himself as far into his chair as he could go. 'Sorry sir.' His voice actually trembled.  _Pull yourself together! It's only John for goodness sake!_

'Good man,' John grinned. 'You'll want to keep a level head if you are to survive. Now, direct me to this laboratory and we'll have a little fun.'

'Fun?' Sherlock swallowed down hard. 'We have a fun ban, remember?' Still, he didn't hesitate in directing John where to go. 'It's at the very end of the hall.'

'Did I  _stutter,_  Private?' John growled in Sherlock's ear, a hand sneaking down to Sherlock's thigh and squeezing. 'We may be banned from having  _that_  kind of fun, but you have fun experimenting and I have fun watching you. So,' he pushed Sherlock through the doors and wheeled him over to a table. 'Experiment, love. Have fun. Don't be bored.'

'How can I be bored?' Sherlock said softy. 'I have you.'

'Yes, but I won't let you run experiments on me. Only if I agree or volunteer first,' John smirked. 'So, experiment, love. Maybe try to make that Viagra concoction again, but the non-hallucinogen version.'

'And I was so looking forward to seeing my fairy friends again,' he giggled. 'I'll see what I can do.'

'No more fairies, please,' John groaned. 'I love you, but when you're around your fairy friends you're more of an annoying prick than usual. I think they're a bad influence on you.' John hopped up on one of the tables and sat atop it.

'Let's watch the great Sherlock Holmes in experiment mode, shall we?' he grinned. 'This will give you some good practice on wheeling yourself around too. Think of it as an experiment.'

And so Sherlock began to experiment with all sorts of chemicals resulting in quite a few explosions.

Exactly seven days passed like this.

Sherlock would throw some chemicals together and let out a maddening laugh and John would watch him like he was the most fascinating thing in the universe, and for once everything felt as though it was going to be OK. He even became quite skillful in wheeling himself around.

It was the seventh day of experimenting and Sherlock had managed to form what in theory should be a safe drug for him and John to use. He'd managed to make it a liquid form too. It would definitely make the drug easier to administer when drank in say, milk or tea, rather than sniffing fumes like the first time he had created such a drug.

However Sherlock may have neglected to tell John about the fact he was storing the drug in a milk carton in the fridge, so when he wheeled himself into the main living room of the Holmes manor house and saw John drinking some particularly milky coffee he couldn't help but freeze.  _Well John did say he wanted to be a guinea pig in the hospital. Now is his chance._

If his research over the past week was anything to go by Sherlock had exactly half an hour before the drug took effect and John would notice. He decided in that moment until it was blatantly obvious to John that he had consumed the Viagra drug he wouldn't say a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals week has begun! My first test is tomorrow morning. And this time next week I will be back home in my own bed and no internet connection or cable. FML. But I will do my best to get out to the library next week to post the next chapter. If I can't get it posted I'll post something on my tumblr about it, seeing as I can at least do that from my phone. But for now let's all plan on meeting back here next Monday.
> 
> Thanks for reading and leave a review! They're always fun to receive and read. Have a great week!
> 
> TSA + IB


	11. It's Been One Week Since You Looked At Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys. My brother's birthday was yesterday and I couldn't get out of the house. But here's the next chapter. It's got lots of smut in it, so I hope it makes up for being a day late.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock
> 
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: drug experimentation, smut, men going at it, dom/sub military role play

Seven whole days went by with Sherlock experimenting. He would only stop to eat and sleep when John dragged him away, but that became harder as Sherlock got better at wheeling himself away at breakneck speeds. John would finally give up after a while of endless chasing and retreat to their room, where Sherlock would be sleeping in the morning when John woke up without fail.

Seven whole days went by without any form of seduction from Sherlock whatsoever as well. Every now and again he would moan out something and John would react, but they were all unintentional. Whenever things got a little too 'hard' for the doctor he would always get up and explore the manor. It was a massive house, and there were so many rooms to explore. He imagined it must have been an interesting place to grow up at, finding all the nooks and crannies as a child, secret hiding places, going on adventures. He could imagine Sherlock as a child doing all those things, growing bored when he'd found all the best hiding spots, and then turning to blowing things up in Mycroft's room.

He wandered into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. He needed something a lot stronger than tea, and coffee with a splash of milk would do the job. As the coffee brewed he went to the fridge to get the milk. Everything was gourmet, nothing but the best for the Holmes family. Was it even possible to purchase gourmet milk? Apparently it was, as the milk was a brand he didn't recognise but he just shrugged and set it out by his mug. It tasted divine in his coffee and he hummed at the flavours swirling around on his tongue. He sat on a sofa and cracked open a paper he'd read dozens of times. For safety purposes the delivery had been canceled. As he was reading he heard Sherlock wheel in and settle near him.

'You know, Sherlock, it's been a week,' he said, taking a rather large gulp of coffee. 'I think you're strong enough to walk around now.'

Sherlock hummed and pushed himself upwards nervously. He slowly but surely began to step towards John. He smiled gleefully as his legs actually worked for the first time in what felt like eternity. He slumped on the sofa beside John.

'It feels good to be up and about. Not that trying to see how fast I could wheel myself around the manor wasn't any fun.' John smiled and nodded, still reading the paper intently. Sherlock eyed his lover carefully, noting each stage John's body was going through because of the drug he'd drank.

Stage 1: He seemed to be a little hot under the collar. A thin sheen of sweat was forming on his skin.

Stage 2: He was turning red. A hot flush was creeping from his cheeks, down his neck and beyond.

Stage 3: His breathing pattern was changing. It sounded ragged and heavy.

Stage 4: He was starting to visibly fidget in his seat.

Stage 5: This stage was pretty self explanatory. A visible lump was starting to form in John's trousers.

Sherlock stayed completely indifferent however. 'Is there any milk left?' he asked, standing a little too quickly and making his way to his wheelchair. 'Don't look at me like that. This a far more fun mode of transport.'

He didn't want to be around for stage six.

Stage six he presumed was for John to become a mass of hormones and it was likely that he'd be a little bit angry too.

'Well, at least you made it to the sofa,' John smiled, crossing his legs and shifting in his seat. 'And yes, there's still milk left. That gourmet stuff tastes off today just so you know.'

He took another sip of his coffee and wrinkled his nose in distaste. The milk really was off, so he sat the mug aside. He shifted again and whimpered, pressing the heel of his hand to his crotch.

_How the hell did this happen? Am I so starved of Sherlock's touch that I get hard if he's simply in the room? Jesus fucking Christ, get a hold of yourself._  
  
He pressed down harder but the pressure didn't quell his still growing erection. It did the exact opposite. It felt bloody fantastic and John couldn't stop the moan as he threw his head back against the couch and began rutting into his hand. As he neared his release a lingering thought rose to the surface of his mind and his eyes snapped open.

'Sherlock!' he yelled, standing abruptly and wincing at the pressure on his groin. 'Sherlock! You son of a bitch! Did you drug me?'

Sherlock flinched as he heard John yell out. He reversed into the room, biting his lip and wincing as he faced his outraged lover.

'Would it help if I said it was an accident?' He stayed a wary distance away and watched for John's next move.

The army doctor was as bright red as a tomato and was clearly struggling to stand with the ever growing bulge in his trousers. John was panting by now and trembling. Sherlock swallowed thickly, expecting more yelling but instead John sat promptly back down and placed a pillow between his legs. It was a clear effort to stop his erection but it obviously wasn't working as he began to fidget. In fact he was practically humping the poor unsuspecting pillow now.

'You couldn't have warned me that you had finished, let alone that it was being stored in the god damn milk carton?' John grit out, trying very hard to stop his hips from moving.

'You had better do something about this,  _Private,_ ' he growled, smirking yet glaring in Sherlock's direction. 'Make that an  _order,_  Private Holmes.'

Sherlock wheeled himself over to John and manoeuvered out of his chair and onto his lover's lap, removing the offensive pillow.

'Please go easy on me Captain,' he pleaded softly, whimpering as John's arousal pushed against him. His body was still healing after all, and he knew neither he nor John wanted a repeat of what had happened in the shower. And even without his stitches he still ached all over.

'A Captain will always take care of his soldier,' John whispered in Sherlock's ear, stroking his bum gently. 'So long as the soldier follows all orders given and pleases his Captain, understood?' John squeezed Sherlock's bum tightly, pulling him against his drugged erection.

'O-kay,' Sherlock replied, voice vibrating. 'What's your first order sir?' he questioned, rubbing himself against John frantically.

'Lavish me with that talented tongue of yours, Private,' John smirked. 'Mark your Captain so everyone will know who I control.'

Sherlock pushed his hand through John's hair, noting that it had grown considerably longer and was due a haircut, but the detective quite liked it like that. Rugged just like the man it belonged to. He teasingly tilted his head and began to kiss the underside of John's jaw, slowly working his way up to his lips. At first he kissed John slowly but it soon turned into what was quite possibly the most spectacular kiss that John and he had ever shared.

John moaned into the kiss and tangled his fingers in Sherlock's curls. They were longer than the last time he had run his fingers through them, and they provided him with more grip, which he liked. He bucked up against Sherlock, thrusting his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, tasting him and also somewhat hoping Sherlock would get some residual transfer of the drug from his tongue.

He broke away from the kiss, gasping for air. He smiled up at the ceiling as he caught his breath.

'Very good, Private Holmes. A stellar performance. Now,' he looked at Sherlock and with his best authoritative voice gave Sherlock his next command. 'Get on your knees and between my legs. Help your Captain alleviate the pressure in his trousers.'

'No,' Sherlock growled under his breath, now moving his mouth's attention to John's neck. He bared his teeth before plunging in and biting him so hard that he could taste a faint trickle of blood in his mouth. 'Not yet sir.'

'Are you... Oh fuuuuck,' he groaned, shivering against Sherlock's aggressive bite. He yanked Sherlock by his hair, his teeth scraping against his skin.

'You just defied a  _direct order_  from your Captain,  _Private,_ ' he growled. 'I'm going to have to punish you for that.' He pulled Sherlock off him and stood them up, setting Sherlock on his knees and bending him over the couch. His hand traced over his arse before yanking Sherlock's trousers down until they sat around his knees.

'Now how much do you think would be a proper punishment Private Holmes?' John asked, his palm caressing Sherlock's bare arse, pinching it slightly.

'What are you going to do Jonathan? Teach me a lesson that I'll never forget?' he sneered, wriggling his bottom in the air.

'I could penetrate you without preparation beforehand if you'd prefer,' John growled, slapping Sherlock's bare arse harshly. 'And you are to call me Captain or Sir only, do you understand?'

'Yes sir.' Sherlock rolled his eyes. He turned around to face his Captain with a challenge written across his face. 'You won't do it,' he stated.

'No, I won't. Because I asked you if you would prefer it. I never said I was actually going to do it.' John loomed over Sherlock and grasped his chin, forcing him to look up at him while also wiping the smug look of satisfaction off his face.

'Now, pull your trousers back on, and then take mine off,' John ordered.

Sherlock snorted. 'You'll have to catch me first,' he stated, not pulling his trousers on but unbending himself and popping back into his wheelchair. 'That is if the Captain can run.' He started to wheel away. Oh how he was enjoying this.

'I've had to run with worse pain!' John shouted after Sherlock as he sped down the hall. He adjusted his erection, hissing slightly, and ran after his childish lover. 'When I catch you I am throwing you on your bed and I am going to cover your body with mine until you cooperate and then I am going to fuck your face so hard your jaw will be sore for a week!'

'I'd like to see you try!' he yelled back, chuckling.

'Oh, I most certainly will!' John yelled, rounding a corner and nearly colliding with Sherlock's chair. He missed completely and ran after the speeding figure. 'I've had plenty of time to explore this house and I know the halls! And I  _will_  catch you!'

'Ah, but you don't know  _all_  of this house! I have my ways!' Sherlock called back. 'So I would suggest paying me a little respect because your problem is not going to go anywhere.'

He turned a sharp corner and to John's point of view simply disappeared. Of course in reality he had taken one of the house's secret passageways.

'You are a horrible sub!' John shouted, stopping in the hallway to catch his breath and hold his groin. Fuck that hurt.

'For fucks sake, Sherlock! It's only a game! You can be the boss of me again once it's over! God damn it.' He hissed and sucked in a deep breath.

'I could always take care of this myself you know!' he shouted in frustration. 'I don't always need you in order to have an orgasm.'

_Yes, but I give you the best damn orgasms. –SH_

John nearly jumped out of his skin when his mobile chimed.

'Sherlock stop being a fucking child!' he yelled, opening the message anyway. He blushed and swallowed, palming his erection. He sent Sherlock a text of his own, knowing his voice wouldn't be able to hold the authority he wanted it to if he tried to speak. He was too damn aroused and it would have come out as a choked whisper.

_I'm going to your room. If you're not there in two minutes I'm starting without you. –JW_

John limped down the hall to Sherlock's room, lying on his back across Sherlock's whole bed, waiting.

Exactly twenty minutes later Sherlock entered his bedroom, laughing at the sight before him. He climbed onto the bed, eyeing John appreciatively. He moved a hand to grope John as hard as he could.

'So, am I still a child sir?' he questioned.

John jerked awake, not even realising he had fallen asleep. He rubbed his hands on his face and checked his mobile for the time. He smirked slightly when he realised Sherlock was late.

'I said two minutes, Sherlock, not twenty. You're late. And believe me, if I hadn't fallen asleep I would be buck naked and wanking by now. I may have even been done and asleep for real.'

'I haven't been completely idle, John. Look at my cock more closely.' Sherlock yanked John's trousers down and groped him again. 'I decided to help myself to some coffee.'

John hissed as Sherlock's cool hand wrapped around his hot cock. He craned his neck to look at Sherlock's trousers and grinned when he saw the very impressive tent in it. He hooked a leg over one of Sherlock's and flipped their positions, being mindful of Sherlock's ribs.

'So Private Holmes, are you ready to obey your Captain now?'

'Yes sir,' Sherlock said, hanging his jaw wide open.

'Good man,' John grinned, pulling Sherlock up so he could sit properly. 'Now, suck,' he ordered, positioning his prick in front of Sherlock's open mouth. Sherlock pulled John into his mouth, teasing him into a melted mess with his tongue. John moaned and melted into Sherlock. He had a skillful mouth, that was for sure. Whether it was spewing deductions, insulting Anderson, or pleasuring John, it was always good at what it did and it always gave more than one hundred percent.

John thrust into Sherlock's mouth, gripping his hair to hold his head still. Sherlock laughed as he sucked harder, dragging John further down his throat.  _Come to me John. Come to me,_  he thought as he watched the older man's face. John groaned and panted, thrusting deeper into Sherlock's throat.

'So close, so close,' he gasped, throwing his head back in ecstasy.

When John came Sherlock almost gagged. His cum tasted exactly like the Viagra formula but saltier. He realised that to his horror he had now both drank the formula and swallowed John's cum. Oh this was going to bite him on the arse big time.

He pulled back, licking his lips before moving to kiss John so his lover could taste himself.

John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, tasting himself on his tongue. He laced his fingers in Sherlock's hair and pulled him closer, not wanting the kiss to end. He was so starved of Sherlock's touch he would probably curl around him possessively in his sleep.

'Good job Private Holmes,' he whispered against Sherlock's lips. 'You took excellent care of your Captain. Now, let your Captain take care of you.' He palmed Sherlock's erection through his trousers and grinned at the small whimper that escaped from his lover's lips.

Sherlock thrust himself into John's hand. 'Ahh,' he groaned. His movements became erratic and he kissed John harder. John broke the kiss abruptly and pushed Sherlock down onto the mattress. He loomed over him for a moment, admiring him in his debauched and lust-ridden haze. Without saying a word he slid down the mattress until he was between Sherlock's legs, his mouth hovering over his very prominent erection.

John grabbed the hem of Sherlock's trousers and slowly pulled them down, freeing his erection from its fabric cage and releasing it into the cool air. He continued his slow movements until the trousers were around Sherlock's ankles. Only then did he rip them from Sherlock's body and toss them aside.

He skirted his hands up Sherlock's legs, reveling in the fact that Sherlock was so aroused he was trembling. He hummed appreciatively and pushed Sherlock's legs apart, revealing his arse and cock in all their respective glory. He grabbed the base of Sherlock's cock and squeezed gently before sucking the head into his mouth, licking and sucking Sherlock into a pliant mess.

'Fu-John!' Sherlock exclaimed. He shook under John's influence. He bucked upwards so hard that John almost pulled back. 'Sorry,' he moaned. 'S-orry.'

'It's fine, Sherlock,' John said, running his hand up and down Sherlock's cock. 'It  _has_  been a week, after all. Plus that Viagra drug you concocted has everything feeling even better than it normally would.'

He reached for the side table and opened the drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube. He grinned at Sherlock's wide-eyed expression and leaned in to whisper, 'A Captain is always prepared.' He sunk back down between Sherlock's legs and opened the tube, squeezing a fair amount onto his fingers before swirling them around Sherlock's quivering entrance.

'How long is this drug supposed to last anyway?' he asked nonchalantly as he pushed a finger inside, his mouth going back to Sherlock's cock and sucking lightly.

'Well, um...' Sherlock licked his lips in anticipation. 'I gathered from our previous experience that it would allow us two to three releases each.'

John hummed and sucked Sherlock further into his mouth, his tongue lapping the underside of his cock. He added a second finger to Sherlock's arse and scissored them, stretching and preparing him.

'Hhmmm.' Sherlock bit down hard on his lip. 'So tal–' He gasped. '–ented.'

John smiled and added one more finger, just to be sure. That Viagra drug may not have engorged his prick as bad as last time, but it was definitely larger. And he wanted Sherlock to be comfortable when he finally entered him.

He sucked down more of Sherlock's cock, the head hitting the back of his throat. He wasn't going to risk deep throating him at the moment, so he just sucked and swallowed minutely, teasing him.

Sherlock's eyes rolled to the back of his skull as John continued to tease him.

'I think it would be a suitable time to move on to stage two now sir.' He managed to get out that one coherent sentence before beginning to quite literally whimper. 'Take me.'

John released Sherlock's cock with an obscene pop. He grinned maliciously as he curled his fingers to find Sherlock's prostate and stroked it lightly.

'Does my gorgeous Private Holmes want his Captain's cock?' he whispered huskily.

Sherlock grunted in reply, his mouth hanging agape. His entire body tensed in apprehension but he nodded eagerly. God yes. After everything that had gone on in the past few weeks he wanted nothing more.

'Use your voice soldier,' John growled. 'Beg for it. Convince me of how badly you want it. How much you need it.' He grabbed Sherlock's cock and stroked.

'Please sir,' he whispered. 'I need this. I need you.'

'Tell me,' John whispered. 'How bad? Tell me, please.' John was on the edge again and he hadn't even touched his cock. He hated drawing it out, especially after a week of nothing, but he needed to know.

Tears shone in Sherlock's eyes. 'I need this more than anything. I've thought about this–' Sherlock groaned. 'Every single day since–' He panted harshly. 'Moriarty came and–' He didn't need to say anything else. He looked at John, seeing pure understanding in his eyes.

John captured Sherlock's lips with his, kissing him slowly despite the urgency running through their veins. He gripped Sherlock's hips and hoisted them up so his arse met his prick, sheathing himself inside in one slow push.

Sherlock pushed downwards on John. 'Don't – be afraid,' he hissed, 'to hurt me.' He recaptured John's lips, kissing him a little bit rougher.

John groaned and pulled out slightly to push back in quickly. The moan that spilled from his lover's lips broke him from his reverie and he gripped Sherlock's hips tighter, pulling him flush against him. He rocked his hips slowly at first, building up to when he would become far rougher. Their bodies writhed against each other. Their breaths mingled and their heartbeats raced to form a beautiful melody. This was bliss.

John panted harshly, his lungs gasping for breath. He thrust into Sherlock, unrelenting, driving them both to the edge of pure bliss. He grasped Sherlock's cock and squeezed, wanking him in time to his thrusts.

'Are you going to cum for your Captain?' he whispered, thrusting harder.

'Yes sir,' Sherlock grunted, letting his body unravel and follow John's order to the exact letter.

Sherlock's orgasm was earth shattering. His entire body shook, his back arched off the bed allowing John's cock to delve further inside, his cock shot thick ropes of cum across his stomach and chest, and his arse clenched tightly around John's cock causing him to go over the edge as well.

John clenched his eyes shut and his mouth fell open from the force of his orgasm. He thrust deep inside Sherlock, holding himself there until he shook from the exertion. He finally released his grip on Sherlock's hips and slid out, collapsing beside him.

'I needed that too,' he said into the mattress. 'God damn I needed that. It was all I thought about after Moriarty. Not the sex, but wishing everything could go back to the way they were. When we were happy and safe. Well,' he snorted. 'We're never safe, not with our line of work. But when we were happy, blissfully happy, honeymoon happy.'

'Honeymoon happy? For that we would have to married John,' Sherlock panted. 'But I gather what you mean.'

'I realise that, Sherlock. And believe me, it's crossed my mind.' He turned to face Sherlock, a blush creeping across his cheeks.

Sherlock hummed. 'What? Marriage?' he asked in surprise. 'You want to marry me?'

John blushed deeper and nodded. 'Yes, actually. I do. I've given it a lot of thought over the past week, had a lot of time to myself and my thoughts. I thought about you frequently, how my life had changed so drastically since meeting you, but changed for the better. It was exciting, stressful, and dangerous; everything I needed it to be. And you were at the center of it all. You have become my world, Sherlock. And while we already share our lives together, I suppose...' He paused, swallowing as his mouth had suddenly gone dry. He stared at Sherlock, his heart beating faster, clarifying what he already knew.

'I suppose I would like to make it official,' he said, taking Sherlock's hand in his. 'So, Sherlock Holmes, would you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?'

Sherlock chuckled softly. 'I think you're utterly barking mad, John.' He tugged his arms around the army doctor impossibly tight. 'But then mad's good. Mad's not boring.' He sighed happily against John's chest. 'I would be most honoured to marry you John. You have completed me in so many ways and this one last thing, marriage...' Oh how that word sounded strange on his lips. Sherlock had long ago given up on the idea of marriage but now with John it seemed right.

'It would bind us for eternity. So yes. Yes, John Hamish Watson. I will marry you.'

John smiled and buried his face in Sherlock's chest.  _He said yes, he actually said yes._  He sat up, tears of joy falling down his cheeks, and held Sherlock's face in his hands.

'I love you,' he said, a few tears splashing onto Sherlock's face. 'I love you so much.'

'You've turned me into a housewife, John,' Sherlock joked, placing the lightest of kisses to his now fiancé's lips.

'Trust me when I say I'm the more emotional of the two of us,' John smiled against Sherlock's lips. 'I think I'm the housewife in our relationship.'

Sherlock snorted, biting back laughter. 'You have no idea what sort of images are passing through my mind right now.'

'I have a pretty good idea,' John snorted. 'Me working around the house all day, cleaning and cooking waiting for you to arrive with a "Honey! I'm home!" And I think I'm wearing some sort of apron in there as well.'

Sherlock burst into hysterical laughter. 'Yup. That pretty much sums up what's going on in my mind palace right now. Oh god that sounds terrible!' he cried out. 'I didn't mean that there's a miniature version of you in my mind cleaning my palace. I just – shutting up right now.'

'You have a little John who cleans your mind?' John grinned. 'I hope he leaves dirty images and thoughts in there every now and again.'

'I have a room specifically for it, yes,' Sherlock grinned. 'You were wrong you know. You're not the happiest man alive. I am.'

John nuzzled the underside of Sherlock's jaw with his nose, humming in content. 'How about we share? We are both the happiest men in the world.'

'Most definitely the happiest men in the world,' Sherlock agreed, running his hand over John's belly.

John hummed and pressed light kisses to Sherlock's jaw, linking their hands on his stomach.

'So, you up for round two?' he asked, snaking their hands to their groins.

'Go to sleep my gorgeous little teddy bear,' he whispered softly, squeezing John's hand.

'But... You only came once,' he pouted. 'I had two. And that's not fair in my eyes. At least let me give you one more. Please.'

'You're clearly exhausted John. Over exertion isn't good for you. I don't want to push you,' Sherlock replied gently.

John snickered, his head resting on Sherlock's shoulder. 'Coming from the man with the cracked ribs,' he sighed, snuggling closer. He took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut despite his best efforts.

'I love you,' he whispered into the crook of Sherlock's neck, squeezing his hand slightly.

'Night, night my sweet teddy bear,' Sherlock reiterated. 'I'll see you in the morning.'

John clutched tighter to his fiancé (oh how he loved being able to call Sherlock that) as he fell asleep, images of suits and bow ties and flowers dancing through his dreams.

**…::-::…**

When Sherlock awoke he knew that he should have felt elated, on top of the world even. For he had said yes to marrying John and they had a hell of a lot of life ahead of them to look forward to. Instead, he found himself feeling like shit. He felt uncomfortably hot and was shivering so much the feeling was leaving him drained and as weak as a kitten.

John shifted uncomfortably. The bed was vibrating and he wanted it to stop. He cracked an eye open to see what the hell was going on and his gaze fell on Sherlock. He had his legs pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped around them to hold them in position, and his entire body was shaking.

'Sh'lock?' John mumbled sleepily. 'Sh'lock, you alright? You're shaking love.' He brushed Sherlock's curls off his damp forehead and placed the back of his hand on it, assessing his temperature. 'And you're burning up. Are you sick or is this an unexpected side effect of the drug?'

'I don't think it's a drug side effect, John. You'd be experiencing the same symptoms if that were the case.' He winced at the sound of his voice. It was ragged and hoarse.

'Right, of course, yeah,' John spluttered. What happened to all his medical training? He should have known that. He should know the difference between a side effect and the common cold.

'You sound terrible, love,' he whispered, caressing his face. 'I'll get you some medicine and soup, alright?'

'Don't leave,' Sherlock whimpered, uncurling from himself and tugging John tightly to him. 'You're the only medicine I need.'

'Ok,' John said softly, tenderly wrapping his arms around Sherlock. 'Ok, I'll stay.' He rested his head under Sherlock's chin and closed his eyes, almost falling asleep again but he forced himself to stay awake.

'John, can you help me to the bathroom?' Sherlock pleaded softly, almost sorry to disturb him. 'I don't feel too good.'

'Of course,' John nodded, untangling himself from Sherlock's gangly limbs and climbing out of bed. He grasped Sherlock by the hands and helped him up, guiding him to the bathroom slowly. Sherlock quite literally collapsed in front of the toilet. He then proceeded, much to his horror and disgust, to be violently sick. John just ran a soothing hand across Sherlock's back, not knowing what else to do as Sherlock's heaving wracked his entire body.

Sherlock moaned in relief when his wretching died down. 'Ehh.' He wrinkled up his nose, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. John peeled Sherlock's sweaty curls from his forehead, his other hand still drawing soothing patterns on his back.

'Do you feel a little better after all that?'

'Worse,' Sherlock sighed loudly. 'Much worse.'

'Oh, love,' John sighed, smoothing Sherlock's hair out of his face. 'Do you think a shower or a bath might help? We could try to regulate your temperature and then go back to bed.'

Sherlock nodded weakly. 'A bath would probably be the best option.'

'Alright,' John nodded. 'You just... Here.' He helped Sherlock up and moved him to the tub, sitting him on the edge. He wasn't wearing any pants or trousers, so all John had to do was remove the shirt. As soon as his skin met the cool air goosebumps crawled over his arms and he shivered.

John turned on the tap, making sure the water was warm enough before setting the plug in the drain so the tub would fill with the warm water.

'Now, would you like bubbles with your bath?' John smirked.

'Bubbles please.' Sherlock offered John a huge smile even if it was a little strained on his face. John smiled back, reaching around for the bubbles and pouring a nice amount into the bath. As the water frothed he stripped himself of his own t-shirt, goosebumps forming on his own arms. He helped Sherlock into the water before joining him, sitting behind him so Sherlock could rest comfortably against his chest. Once the tub was full enough he turned off the water and they just soaked in the warm water and bubbles.

Sherlock leaned his entire weight onto John's chest and moaned, closing his eyes, almost finding himself going back to sleep. John sighed and began to relax. His left hand twined with Sherlock's beneath the water, his right stroking Sherlock's hair back from his face, petting him almost. It was the most relaxed and calm he had felt since Moriarty, and it was almost too good to be true. But he was going to enjoy those little moments of peace while they lasted; who knew how long they had until something came up? Whether it was a case or Sherlock blowing something up in the kitchen, or the like, the calm before the storm was very calm indeed.

He settled against Sherlock's back, his head leaning against the back of the tub, his hand continued to pet Sherlock soothingly, and his other squeezed Sherlock's reassuringly under the water.

It was very peaceful indeed and John found himself nodding off every now and again. They would need to get back into bed before they fell asleep in the tub and risked drowning. The water was cooling but Sherlock's body was warm against his, so John decided that a few more minutes wouldn't hurt. It was all too peaceful and serene to abandon.

'I don't understand.' Sherlock broke the serenity. 'How am I this ill overnight?' he asked before breaking into a fit of coughing.

'It happens from time to time,' John said softly, holding Sherlock until he stopped coughing. 'A particular strain of the bacteria that works faster, or one that starts slowly and suddenly it's on you all at once.' He eased Sherlock back until he was resting on his chest again. 'And it could very well be a reaction to your drug. Not only did you take it in coffee but you swallowed my cum and we both know what that does.' He shuddered at the memory of the pain but smiled at everything else that had happened. 'It's possible your body is fighting it, whatever it is, but it could very well still be a rather severe cold or flu.'

'Whatever it is I feel like... I don't even know how to describe it. Like shit.' He shuddered and pressed himself closer to John's cool body.

'I know, love. I know,' John said softly, petting him soothingly. 'It will pass, maybe not quickly, but it will.' Sherlock was still burning up. Maybe it would do him some good to lie in the cool water.

'John, I've had a numerous amount of colds and strains of flu. I have a weak immune system. I have ever since I was a child. This doesn't feel like either of those.' He turned to gaze into the doctor's eyes.

'You would tell me if you thought it to be anything else, wouldn't you? I don't like to be mollycoddled and lied to.'

'Of course, Sherlock,' John sighed, his eyes raking over Sherlock's frame. 'Honestly, I think maybe you cooked something up while you were experimenting. We haven't gone outside at all, we haven't even left this house since the hospital. So unless you caught something there, which is entirely possible, I think you created something in your lab and this is what you got.' He looked over Sherlock once again, his doctorly gaze sweeping over him.

'If I do have any suspicions about it being anything other than a severe cold or flu, I will let you know, alright?'

Sherlock snorted but nodded. 'I don't know what you think I've been doing but I have not been creating a super bug.' He shivered, teeth clattering together. 'Perhaps we should go back to bed now. I'll try to sleep it off.'

'Sounds good to me,' John smiled. 'But I wouldn't put it past you to create a super bug. I think you could do it.'

He eased Sherlock off him and stood, stepping out and then pulling the plug to drain the water. As the water level fell John towelled himself off, then slowly helped Sherlock out of the water and towelled him as well.

'Let's get you in some warmer pyjamas and into bed.'

Sherlock grunted, complying with John as he found some thick, silk pyjamas and gently helped him into them.

'Do you want me to stay with you?' John asked as he helped Sherlock into the covers.

Sherlock shrugged, his eyes flickering shut. 'You can do as you please. You are probably in need of some breakfast so go and eat. I'll still be here when you come back.'

'Alright,' John said softly, brushing Sherlock's curls off his forehead while noting his temperature had gone down slightly. It wasn't much, but it was better than before.

'Get some sleep, love. I'm going to eat, then I'll come back here and join you.'

'Ok,' Sherlock whispered softly, falling into a deep sleep, snoring heavily.

John smiled and made to put on some pyjama clothes of his own before puttering out to the kitchen. He wasn't all that hungry, but he made himself some jam on toast with a glass of milk, being careful not to drink the Viagra solution again.

As he ate he thought about Sherlock's symptoms. High fever, chills, upset stomach, and vomiting. All of it had suddenly turned up overnight, and if Sherlock were a woman John would assume he was pregnant. But even at that, if he had gotten pregnant the very first time they had sex he would only be a little over a week along and that wasn't nearly enough time for symptoms to show. John laughed at the absurdity of the idea. Sherlock pregnant? That would be a sight to see. But Sherlock wasn't a woman, he didn't have a womb, and he couldn't exactly rewrite his biology to give him one, so it was impossible for him to be pregnant in the slightest. John shrugged as he ate the last of his toast, put the plate and cup in the sink, and went back to Sherlock's room.

Sherlock was sprawled across the bed, one arm tossed over the side where John would be, the other tucked under his head as a sort of pillow. He was snoring quite heavily and John couldn't help but smile at the sight. No, definitely not pregnant, just a severe flu. He'd get some fluids into him later, but for now he would let him sleep. John crawled into bed, draping Sherlock's arm over his chest and the man instantly pulled himself closer, snuggling into John's chest.

'I really do think it's just the flu, Sherlock,' he whispered to the sleeping man. 'You say you have a weak immune system, so anything you get is going to be worse than someone who actually has a working immune system. But I'll take care of you, I promise. I'll get you better, and then... I don't know. We'll probably end up having sex again but we need to find something to do. We can't stay cooped up here forever. We'll have to leave at some point, in disguise I suppose. And then I can take you out to dinner like I promised that first night together. You remember? Yes, I'll take you to dinner. I'll propose properly, with a ring this time, and then we can make love all night long. Does that sound good to you?'

Sherlock merely snored in response, burying his face in John's shirt. 'I'll take that as a yes,' John smiled. He closed his eyes and listened to Sherlock's snores, falling asleep to the steady rhythm of their chests rising and falling in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry guys. This isn't about to turn into an mpreg fic (if that isn't your cup of tea, you're safe. if it is, sorry to disappoint, but this isn't exactly an omega!verse AU). But our Sherlock is beginning to feel very poorly. We'll see why next chapter. I'll try to get out this upcoming Monday to post it. And then the Star Trek into Darkness premiere will be upon us! I can't wait! My mom is going to buy one of those popcorn buckets that are free to refill all through the summer but you have to pay like $30 for it but it has BENEDICT on it so I have to have it.
> 
> Sorry. Rambling. But I will do my best to post the next chapter on an actual Monday. See you then!
> 
> TSA +IB


	12. Who Are You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! An update on an actual Monday! Albeit a little late on a Monday, but still a Monday.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft
> 
> Me: John, Rory (no, this is not about to turn into a Wholock fic. Sorry. I just couldn't resist adding Rory in.)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: some violence and aggression, lots of angst, and a little bit of John/Mycroft bonding.

Sherlock was aware of several things.

1\. His heart rate was far too fast.

2\. His temperature had increased.

3\. His entire body felt as though it were on fire.

4\. This was like no case of cold or flu than he can recall of.

5\. It was becoming increasingly harder to breath.

And 6. His mind felt strange. It was as though his mind palace was under some form of attack.

The one thing that Sherlock did miss was the text messages sent to John's phone. For if he hadn't have missed them he would have a far brighter idea of what was going on.

_My little brother is gravely ill, isn't he? Shall I send assistance? –MH_

_Well, well Johnny boy. What have we got here? Is our beloved detective feeling a little out of sorts? –JM_

John groaned as his mobile chimed, rather loudly too. He didn't remember turning it up that high. Luckily it didn't wake Sherlock; he was still sound asleep although he appeared distressed and a thin sheen of sweat was forming on his body.

'Oh Sherlock,' John sighed. His mobile chimed again and he swore, turning over to grab it. The first message was from Mycroft, asking if they wanted help. Understandable as he probably had surveillance around and in the entire house.

The second made his stomach drop and his heart stop in his chest. Moriarty. How had Moriarty gotten his number, let alone how he had found where they were and how Sherlock was feeling?

'Stupid, stupid!' he spat. Moriarty probably had people everywhere willing and ready to do his bidding. He wouldn't be surprised if a man or two who worked for Mycroft were under Moriarty's influence somehow.

He dialled Mycroft's number and before the man could even speak John spit out, 'We have a very serious situation and I don't mean Sherlock being ill. Moriarty knows we're here.'

Mycroft swallowed thickly on the other end of the line. 'I don't understand. I have the premises under high surveillance.' He exhaled loudly. 'I'll be there within the hour. How's he holding up?'

'Sherlock's fine. Still sleeping. But there's only so much I can do with the limited supplies I have. We need to get out of here and Sherlock will need to be looked at. I think it's a severe flu, but with the threat of Moriarty I wouldn't put it past him to have done something without us knowing. Sherlock said it himself, he's a spider, and his web reaches very far. I wouldn't be surprised if there was someone who worked for you who had ties to him.' John was fuming. He hadn't been so scared since the last time Moriarty made an appearance; but this time was different.

'Just get here, get us out,  _fix this,_ ' John hissed, ending the call.

'My?' Sherlock mumbled in his sleep. 'Is that you? I swear if it is I'm hiding your cream donut supply.'

'No, Sherlock, it's John,' he sighed. 'Go back to sleep, okay? Mycroft isn't here.'  _Yet._

Sherlock opened his eyes and was met with a blurry figure blocking his line of sight.

'My!' he snapped, batting the figure away. 'Go. Or do you want me to threaten your cake supply too?' He groaned, blinking sleepily. 'You're not My.' He suddenly sat bolt upright. 'Who are you?' He prodded the figure, swaying from side to side. 'Who are you?' he repeated, starting to panic. John added hallucinations, confusion, and disorientation to his mental list of symptoms. He laid his hands gently on Sherlock's shoulders and spoke softly.

'It's me, John,' he said. 'Your flatmate, best friend, fiancé. Just, calm down. Everything is going to be alright. I won't hurt you.'

Sherlock flinched away from the blurred figure. 'Don't touch me!' he practically screamed, shoving the figure so hard that it fell onto the floor with a loud thud. 'I haven't got a flatmate let alone a friend or a fiancé. Now get out!'

John rubbed the back of his head as he sat up. Sherlock was stronger than he gave him credit for. He added memory loss to his list of symptoms.

'I'm not leaving, Sherlock,' he said, looking up at him from the floor. 'You're sick, I'm taking care of you, whether you want me to or not. Now–' He stood up and pinned Sherlock to the bed, forcing all his weight on him. 'Stay still and shut the fuck up. Help is on the way, whether you want it or not.'

Sherlock looked up at the stranger with terrified eyes. 'What do you want from me?' he croaked. 'Who the hell are you?'

'My name is John Watson. I was a medic in Afghanistan. I am a soldier, a doctor, but most importantly I am your friend,' he ground out. 'I don't want anything from you, I just want to help. Your mind is clouded, you aren't seeing or remembering properly, and I have help on the way. So please, let me help you.'

'It's not as if you're giving me much choice "John." If that is your name,' Sherlock spat out, struggling beneath the weight of the intruder. 'I swear if you're working for my brother I'll, I'll–' He was cut off as a violent shudder ran through his body. '–I'll kill you,' he muttered as his eyes did a somersault in his skull and everything went pitch black.

'Fuck,' John spat as Sherlock went limp in his hands. 'Why does he always black out?' He released Sherlock's wrists and sat up, grabbing his mobile again. He dialled Mycroft, fuming already.

Mycroft answered the phone, trying to swallow down the panic rising in his chest. 'John. Has he worsened? I'm not far away. Help is coming too.'

'He doesn't remember who I am,' John swallowed, trying to hide his own panic. 'He thought I was you for a minute, then he realised I wasn't you but he didn't remember me. He... He attacked me, and now he's blacked out and... Mycroft what is going on?' He couldn't hide the panic anymore. He choked on his words, trying to speak around the lump in his throat. 'I don't know what to do. Just... Just hurry.'

'I don't know but I intend to find out. Stay calm. I'll get my driver to take a short cut. I won't be long,' Mycroft replied curtly.

'Thank you,' John choked out. God dammit he hated being so emotional. 'Hurry, please. Hurry.' He threw his phone on the bed, not bothering to end the call. He looked down at Sherlock's unconscious form and cried harder.

'What's going on, Sherlock,' he sobbed. 'What's wrong? I don't know. I can't help. I feel useless, not being able to help. I'm a doctor god dammit! I should be able to help but I can't! I can't help. I can't.'

He knelt over Sherlock, stroking a hand through his hair. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

Mycroft Holmes hurried through the manor house to Sherlock's old bedroom. He smiled fondly at the childish sign still pinned to the door preventing any 'Mycrofts' from entering. But that happiness was soon wiped away as he saw the pitiful sight that lay before him.

'Ambulance is two minutes away,' Mycroft said softly, not wanting to startle John. John jumped slightly and choked out a sob, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He turned to look at the elder Holmes, tears streaming down his face. He looked at him pitifully, questions swimming in his eyes.

Mycroft walked over to John. 'Can I try something? Sherlock was a sickly child. Always passing out. I learnt a trick to revive him. It might still work.'

'At this point, I'm willing to try anything,' John sniffed. He moved off Sherlock and stood by the bed, wrapping his arms around his chest. Mycroft placed his hand at the base of his little brother's neck with years of expertise and pinched the skin with two fingers. He repeated the action several times and was just about to give up when Sherlock's eyes flew open. John nearly cried in relief. He held himself tighter, not wanting to approach in case Sherlock tried to attack him again.

'Sherlock, can you hear me?' Mycroft asked softly. Sherlock groaned in response.

'Unfortunately,' came the reply a few seconds later.

'Good. Help is on its way.' He stroked Sherlock's hair gently and glanced over to John. John was trembling in relief. He approached slowly, not really scared of Sherlock physically but worried about what he might say.

'Sherlock?' he whispered. 'Sherlock, do you remember me?'

Sherlock frowned and shook his head. 'No. What are you doing in my room?'

'Sherlock, this is John. Surely you remember John? He's here to help you.'

Another shake of the head. 'Who is he My?'

Mycroft sucked in a deep breath. This was worse than he had imagined. 'Someone very important to you.'

_Very important,_  John thought morosely to himself. 'Why can't he remember?' he thought aloud, sniffling.

'I don't know.' Mycroft gripped Sherlock's head in two hands and stared into his eyes. 'Who knows what goes on in that silly mind of his at the best of times?'

It was in that moment that the paramedics finally entered the room. John stood off to the side, not wanting to get in the way. The paramedics approached Sherlock, brushing Mycroft aside to check Sherlock's vitals and reflexes. One shined a bright light in his eyes to check for pupil dilation and the possibility of a concussion. John found it utterly ridiculous. Sherlock had some form of amnesia, not a concussion. What he couldn't figure out was how he got it. They had eaten and drank practically the same things every day, right down to the drug in the coffee. So what had Sherlock done that John hadn't to get him in such a state?

Sherlock was poked and prodded at. He sat there, weak as a kitten, unable to defend himself from the prying and unwanted attention.

One of the medics walked over to John and Mycroft. 'This is like nothing I've seen before. It's as though his body is under attack by some kind of virus. But not only his body his mind too.' He frowned. 'It might be nothing. We're going to have to run a multiple number of tests to get to the bottom of things.'

John swallowed and hugged himself closer. He nodded, afraid to speak, and looked to Mycroft. 'I don't like this,' was written all over his face. Mycroft placed a hand on John's shoulder and squeezed it lightly.

'It'll be ok,' he tried to reassure the almost distraught man. 'I'll give you a lift to the hospital he'll be staying at.'

John nodded and looked down at the floor. 'Thanks,' he swallowed. 'I just... Let me get dressed and I'll meet you in the car.'

'Of course,' Mycroft said in understanding, turning to leave the army doctor in peace. John watched Sherlock be wheeled away and Mycroft followed. He slowly walked over to the wardrobe. He pulled on one of his jumpers and jeans, pulling his shoes on almost in a daze. He didn't even remember leaving the room, let alone the house, and found himself in Mycroft's car as they drove away. He was surprised he hadn't broken yet, but then maybe he already had. He was stoic, detached, unfeeling. He was worried for Sherlock yes, but he felt nothing else.

'John, you know I despise feelings. I really do, but this is my little brother we're talking about. I am not completely heartless. I can see that you care for him, as foolish as that might be. However, I don't blame you. He has a way of either really getting on people's nerves or wriggling into their hearts. Sometimes both.' He exhaled tiredly. 'It's not good to bottle things up when you are not used to doing so. You can cry here if you like. I won't judge you.'

'Sherlock wouldn't want me to,' he almost whispered. 'The last time I did he told me to stop, to not feel guilty, because I was breaking his heart.' He turned to look at Mycroft, his eyes bright despite his best efforts. 'And I would hate to disappoint him yet again.'

'And what about your heart? Hmm? I'm not an idiot, John. Get it out now. You're human, and not one of us Holmes boys. You'll break sooner or later. Best it be here and not in front of my brother,' Mycroft said softly.

'If I crack now I'll crack later. And I'm not going to risk that.' John turned to gaze out the window, watching the scenery pass by in a blur.

'You're far stronger than I thought, John,' Mycroft praised. 'You will tell me, of course, if it gets to be too much.'

'Of course,' John mumbled.

'Do you think this is Moriarty's doing?' John asked. 'I wouldn't put it past him to discover where we were, that must have been easy. But for him to attack Sherlock's mind like this?' He paused. 'What if it's early onset Alzheimer's? Or dementia?' He turned to Mycroft, his eyes shining.

'His mind is the best and most valuable asset Sherlock has. If he loses that he loses himself and... I don't know what I'd do.' The tears came flooding down then and John was powerless to stop them. So much for the so called strength Mycroft said he had. 'I – I would care for him and love him all the same, but how would Sherlock cope? No more cases, no more experiments, no more violin. He would be so bored out of his mind he would probably—' He broke off, choking on his own sobs. Mycroft sighed heavily. He'd known this was coming ever since he had arrived at the Holmes manor house. He brought his arms around to rather awkwardly hug John. It pained him to do so. Mycroft wasn't a particular huggy person, but for John he made an exception.

'We'll work this out. I swear if this is Moriarty's doing I'll–' His voice faltered. He didn't know what he was going to do. John clung to Mycroft, not particularly enjoying the hug but he was glad for it. He sobbed into his shoulder, only mildly concerned about messing up his rather expensive suit.

'If this – if this is Moriarty,' John choked out, 'I'm gonna find him. I'm gonna find him – and I'm gonna kill him.'

'You aren't thinking straight, John. He would most likely get to you before you get to him.' Mycroft swallowed. 'And then who would Sherlock have? His big brother whom he simply hates. I know how I would feel if I lost the man that I lo– Never mind.' He shook his head. 'Leave it to me. I'll be sure to have his head on a stake.'

John nodded and released his grip. He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve and sat back in his seat. Mycroft was right. He couldn't be so stupid to go after Moriarty alone. Sherlock would have no one because no one loved him as much as John did. Mrs Hudson loved him like a son but even Sherlock could test her patience at the best of times. And Greg merely tolerated him because he helped out on cases.

He shot a side glance to Mycroft and smirked, remembering the comment about losing the man he loved. So, Mycroft was in love with Greg (if they actually were sleeping together, but he knew better than to doubt Sherlock's intuition). He couldn't wait to tell Sherlock. If he would remember him that was. The tears started again and he brought his knees up to his chest, hugging them as he cried.

'It's best to get it out now.' Mycroft rubbed John's back soothingly. 'I am certain my brother's memory loss is not permanent.'

John hated being so damn emotional. He appeared to have the emotional span of a teenage girl compared to the Holmes brothers. He clutched himself tighter, burying his face in his knees.

'How much farther to the hospital?' he asked, his voice muffled.

'We're literally a minute away,' Mycroft reassured him.

John nodded and pressed his face closer to his knees. His eyes hurt from the pressure but he needed the tears to stop. He needed to be strong for Sherlock, and if he was blubbering mess on the floor it wouldn't do either of them any good.

'We're here,' Mycroft whispered, shaking John's shoulder. John's head snapped up and he processed his surroundings. Once he recognised the familiarity of a hospital he couldn't get out of the car fast enough. He scrambled to get a hold of the door handle, shoving the door open with such force it almost bounced back and hit him in the face. He fell from the car, landing on his hands and knees but pulled himself up quickly and ran for the entrance, heading straight for the receptionist's desk.

'A man was just brought in in an ambulance,' he said quickly, his chest heaving. 'Sherlock Holmes, tall, gangly, thin, mop of dark brown curls. He had what we thought was the flu but it turned into confusion and disorientation and memory loss and I just – Where is he? I need to know if he's ok.'

The nurse didn't answer right away. She was too flabbergasted to answer. John found her idiocy unnecessary and unprofessional and he didn't want to deal with an idiot at the moment.

'WHERE IS HE?!' he screamed at her. 'TELL ME! TELL ME WHERE HE IS!'

The nurse jumped and was about to call security when Mycroft finally appeared and grabbed John around the middle and pulled him behind him.

'Excuse my friend's rather – enthusiastic and rude behaviour. You see, my little brother, his–' He paused, not really want to call them boyfriends (such a juvenile term) but not wanting to call them lovers either. '–romantic partner, was brought in not too long ago. We would greatly appreciate it if you could tell us where he is.'

The nurse swallowed and gave them Sherlock's room after a quick search on the computer. John apologised heavily before following Mycroft to the lift and up to Sherlock's room.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock Holmes hated this. The confusion, the searing pain, his befuddled mind. And then there was the sense that he was missing something. Something important. He was attached to all sorts of wires and tubes. Bleeping filled his ears and the smell of disinfectant masking death burned at his nostrils. He had a surge of déjà vu pass through him but dismissed it. It was too hot he decided. Why couldn't he stop shaking? Why had Mycroft sent him here? Did his overweight, sorry excuse of a brother hate him so much?

John stopped in the doorway. Sherlock looked almost as bad as he did after the first Moriarty incident. But this was somehow worse because this wasn't a physical ache; it was mental warfare and Sherlock was losing.

Mycroft walked right past him and to Sherlock's bedside. John let them be, let them talk and figure out where Sherlock was mentally. Sherlock wouldn't remember him anyway, and the ache in his chest at the thought nearly doubled him over in pain. He closed the door behind him and stumbled down the hall until his knees gave out and he collapsed in a heap, drawing his knees up close as the tears came once again.

'My?' Sherlock whispered meekly, gazing on at his brother through glazed eyes.

'Oh, little brother.' Mycroft collapsed by his bedside. 'You have to remember. You have to just try.'

'I can't,' he croaked.

'I know,' Mycroft sighed. That's what scared him.

John remained curled on the floor until a nurse passed by and found him.

'Sir? Sir are you alright?' John blinked and looked up, his vision blurry but he could make out the form of the nurse. A male nurse at that if his voice was anything to go by.

'The love of my life doesn't remember me,' he mumbled quietly.

'Oh. Well, we all feel like that so–'

'No, I mean he actually doesn't remember me. All memory of me is gone. Deleted. Just, erased.'

'Oh.' The nurse was stunned. 'Is he here now?'

John nodded. 'His brother is with him.'

'Shouldn't you be there too?'

'What's the point? He won't remember me. He won't appreciate my being there. He quite literally shoved me out of bed this morning because he didn't remember who I was.'

'Has this been going on for a while? The memory lapses?'

'No. It just cropped up this morning. And it was really severe too. Just out of the blue. First he was hot, then he was cold, then he was sick, then he was tired, and when he woke up he didn't remember me.'

'That's... strange.'

'Tell me about it,' John huffed.

'I still think you should be with him. You never know, sometimes if you're wearing something familiar or you smell familiar it might trigger a memory. Scent is a very powerful memory booster.'

John swallowed and nodded, holding out a hand.

'I'm John,' he said, wiping the tears from his eyes to finally see the male nurse.

'Rory,' the nurse smiled. 'So, where is the love of your life? I'll help you back.'

John smiled weakly and pointed down the hall, Rory supporting him along the way.

'John may come in and see you,' Mycroft said softly to his brother. 'Please be nice.' Sherlock simply scowled at his idiotic brother.

Rory opened the door and guided John inside. Even though he wasn't assigned to Sherlock he checked on him anyway.

'Hello Sherlock,' Rory smiled brightly. 'How are you feeling?' John grimaced slightly, expecting Sherlock to lay it on him, especially in such a distressed and confused state.

'How the hell do you think I'm feeling?!' Sherlock snapped. People were such idiots.

'Sherlock,' Mycroft scolded him.

'John explained everything,' Rory said calmly, grabbing Sherlock's chart and reading through it. 'Apparently you woke up with a fever, chills, and nausea. And somehow that turned to memory loss. Interesting.'

John gave Rory a surprised expression. How had he not cracked under Sherlock's tone? Even he had flinched slightly. Rory looked back at him and smirked.

'Got a snappy girl of my own back home,' he grinned. 'Grew up with her, classic love story, blah, blah, blah.'

Sherlock glared at the nurse. 'It would appear you had a fight with her earlier on. Yes. Classic love story,' he drawled.

'What's love without a few fights?' Rory shrugged. 'Life would be boring without them. And it was my fault anyway. I apologised. She'll thank me later.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'Aren't you curious to how I knew?'

'The wrinkles on my forehead?' Rory guessed. 'I know who you are, Mr Holmes. I'm not an idiot. I read John's blog, and I've visited your website as well. The Science of Deduction,' he grinned. 'I know your methods based on what John's written. But if you want to tell me what you see go right ahead. I welcome it.' He put Sherlock's chart down and adjusted his stance, crossing his arms as he awaited Sherlock to rattle off his deductions.

Sherlock's lips puckered.  _Blog?_  He pushed the thought aside. Too tempted to show off as he is a show off and that is what show offs do.

'Your stance is slightly slumped. It indicates stress. That added onto the fact there are exactly six bloodshot lines in your eyes indicates the stress is recent. You are glancing at the clock. Worried about what time you'll be back. Why are you so keen to get back? Well let's see. You smell strongly of woman's perfume. Therefore it belongs to someone you came in contact with today. Presumably by the strength of it someone you are close to. You have a slight bruise on your wrist. Perhaps where you hit something in frustration. Concluding, Rory Williams: you had a fight with the woman that you... love.' He then proceeded to have an immense coughing fit, struggling to even breathe after his rant. Though he couldn't help but notice the John Watson fellow looking on at him in a dazed amazement.

Rory paused to smell his scrubs before Sherlock launched into his coughing fit. He had been right. About everything. He launched back into hospital mode and tried to clear Sherlock's lungs so he could breathe properly. John ran forward as well, instinct kicking in over his fear of Sherlock not wanting his help. Sherlock gasped for air as both Rory and John examined him. His brother, who was suddenly very pale, was watching him carefully. John started panicking as Sherlock still struggled for breath. Acting purely on impulse he tilted Sherlock's head back, plugged his nose, and blew a large breath of air into his mouth.

_You aren't gonna die on me today you pretentious fuck, John swore. Not from struggling to breathe. Not today, not ever._  
  
Sherlock froze as he felt warm lips with a trace of familiarity buzzing through him. He began to breathe with more ease and the lips moved away. John pulled away, breathless. Rory was smirking at him and Mycroft just looked pale.

'What?' John asked.

'Indeed. What was that?' Sherlock questioned, brows knitting together.

'It was... CPR,' John stammered.

Sherlock snorted. 'CPR my arse!' he exclaimed. 'You kissed me!'

'Sherlock, if it was a kiss you would have known,' John scoffed, trying to play off the hurt. 'I gave you CPR because you couldn't breathe. Nothing more.' He looked up at Mycroft, pain in his eyes.

'Sherlock, perhaps you should rest,' Mycroft suggested.

'No!' Sherlock snapped. 'Not until I have talked to... John?' The man's name came out of his lips as a question.

John looked up expectantly. 'Yes,' he whispered. 'Yes, that's me.'

Sherlock nodded. 'I just need some answers. So can everyone just scootch?' He glanced up at John. He had a friendly sort of face even if Sherlock didn't recognise it.

Rory nodded and led Mycroft from the room, leaving Sherlock and John alone. John's heart was pounding much too fast but he took a deep breath to steady himself. He stayed quiet, knowing Sherlock would want to be the first to speak.

'Who are you? I don't mean your name or what your job is. I mean to me. Who are you John Watson?' Sherlock stared at the older man intensely.

'That's going to take some time to answer,' John breathed, staring intently at Sherlock.

Sherlock grabbed the man's wrist. 'Tell me. Now,' he demanded. John gulped at Sherlock's forcefulness. That was one thing he didn't miss when he and Sherlock became friends.

'At first I was your flatmate. A mutual friend, Mike Stamford, introduced us. We became somewhat friends after our first night together and it took us a while to become real friends. But we did. And then–' He paused. Did Sherlock really want to know everything? The tug on his wrist to continue told him yes.

'Then... things developed further. I... I... developed... feelings... for you. But I didn't do anything about it because I know how much you detest sentiment. One night you got high, some homemade drug that made you see fairies. You... you told me you loved me, so I told you the same. We fought, you got sick, I put you to bed and you asked me to stay. So I did. And in the morning... the drug had a rather unexpected side effect.' John gulped again.

'We... Well, to put it mildly, we shagged like rabbits and we professed our love for each other and then we shagged some more.' He paused, waiting for Sherlock's reaction.

Sherlock searched the stranger's face to see if he was lying. He wasn't. He chuckled despite the situation not being even the slightest bit funny. 'That was putting it mildly?'

'For me, yeah,' John smirked. 'Sorry.' Sherlock shook his head and laughed. It hurt to laugh but it felt so good at the same time.

'It's fine.' He loosened his grip on John's wrist, only holding it loosely now. 'It's all fine.'

John almost wept at those words. They were exactly what he'd said to Sherlock that first night at Angelo's. Did Sherlock have some lingering memory? He pushed it aside to continue his story, only slightly noticing Sherlock was still holding onto his wrist.

'Well, after that we went to work on a case. I'm kind of your assistant. There was a triple homicide and all the victims looked like me. Which was more than a bit not good. It was Moriarty, your greatest nemesis, and he was after you again. Going through me once again. The last time he strapped a vest wired with Semtex to me and threatened to blow me up.

'This time you didn't tell me what was going on, but I already knew. A fellow cop told me about the pattern and I knew. You took me home and we shagged again and you were gone when I woke up. You had gone to your brother's, surprising I know, to get me protection but it didn't go as planned. Mycroft had been attacked but he wasn't too damaged. I called you and got you home, trying to... to give you a blow job to distract you, but your emotions got in the way. We had a row, you stormed out, I broke down, and Moriarty showed up. Took me hostage, called you, and you ran back only to get beaten to a pulp by his henchman.' John sniffed and swallowed down the tears.

'They left after that, Moriarty telling you he owed you a fall. I got you to the hospital, you had surgery, and we cried when you regained consciousness. I stayed with you the entire time, never leaving your side except when your brother arrived. I trusted him. Later I... I actually finished that blow job I rudely interrupted at the flat and we got scolded by a nurse.' John smirked at the memory.

'We got you transferred out and we went to a safe house. Your childhood home. We were there for a week before all this happened. And now you're all caught up.' He looked up at Sherlock, not wanting to make any sudden moves in case it caused Sherlock to release his hold on his wrist. The touch was comforting, giving John hope that his Sherlock was still in there.

Sherlock licked his lips in thought. 'What is wrong with me?' he questioned softly. 'I can't remember life past the manor house. I don't feel too good either. The nurses won't tell me.' He scowled. 'People are stupid.'

'I honestly don't know what's wrong with you Sherlock, and that's what kills me,' John sighed. 'I'm a doctor, it's my job to take care of people, but I can't take care of you. And it physically pains me to see you like this.'

Sherlock smirked. 'I can see what the old me saw in you. You're loyal. I like that.' He ran his fingertips along John's wrist, noting the rapid pulse rate. 'You wanted to kiss me before. Didn't you? I could sense it.'

'That isn't the old you, Sherlock, this version of you is,' John frowned. 'I know my Sherlock is in there somewhere, I just need to figure out how to get you back.'

John stumbled on his words at Sherlock's question though. 'I-I-I...' he gulped, nearly choking on the 'yes' that bubbled up from his chest. 'Yes, I did, but I knew you wouldn't want me to so I didn't after giving you CPR and saving your life. You're welcome, by the way.'

'We could always try,' Sherlock mused. 'I can't remember kissing anyone before. I want to know what it feels like. Plus, you're quite handsome when you're not pinning me to a bed.' He blushed bright red. 'I meant earlier. I can remember you... I didn't mean...' He groaned.

'Shush love,' John whispered, pressing a finger to Sherlock's lips. 'I know what you meant.' He turned his wrist so he was palm to palm with Sherlock, not really holding his hand but giving Sherlock the option if he so wished. He removed his finger from Sherlock's lips and plucked a stray curl off his forehead, resting his fingers gingerly on Sherlock's jaw.

'I would love to kiss you again, I really would. But I want you to be sure.' His heart thundered in his chest as he leaned closer. 'Are you sure you want this?'

Sherlock's heart raced alongside John's. 'I'm not sure of anything anymore,' he said in a hushed tone.

'Then let me ask you this: do you  _want_  to kiss me?' John asked in a hushed tone as well, his eyes searching Sherlock's. For what he didn't know, but a smile pulled at the corner of his lip as he saw Sherlock's pupils dilate slightly.

Sherlock moaned pitifully. 'Of that I am certain,' he replied.

'Alright then,' John smiled. He leaned closer, the fingers on Sherlock's jaw snaking around to hold the back of his head, tangling in his curls. He was so close now, Sherlock's breath mixing with his own. He closed his eyes and leaned in the rest of the way, their lips connecting in a soft kiss. John's lips were soft, his lips were welcoming, and most of all his lips were home. He groaned and nipped at the lower lip as instinct told him to. His blood rushed south and pooled into his groin. He paused, not terribly used to that feeling.

'Something wrong?' John asked, his eyes hazy from the little love bite. His gaze saw the tent forming between Sherlock's legs and he smiled. 'That's right, you haven't had one of those yet,' he mused. 'Well, I'll say again what I said the first time: I can help you with that.' He smirked but made no move to do anything in case Sherlock blanched.

'John, this is too fast.' Sherlock poked his arousal as though it would just magically disappear. He frowned. 'The kiss was nice though. I don't mean to shut you down.'

'Alright, I understand,' John let go of Sherlock's hair and backed off. 'But that isn't going to go away on its own. You either have to wank it away or think of something utterly disgusting in order to kill it.'

_He liked the kiss!_  John screamed mentally to himself.  _Maybe my Sherlock is still in there!  
_  
 _Hmm,_  Sherlock thought, closing his eyes. He shifted through memories. When he hit a particular one where he found a site called tumblr which supported Mystrade he shuddered at the thought of his brother shagging a cop. However, then the memory of discovering Johnlock invaded his mind and of course the fan art. His eyes popped open and he moaned loudly. All he had to do was grab his arousal and he came, much to his embarrassment.

John watched with amazement as Sherlock's entire body shook. In his mind that was the first orgasm of his life, but to John it was a beautiful sight to see.

'How do you feel after that?' he asked, his voice thick with his own arousal. Sherlock wrinkled up his nose. His cheeks were powdered with red.

'Sticky,' he supplied. 'And completely fantastic.'

John smiled. 'Good, that's how you're supposed to feel.' He searched around for a flannel to clean Sherlock. 'As for the sticky part, this should help with that.' He handed him the flannel, not wanting to ask if he could help him clean up.

'Avert your eyes soldier,' Sherlock joked mildly, trying to hide his shyness with humour. John smiled and about-faced, staring at the wall, standing ram-rod straight. His smiled widened when he remembered not too long ago that they had been playing Captain and Soldier.

'It's Captain, actually,' he said to the wall. 'Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.'

Sherlock chuckled as he cleaned himself up. 'Captain it is,' he grinned. It felt right to laugh and joke around with John but that rightness only lasted for a millisecond before he realised that he really didn't know the man at all. He sighed heavily. 'You know, I hate authority. I hope you're not going to be ordering me around. You'll severely regret it if you do.'

'You weren't complaining last night, Private,' John smirked before he realised what he said. 'Oh shit. Sorry, sorry. God, you don't remember that. Fuck. Just... forget that I said that. Don't... don't hate me for saying that. Please.' He ran his hands over his face, still facing the wall, not only because Sherlock hadn't told him it was ok to turn around but also because he didn't want to face the shock and confusion he knew would be on Sherlock's face.

'You can turn around now, John,' Sherlock said in a low, thought-filled voice. His brow was creased in concentration. He let his cobalt blue eyes flicker over to John. 'I'm not the same man, John. I may look like him but I don't have any of his memories. I can't recall anything. Even the details you've informed me of don't fit within my mind.' His eyebrows scrunched together. 'You must have changed him somewhat for him to go from me to a caring man who would partake in such activities. For me love is a foreign concept and you must forgive me for that.'

John swallowed and nodded, slowly turning to face Sherlock.

'You were an arrogant sod for quite some time when we first met, much like you are now.' He smirked despite himself. 'I'm not entirely sure what I did to change you from that into the man you grew into, one who cared about me and loved me, but I think it started after our first case together. I shot the culprit for you, because you were being an idiot and were about to take a damn suicide pill. But I shot him, saved your life, and I think you saw me in a whole new light after that.

'Your mannerisms didn't change much, you still ran experiments in our kitchen and kept body parts in the fridge with our food, but you acted different around me. Of course, you reverted back into your old self when Lestrade or Mycroft was around, but with me it was different. We were actually able to hold conversations about timing, respecting people's privacy no matter what you deduced about them, and a few times I managed to take you out to dinner without it becoming a complete disaster.'

He looked up at Sherlock with tear filled eyes. 'You always said love was a dangerous disadvantage, that sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side. But for the past week you've been on the losing side and I don't think you minded all that much. Because you were with me and I made you happy, a better man, and that was all that mattered. So forgive me if I don't give up hope that the Sherlock I fell in love with might come back to me one day.'

Sherlock's heart sank like a stone in his chest. 'I wouldn't want you to.' He shook his scraggly curls. 'You seem like a nice man. A genuinely nice human being. They're quite rare to come across, you know. I don't doubt that we had something, I don't doubt that we could regain what we had. However, I am high in doubt about whether or not I can be enough for you now. You'll get bored of me or your life will move in a new direction. You'll leave like everyone else in my life has chosen to.'

'Sherlock, I have been in your life for the better part of a year. I'm not about to leave you now, not when you need me more than ever.' He risked approaching him and took Sherlock's hand in his and squeezed it lightly. 'You said yourself that I'm loyal, and I am not going to leave you. Not now, not ever.'

Sherlock stared at John's hand with huge eyes. 'John–' He shivered as the coolness of the older man's touch penetrated through his fever. 'I don't feel too well.' His stomach clenched nastily and his breathing stuttered slightly. 'I feel even worse than when they first brought me in. I–' He grunted, shutting his eyes tightly, swallowing down hard on the rising bile.

John released Sherlock's hand and offered him, as the hospitals so eloquently put it, the Barf Bucket, standing by in case Sherlock should need him. Sherlock began to throw up and oh boy did he throw up. It was disgusting. It smelt wretched and left an odd sort of taste in his mouth. Even after he'd stopped his stomach still felt awful.

'Oh love,' John said under his breath, smoothing Sherlock's curls off his clammy forehead. He went to the sink to get a glass of water, trading Sherlock the bucket for it. He opened the door and handed it to Rory, who was surprisingly still there.

'How's he doing?' Rory asked, taking the bucket without question.

'Not so good. But at least we had a somewhat civil conversation.' John closed the door and turned back to Sherlock who looked pale and frail and scared in the hospital bed.

Sherlock sipped at the water. It didn't help his queasiness in the least but it washed the vile taste in his mouth away. His hands were shaking. He felt weak and tired and hot and sick. And the worst part about that was that he couldn't make sense of how he got in this situation in the first place.

John returned to Sherlock's bedside, pulling up a chair to sit. 'I wish there was more I could do,' he said softly. 'But until your tests come back we're both in the dark.'

'I haven't felt this ill since–' He stopped mid sentence, unsure of if he should continue or of how much John knew of his past.

'I'm not completely in the dark about your past, Sherlock,' John said. 'The darkest thing I've learned so far is what your father did to you. I've seen the scars, both physical and mental, but I'm still not going to leave you.' He rested a hand on Sherlock's sheets. 'But I don't want to pressure you into telling me something you're not comfortable talking about.'

Sherlock shifted, taking on a distant and defensive demeanor. He narrowed his eyes. 'Oh, so I told you about the night he chucked me in the cellar and kept me in there over night? My mother and brother were too idiotic to see why I was always sick. They seemed ignorant to the fact that I was forced to sleep in the cold and the damp. Or maybe they weren't ignorant. Maybe they were just indifferent. Yes, maybe they didn't hear my screams at night from where his fists pounded into my flesh. Maybe they didn't notice my tears or maybe they thought I had something silly like hay fever. Did I tell you about the drugs? The crime I got into because I was sick of being cooped up in a house, restricted by rules that my own father broke? Did I? How well did you know me? Do you even know that... that...' Any normal person would be crying heavily by now but Sherlock stayed completely emotionless. The only emotion showing was pure rage.

'I know about the drugs, but as for everything else...' John paused. Sherlock had made his past with his father seem like it was all simply beatings. He hadn't mentioned torture or being forced to sleep in the cellar, sick and scared and alone. He couldn't believe a small boy had had to go through all that, and that he had resorted to drugs and crime in order to escape. But escape he did.

'It's true that I don't know much about you, but that's just how our relationship has worked. You would read everything there was to know about me and I would get minimal information in return. And I was fine with that, I still am, because I know you don't like to talk about your past and I respect that. I don't delve, I don't pry. I just accept you for who you are, flaws and all.'

He stopped and looked at Sherlock, his eyes bright. 'If you want, go ahead and deduce me. I know you want to, and it's comforting for you, so go ahead and lay it on me. I didn't run the first time and I certainly won't run now.'

Sherlock concentrated for a long while, his lips puckered, his face creased. His eyes widened as his mind was filled with blanks and question marks. 'I can't – I don't understand. I can't read you.' He began to panic, his pupils dilated in fear. 'Why is that? I made a perfectly good deduction about that stupid nurse earlier. So why is it, John Watson, that my mind simply refuses to soak in any detail about you but at the same time is screaming at me to touch you, to kiss you? Why?' He yanked his hair down hard.

'Maybe because, deep down, you remember everything about me. You just have to dig in your mind palace to find it.' He grasped Sherlock's wrists and eased them from his hair. 'As far as the touching and kissing bit, that's probably because, once again, my memory is still in there and you miss my touch and my lips on yours. I certainly miss your touch and kisses. You're a fantastic kisser, by the way.' He gave Sherlock a small smile.

Sherlock laughed lightly and hummed. 'You're not terribly bad yourself.' He gazed upon John with the curiosity of a small child. 'May I?' he asked, reaching a hand towards John's scruffy mop of blonde hair.

'Please,' John smiled. 'Go right ahead.' John's hair was rough and course in Sherlock's hands. He twirled his fingers through it and smiled.

'Did he do this?' he asked sincerely, noting the way John practically purred.

'Yes, you did,' John hummed, leaning into Sherlock's touch. Sherlock moved his fingers about so they were carefully gliding over John's cheeks.

What about this?' he questioned.

John closed his eyes and purred. 'Sometimes, yes.'

'Interesting,' Sherlock supplied. 'Was he rough with you? Or gentle?' He ran his fingers to the underside of John's jaw.

'Both, depending on the situation,' John answered honestly.

'Not too rough I hope,' Sherlock whispered softly. 'You're a very pretty man.'

'No, not too rough,' John hummed. 'Although you did particularly enjoy spanking me once.'

Sherlock flushed a deep red. 'Really?' He paused in thought. 'Hardly surprising though.'

'Why's that?'

Sherlock laughed bitterly. 'Like father like son.'

John froze. 'That's not true.' He scowled. 'You never intentionally hurt me, not for pleasure. Everything was consensual, never against my will.' He grabbed Sherlock's face, running his thumbs across his cheeks.

'You are not your father, Sherlock. You never were and you never will be.'

Sherlock melted into John's touch. He glanced up at John, nodding. 'Does Mycroft know about my father? Have you told him? Or have I told him? Not that he'd particularly care either way.'

'As far as I know, Mycroft doesn't know. You didn't tell him, and it isn't my place to tell him. And you shouldn't underestimate your brother. He cares for you, whether he shows it or not.'

'My brother does not care. My brother has never cared,' Sherlock grunted.

'Your brother was the one who took care of us when Moriarty threatened us. He visited you in the hospital, at your request I might add. And when this memory loss hit he was at the house in less than an hour, an ambulance following behind him.' He forced Sherlock to look at him. 'You might not remember any of it, but your brother was there for you in your time of need. He even let me cry on his shoulder on the way here today. He may not show it often enough, but your brother does care.'

'Then why did he leave me alone?' Sherlock said in a small voice. 'He left to become the government and he never came back. Father was even more irate with Mycroft out of the picture. Whatever he does now won't make up for that.'

'I'm afraid I can't answer that,' John said morosely. He brushed Sherlock's hair from his forehead, petting him soothingly. 'But he's here now, and so am I. And I'll take care of you to the best of my ability. I promise.'

Sherlock's lips quivered into a small smile. 'For that I am forever grateful.' John smiled softly back. He continued to stroke Sherlock's hair, his other hand reaching for one of Sherlock's.

'I'll stay as long as you want me to. I'm not going to leave you, and even if you want me to I'm going to stay. I made a promise to you, a promise of always and forever, for all eternity. And I don't intend on breaking that promise anytime soon.'

Sherlock snorted. 'You make our relationship sound like a marriage.'

'We... We're actually engaged,' John said softly.

Sherlock sank deeper into the hospital bed. 'My head's spinning with all this information,' he groaned loudly.

'Okay, I'll stop,' John sighed. He let go of Sherlock's hand and stopped petting his hair. It took a lot of willpower to do so. 'Is there... Can I get you anything? Make you more comfortable?'

'Sleep,' he smiled gently. 'I just need some sleep.'

'Okay,' John smiled softly. 'I'll... I'll stay here, if you don't mind. Would you like your brother? Never mind. I know you don't.'

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in bed. 'I don't like it when people watch me sleep.'

'Oh,' John frowned, dropping his gaze. 'What if... what if I just turned my back and didn't look at you? Or can I not be in the room at all?'

'John.' Sherlock's voice was strained. 'I'm not going anywhere and I just want some peace. Besides you kind of look like shit. Get a coffee or something. Eat.'

'You haven't changed a bit,' John smiled. 'Okay. You rest, I'll eat.' He was torn between kissing him on the forehead or leaving awkwardly. He was caught between the two so he just sort of stood there awkwardly with his lips pursed.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'Why are you looking so perplexed?'

'I... I don't know if it's alright if I can give you comforting kisses anymore,' John answered honestly. 'The last time this happened I gave you small kisses before I left to get food, but now–'

'Now you don't know whether I'm going to bite your head off or not about things like this.' Sherlock exhaled. 'You could of course try it out. I give you permission.'

John approached slowly, reaching out for one of Sherlock's hands. The touch calmed him, and he reached out to stroke Sherlock's face with his fingertips. He licked his lips as he leaned in closer, his heart pounding in anticipation and fear. He slowly brought his lips to Sherlock's in a soft kiss and instantly melted against the man, his lips warm and familiar. The kiss was soft but chaste and left Sherlock feeling hot, flustered, and even more confused.

John broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Sherlock's. 'So... Um... Yeah,' he stammered awkwardly. 'I'll eat, you sleep. Ok?'

'Right, er, yeah,' Sherlock muttered under his breath with just as equal awkwardness.

'Is there– Can I– Do– I'll just... go,' John stammered, trying not to rush out the door and slam it behind him. He propped himself against it, trying to steady his breathing. He shooed Rory away, explaining that Sherlock just wanted to rest, and where was Mycroft?

'The café,' Rory explained. 'He only left a few minutes ago so you should be able to find him.'

'A tall ginger man in a suit? Yeah, he'll be pretty easy to find,' John smiled. 'Thanks.' Rory nodded and walked away, but he would probably be back to check on Sherlock, possibly even try to get himself on the duty roster for him.

John pushed himself off the door and walked to the lift, going to the first level to get some food. Mycroft was already there, and they ate and drank in a peaceful yet awkward and strained silence.

Mycroft was the one to break the silence. 'You're not telling me something,' he stated. 'Tell me.'

'What's to tell?' John said morosely, stabbing his fork into his oatmeal rather harshly. 'We talked, I told him who I was to him, it was heated, it was awkward, it was fine.'

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. 'Fine?' He leant back in his chair. 'What did you discuss? It's important that you tell me. We could be missing an important part to the puzzle. Now is not the time for your loyalty to my baby brother. Loyalty might get him killed.'

'He doesn't remember life past the manor house,' John sighed. 'He remembers you leaving to become the government, he remembers your parents, but he doesn't remember 221B or Mrs Hudson or the cases or even me. However, when I asked him to deduce me he couldn't. I was just a big blank to him.'

John looked up at Mycroft and sighed. 'And if you must know he allowed me to kiss him, twice.'

Mycroft's eyes widened uncharacteristically. 'He talked about mother and father and me?' he said, his voice unsteady. 'That is most unusual. The kissing not so much. If he was attached to you romantically before all this then it's likely his subconscious is remembering you.'

'He mostly talked about... your father,' John said, not wanting to give anything away in case Mycroft really didn't know. 'And I made the same assumption about his subconscious as well. He said that his mind was screaming at him to touch me, kiss me, but he couldn't remember anything about me that would explain why.'

Mycroft paled and licked his lips. 'What exactly did he say about our father?'

'I... I'd rather not say. He told me in confidence, both before this all happened and a few moments ago. And if you knew–' John broke off, actually managing to bend his fork it was so cheaply made. 'Did you? Did you know what your father did to him, put him through his entire childhood? And you did nothing?'

'How much does he remember?' Mycroft asked, his voice like venom. Mycroft Holmes was not the type of man to cry but in that moment a single tear rocketed down his cheek.

'Everything, Mycroft,' John spat. 'He remembers everything. Constantly being sick, and cold, and alone. The fear, the pain, the never knowing if he would survive the night. And then when you and your mother did nothing to help, that he remembers with absolute clarity.'

'Then he hasn't told you everything,' Mycroft whispered, lower lip trembling, entire body shaking, on the verge of more tears that were threatening to fall.

'Well then what am I missing Mycroft?' John demanded, his anger blinding him from seeing Mycroft's emotions. 'Because he made it pretty clear that you two were ignorant of everything he was going through. So, tell me, what am I missing that will make this all okay?'

'Sherlock wasn't the only one that my father hurt!' Mycroft exclaimed, flying to his feet so that he was now looming over John. 'He hurt us all. Me, Sherlock, and my mother. We weren't ignorant, we were powerless. I was seven when he started getting nasty – a boy! When I was old enough to understand what was going on, what power he held over us all, I tried to stop him. He was bigger than me, stronger, and when I started standing up for myself he just knocked me back down and he would pound his fists into my chest. He didn't care how badly he hurt us, he didn't care for anything.' He began pounding his fists into the table with brute force. His knuckles turned red raw as he continued to hit it. Tears were rolling down his face. He wasn't crying because he was weak. He was crying because he'd been strong for far too long.

John flinched back. He had his suspicions that their father had harmed them all, but what surprised him was Mycroft's emotions. He'd never seen him cry before, let alone yell in anguish. John was torn between giving the man a hug or being so utterly angry at him for not doing anything after he'd escaped. Why didn't he report his father for child abuse or domestic violence?

In the end he stood up and led Mycroft from the café, sitting him down on a bench and rubbing his back soothingly.

'I'm sorry, I didn't know,' he said softly. 'But after you left, why didn't you report him for the domestic violence or child abuse? Why didn't you do something?'

'I was young and scared without any power. Father was a powerful man. He had many contacts. He said that he would make my life misery if I didn't leave things the hell alone.' Mycroft's face crumpled. 'And so for the first three years I did. I knew I was an idiot, that I should have sought out help. He still terrified me. However, I then came into a far higher power than my father. My contacts reached further than his did. I came back and I made sure he was severely punished. I had him imprisoned for life. I told my mother and Sherlock that he died via heart attack, not that they particularly cared. However by this time the damage had been done and Sherlock was a changed person.'

'So... your father isn't dead?' John asked. 'Sherlock... I told him I wanted to hunt down whoever hurt him, make him feel the pain Sherlock had felt. But he told me he was dead, but he appreciated the offer. And even now, I still want to hunt that fucker down and make him pay, for what he did to your family, but it seems you've done that already. To an extent.'

John paused, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He wasn't sure what else to say. What did one say in situations like this? He felt as clueless as Sherlock did in normal social situations. His hand never stilled in rubbing Mycroft's back, the motion comforting for them both.

Mycroft's phone gave out a shrill ring, interrupting the emotional moment. 'Excuse me. The work never stops in my line of duty.' He smiled apologetically at John, raising the phone to his ear and answering.

'He's escaped–'

Those were the only words Mycroft needed to hear. He knew who 'he' was. His heart shuddered in his chest and his skin crawled with fear and anger. 'How?' he questioned.

'We don't know. It would seem he had outside contacts still.'

'I see.' His voice trembled. 'And who was on security when he escaped?'

'Jenkins.'

'Ensure that he is fired,' Mycroft snarled down the phone. 'He no longer works for me. Do you understand?'

'Yes sir.'

Mycroft hung the phone up and ran a hand along his tired and warn features. 'Oh John,' he sighed in a terribly defeated tone of voice. 'Our troubles have only just begun.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I didn't edit this completely before I sent it to my RP partner to read over, so I had to edit it all over again before I posted this. 22 pages of editing the transcript thing I use for this. Gah. I'm an idiot. Oh well. I'll do my best to get out again next Monday. Try to get an earlier start too. And I'll make sure my chapter is properly edited before I try to post it.
> 
> Have a nice week! See you next Monday.
> 
> TSA + IB


	13. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft, Moriarty, Seb
> 
> Me: John, Greg
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Sherlock still can't remember, angst, and a tender moment between the Holmes brothers
> 
> Trigger warnings: suicidal ideations

'What? What do you mean? What's going on?' John stared at Mycroft, wide eyed, his heart hammering a mile a minute in his chest.

'Our father. I thought that we were safe. I–' Mycroft's voice wavered dramatically. The government official was losing complete control now.

'Wait... Your father escaped from prison?' John asked. 'But... How did he... Why wait this... How?' he stammered, panic rising in his veins.

'I don't know how. I just know that Sherlock and I are in terrible danger.' Mycroft dropped his head in his hands and let out a small, breathy sob. He really didn't care that John was seeing him breaking down.

'So... So he knows where you are? Or would he return to the manor house? Or would he have contacts to get information about you two?' John was panicking too. Not for himself, but for the Holmes boys. Mainly Sherlock as he'd lost his memory and couldn't remember life outside the manor house. This wouldn't be good at all for him, not good at all.

'He apparently has contacts. He knows where the manor house is. He could be anywhere by now!' Mycroft stood abruptly. 'Oh. I've been stupid. I should have seen this from the moment I saw my brother falling ill.'

'What, you think your father is doing this? Making Sherlock sick?' John asked, standing up himself in case Mycroft walked away in a flourish as he was prone to do.

'It's a possibility.' Mycroft worried at his lower lip. 'I need to try and sort this. It's my responsibility. He's my baby brother. I promised mother I'd keep an eye out for him. I have already failed.'

'How have you failed? He's alive isn't he?' He grasped Mycroft by his shoulders, an incredible feat as John was so much shorter than the elder Holmes, and turned him to face him. 'How can your father be doing this? Does Sherlock have some sort of emotional link to him? Is your father tied to Moriarty in some way?' He paled at the thought. 'That might explain the text I got earlier today.'

'Give me your phone,' Mycroft said, steadying his voice slightly. John was right, to an extent. While Sherlock was still alive he hadn't failed him.

John gave Mycroft his mobile without question, digging it out of his pocket and placing it in the elder Holmes' hands. Mycroft found the number the text had come from and dialled it.

'How's daddy's little boy?'

'Jim, what have you done to my brother?' Mycroft swallowed down hard.

'Oh that? That's just the start. Your brother is dying – slowly. Send him to me. I'll make him all better.'

'Stop this! Stop it now!' Mycroft roared.

'No.'

Jim hung up.

John paled beside Mycroft, swallowing hard and clenching his fists at his side.

'I want to go back to Sherlock's room,' he said thickly. 'I don't want him to be alone, not with the threat of your father looming over our heads. And now Moriarty and his twisted fucking game.' John shook his head. 'He shouldn't be alone. We both need to be there.'

'I can't. You go. Be with him.' Mycroft smiled sweetly despite his inner turmoil. 'I have to be somewhere.' He swallowed down on the thick lump that had formed in his throat. 'Tell him that I am sorry and goodbye.'

'Goodbye? What do you mean?' John paled further, looking as white as a sheet.

'I believe it is a customary way of saying that I am leaving, John,' Mycroft replied. 'You should be off. Don't keep Sherlock waiting.' Mycroft turned stiffly.

'Mycroft!' John called after him. The man stopped and turned stiffly. 'You... You still have my phone,' John stammered. 'And... What did Moriarty say? If he's planning on killing Sherlock, or if Sherlock is already dying, I want to know. I want to make him comfortable and happy. So please, tell me, is Sherlock dying?'

'Yes,' Mycroft replied. 'But he's not dead yet. I am going to stop this but I need your phone to call Moriarty again.' Mycroft turned again. 'Goodbye, Doctor Watson.'

John watched Mycroft leave, waiting until he was out of sight before making his way to the lift. He rode it up to Sherlock's floor in a daze. Sherlock was dying, he was actually dying, and John was powerless to stop it.

He made it to Sherlock's room and paused outside the door. Sherlock said he didn't like people watching him sleep. Was he still asleep or was he awake? Would he want John there? That didn't matter because John would be there for Sherlock whether he wanted him there or not. Was his memory depleting further? How old did he think he was?

Steeling himself he opened the door slowly, gazing upon Sherlock still sleeping in his bed. He sat in a chair in the corner, watching the door in case Sherlock's father showed up. His hand went to the waistband of his jeans and he cursed inwardly when he realised his gun wasn't there. He would just have to fight Father Holmes off with his fists.

He turned to look at Sherlock, sleeping peacefully, before watching the door again. He should probably tell the staff not to allow Daddy Holmes up. He's dangerous and should be apprehended as soon as possible. He nodded to himself, already decided, but he didn't want to leave Sherlock alone again. So he called the receptionist from the room's phone and told them all that he knew. The nurse assured him that they wouldn't let him up if he showed, and he would be arrested on sight.

With that John hung up the phone and watched Sherlock sleep for a moment before his eyes fluttered shut, his head lolling on his chest as he fell asleep.

**…::-::…**

It hadn't taken Mycroft long to find Moriarty. It would seem good old Jim wanted to be found. That was either a good sign or a bad sign.

'Mikey!' the consulting criminal squealed.

'Give me the cure to whatever sickness you have infected my brother with,' Mycroft growled, not wanting to have to go through the usual pleasantries.

'Don't be so boring,' Moriarty smirked. 'What's in it for me?'

'Don't be such a child!' Mycroft snapped.

'My games are far from childish,' the Irishman hissed under his breath. 'Now, may I repeat what I have just said? What is in it for me?'

Mycroft bowed his head. 'Take me instead. Let him live. He's too young for this.'

Jim clapped his hands together in joy. 'That is a kind offer, Mikey.' Jim clicked his fingers and suddenly he wasn't alone.

Mycroft's heart stopped. 'Hello Father,' he said coldly.

'Son,' his father spat viciously.

'Oh this is brilliant! A family reunion,' Moriarty snorted. 'Now Mikey are you sure about this?'

'I'm positive,' Mycroft said with certainty. 'My life for a cure.'

'Very well,' Moriarty laughed and took a step backwards.

His father grinned and before Mycroft could really register it, a bullet was swirling through the air and lodging its way into his chest. He landed on the ground as his blood began gushing out.

'You do know that this deal was only for a cure? He is still going to fall one day, but now you won't be there to catch him.'

Mycroft's world went black.

**…::-::…**

John slept rather uncomfortably. His dreams weren't very pleasant either. Sherlock kept reverting back into a child, both physically and mentally, and John had to care for him until he died. John always woke gasping and on the verge of tears. When he saw Sherlock sleeping peacefully, still the image of the man he loved, he swallowed down the cries and the tears and forced himself back to sleep. The dream was always the same, John taking care of a curious case of Benjamin Button Sherlock Holmes until he woke up in tears.

_How long is Sherlock going to sleep? How long have I been asleep? Has Mycroft been gone long? What's going on with Moriarty and their father? Is everything alright? God I wish I had my phone. I hate being in the dark. Why won't Sherlock wake up? Is he in a coma? Or is he just in the deepest sleep I've ever seen him in? What time is it? Why isn't there a clock in this fucking hospital? God! I need answers! Where's Mycroft? Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up god dammit! I need to know you're still alive! Please, just one more miracle Sherlock, just for me. Don't. Be. Dead. Please, could you do that for me?_

He passed out shortly after, the turmoil in his mind weighing him down and pulling him into the darkness.

Sherlock woke in a cold sweat, jerking up, deadly pale. 'Mycroft!' he screamed. As the hospital surroundings hit him he let out a sigh of relief. It had only been a nightmare. His brother wasn't here. It was just a nightmare. John jumped awake, his hand reaching for the gun that wasn't there. He turned to look at Sherlock who was sitting up gasping in bed, looking sickly and pale.

'Sherlock, is everything alright?' John asked softly, approaching his bed. 'Did you have a nightmare?' Sherlock lunged himself at John, wrapping his arms around his waist tightly.

'Yes, it was just a dream.' He pulled him tighter to him. 'I dreamt that Mycroft got hurt. Badly.'

John was slightly startled at the embrace, but he found it comforting that Sherlock initiated it even though he didn't remember him. He rubbed his back soothingly, his other hand stroking his hair.

'Yes, it was just a dream,' John whispered soothingly. 'Mycroft is fine. He's off at work, finding out how to make you better.'

'Where exactly is he?' Sherlock asked, panicked. 'The dream, it felt real. It was like a physical pain.'

'What exactly did you dream?' John asked, sitting on the bed while still holding onto Sherlock. 'Spare no details.'

'I dreamt that he was shot, bleeding out, scared and so alone,' Sherlock gasped through his sobs.

'Oh love,' John whispered, hugging him closer. 'I know it's only a dream, but did you see who shot him?'

'My father, but that's ridiculous. My father is dead.' Sherlock froze when he realised he was hugging John and pulled away. 'Sorry,' he mumbled. John blanched. Shit. He didn't let go of Sherlock though.

'Yes, he's dead. Which just... Well, it was only a dream. Mycroft is off somewhere, somewhere safe. You know how he is, never telling us anything.' He paused. 'Wait, no, you don't. But, well, that's what he's like. He never tells us anything. But he's safe. I'm sure of it.'

Sherlock leant back in his bed. 'It's funny. The dream felt so real.' He was still shaken up, still trembling.

'I know, love. I know.' John let Sherlock go but he left a comforting hand on his arm. 'Sometimes dreams can feel very real, nightmares especially. For quite a while I had very bad dreams about the war and would wake up screaming. They stopped a little while after I moved in with you. You made me better, and in turn I made you better. I just wish I could make you better now.'

'I wasn't aware that I was in need of healing.' Sherlock glanced away from John. 'Perhaps you could start by finding out my brother's whereabouts.'

Meanwhile, Mycroft was curled up in agony as blood leaked from his wound heavily. He was alone for a very long time but then suddenly he wasn't alone. Gregory was there looming over him, crying, whispering his name, yelling out orders to someone close by, caressing his skin and telling him an ambulance was on its way.

'I would love to, Sherlock, but he's the British Government. He's very good at covering his tracks. Plus, he took my mobile from me, so I have no way of contacting him.' His hand stilled on Sherlock's arm, stopping the circular patterns he hadn't realised he'd been making.

'And I think you need healing, because you can't remember life past your childhood home. You were, what, eighteen when you escaped? You're thirty two now, Sherlock. You got out of there and you survived and thrived and made a name for yourself. The fact that you can't remember that... It's not right because you've lost who you are. You need to know who you are because if you don't, you might never come back.

'And I don't mean just for me. For Mrs Hudson, our landlady who loves you like a son. For Greg Lestrade, Detective Inspector at New Scotland Yard who allows you to help on cases. For your brother who also brings you cases, which you ignore until the last possible minute just to spite him but you solve it in less than half a day. But mostly for yourself, because you need to know who you are, Sherlock. You need to remember the man you've become, how far you have come from the home you grew up in. You are loved, Sherlock. Not just by me, but by everyone who actually knows a decent amount about you and who is stupid enough to care. So yes, you need healing because your mind is sick, and it needs to get better so you can remember and come back.'

Sherlock sighed breathily. 'It's not like I don't want to. I do. Do you really think I'm happy in my current state of mind? It's just–' He frowned. 'It hurts to try to remember.'

'It hurts how?' John frowned.

'It's as though every time I try to remember something that I get blocked by a locked door and I can't find the key.' Sherlock explained. 'It feels as though someone is slicing my mind up like a cake piece by piece.'

_I didn't realise it was that bad,_  John mused to himself. He gently ran his hand up and down Sherlock's arm soothingly. Sherlock licked his lips.

'Kiss me,' he pleaded. 'It helps.'

John's hand stilled once again and he lifted his gaze to meet Sherlock's. If Sherlock still had his memory he would kiss him no problem. But now he had to be careful, go slow in case he changed his mind.

John scootched closer on the bed, trailing his free hand through Sherlock's hair until it settled at the back of his head, twisted in his curls. He moved closer, licking his lips in anticipation and nervousness. When he was close enough he could feel Sherlock's breath on his lips he smiled slightly before he closed the gap between them and their lips connected in a soft but passionate kiss.

Sherlock hummed, finding comfort in the warmth of John's lips writhing against his own. He snaked his arms around John's broad waist and tugged him closer. How was it possible to feel like this with a complete stranger? Suddenly there was yelling from outside – someone was screaming his brother's name. The voice was familiar but he couldn't quite place it. He flinched and pulled away from John, wild eyed.

'Who–' He swallowed. 'Who's that?'

'That... That's Lestrade,' John said, confusion written all over his face. 'But, what's he doing here and why is he screaming for your brother?'

He carefully manoeuvred himself off Sherlock's bed and walked to the door, opening it to see where Greg's yelling was coming from. He listened for a moment before hearing muffled sobs from down the hall. He looked back to Sherlock, who looked worried and pale once more.

'Is it alright if I go find him?' John asked. 'If he's yelling for your brother maybe he can help me find out where he is.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Yes... go ahead,' he replied dumbly.

'I'll be back soon, okay?' John said softly, returning to Sherlock's bedside to place a small kiss to his temple. 'I'll find out what's going on.'

He went out the door and shut it behind him, following the sobs as they got louder and louder. He came to a room that had the door closed and the little curtain in the window closed too. A rather nice way of saying, 'Keep out, do not disturb, I am grieving a loved one.'

John knocked tentatively and the sobs yelled for him to go away.

'Greg? It's John. May I come in?'

No sooner had he said his name then the door was wrenched open and a very red and teary eyed Lestrade was standing before him, enveloping him in a large hug.

'Oh John, I'd heard Sherlock was back in the hospital, and I tried to get away I did, but I had a shit ton of paperwork because of stupid people doing stupid things and then I got a call about a shooting not too far from... from Baker Street and I was worried it was you two but no, it was so much worse,' Greg said quickly despite the sobs wracking his body.

'It's... It's fine, Greg,' John said, wrapping his arms around the DI. 'What um... What brings you here now?'

'Mycroft,' he whimpered.

'What? What happened?' John asked, holding the man out at arm's length.

'Got shot... Chest,' was all Greg managed to mumble before he burst out sobbing again. John paled, remembering Sherlock's dream, and then looked behind Greg into the room.

Mycroft Holmes was lying on the bed, pale as a ghost, hooked up to many tubes and needles, his heart monitor beeping slowly but surely.

_He must have gone after Moriarty, looking for a cure,_  John thought.  _Moriarty must have gotten to him first. I just hope he got what he was looking for and that it was worth it._  
  
Sebastian Moran strolled through the hospital with expert ease. To any normal person he would have just looked like any normal bloke visiting a loved one. However, to anyone who knew better he was the deadliest assassin in the world. When he reached Mycroft Holmes' room he snorted.

'Jim says hi. He said that despite Mycroft's failed offer he's going to play nice and give you Sherlock's cure. Here catch.' He tossed a small vile of liquid at John. He reached out and caught the vile expertly, staring intently at the henchman, his face paling slightly. That was the man who had nearly beaten Sherlock to death. He wanted to kill him, he wanted him dead so much, but he needed answers.

'Mycroft's failed offer? Did he... Did he offer his life for Sherlock's? For a cure?'

'Yes, the idiot,' Sebastian snarled.

_Mycroft you stupid son of a bitch,_  John swore. He glared at the man. Seb.

'And how do I use this?' John asked, holding the vial up. 'Put it in his bloodstream? Have him drink it? What?' He inspected it closely. 'And how do I know I can trust Moriarty? How do I know this isn't poison?'

'Inject it into his blood stream,' Sebastian smirked. 'And why don't you just find out yourself?' John lunged at the man but Lestrade stopped him, grabbing him by the waist.

'Don't be an idiot, John,' he hissed.

'But Greg! That's the man who nearly beat Sherlock to death!' he snarled, struggling to get out of his grip. When he looked up Seb was already gone and John let out a roar of fury. He shoved Greg away, spitting at him to look after his precious Mycroft, and stalked from the room back to Sherlock's. Sherlock instantly felt John's anger as he entered the room once more.

'What's wrong?' He sat up, locking his eyes with John's.

'Lestrade just prevented me from avenging you,' he growled, searching for a needle. 'The man who attacked you was here, threatening you and your brother, and Lestrade held me down so I wouldn't be stupid.' He stabbed the needle into the vial cap and turned it upside down, drawing the liquid into the needle. He flicked at the point a few times to make sure there weren't any air bubbles in it and walked over to the IV solution in Sherlock's arm.

'He gave me this, the thing that's supposed to get your memory back,' he explained, holding the needle up for Sherlock's scrutiny. 'Do you trust me?'

Sherlock swallowed. 'More than is probably healthy for me, yes. I believe I trust you.'

John swallowed and nodded. He inserted the needle into the IV solution and watched it swirl down and into Sherlock's bloodstream. He waited a few minutes, holding his breath. When nothing happened he let out a sigh of relief. If that had been poison Sherlock surely would have reacted by now. So Moriarty had just given over the cure to whatever the fuck Sherlock had? Why? A gesture of good faith in light of Mycroft's stupidity?

Mycroft.

John turned back to Sherlock with sad eyes. 'I found your brother,' he said softly.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'What has that idiot done now?'

He could feel the liquid flowing through his veins. It was like ice flowing through him. His teeth chattered. 'Am I supposed to feel this cold?' he complained. John sat on Sherlock's bed and wrapped his arms around him, a preemptive comforting hug but also to provide him warmth.

'I'm not sure about the cold but that's probably the drug moving through your system,' John explained. 'As for your brother, the idiot went and got himself shot, bargaining for the cure I just gave you. And it happened just like in your dream, which both scares and amazes me.'

Sherlock hummed. 'I may hate him but we have a strange bond. We can always tell when one another is in trouble. Is he going to be ok?' Sherlock turned five shades paler.

'As far as I know he's stable but is being closely monitored,' John explained, hugging Sherlock closer. His shaking was getting worse. 'Would you like some extra blankets? You're ice cold, love.'

'No, Jonathan.' Sherlock pushed himself closer into John's arms.

'Jonathan?' the man himself whispered. He looked down at Sherlock and swallowed. 'You... You haven't called me that before. Are you... remembering?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'It felt natural,' he answered. 'John, you said that Mycroft got hurt exactly like my dream. My father's dead. The dead can't shoot.'

Oh fuck.

'Sherlock, there's something you should know,' John said slowly. 'When Mycroft told you your father had died... He lied. He had him imprisoned for life for what he did to you and your family, but he escaped somehow last night. I think Moriarty helped him, and he had your father shoot your brother. I have no proof of that, but from what Mycroft has told me he has indeed escaped and is on the loose.'

Sherlock recoiled from John, sliding inside his mind palace and slamming the door shut. Why would his brother lie? What did John mean by his family? It had been him alone that his father had victimised. Why the hell would Mycroft take a bullet for him? How long till his father came to get him too?

'Sherlock, don't you dare shut me out,' John growled. He grabbed him and shook him roughly, turning him to face him.

'Mycroft told me everything. Why he and your mother did nothing to stop your father. It's because he abused them too. It started with your mother, went on to Mycroft when he was seven, and then to you when you reached the same age. Your father is an abuser, not just to you but your entire family. Mycroft left to become the government but it took him three years to have more ties and become more powerful than your father. He had him incarcerated and told you and your mother that he had died, thinking you two would both be safer thinking he was dead instead of simply locked up. And it worked for quite a while. You were safe from him, but now he's back. And Mycroft went to bargain for your life because he loves you. You may not believe it but he does. I saw him cry earlier today, Sherlock, and I've never seen him show so much emotion before for anyone. He loves you Sherlock and he cares for you. He did everything because he loves you.'

Sherlock blinked in surprise. 'He cried?' he whispered. 'He actually cried? I didn't realise – I wish that I'd known the truth.' John sighed and hugged Sherlock again, enveloping him in his arms and warmth.

'Sometimes we hide things from the ones we love because we want to protect them,' John whispered. 'Lord knows you've done it enough with me.'

'I suppose you're right. I just guess after all these years of hating Mycroft this has kind of upset the boat.' Sherlock practically squeezed the breath from John's lungs.

'Gah! Too tight love, too tight,' John gasped, his hands reaching for Sherlock's to loosen his grip. Sherlock clung to John, more determined than ever. He pressed his face into John's shoulder and exhaled deeply.

'Sher– love, I can't breathe,' John gasped.

His grip loosened ever so slightly. 'Sorry,' he whispered into John's ear.

'It's alright love,' John whispered. He shivered as Sherlock's breath hit his ear, just barely stifling down a moan.

'Now's hardly the time to fulfill your libido,' Sherlock tutted. 'The situation is serious, John.'

'We've done intimate acts in more serious situations than this,' John smirked. 'But you're right. This is a very serious situation.'

'Intimate.' Sherlock shivered. 'I don't know whether that scares me or exhilarates me.'

'Both, I think,' John smiled. 'Because it scares me to death but I also love being intimate with you. You're the first man I've ever been intimate with, and at first it scared me to death. But now it exhilarates me beyond belief and I can't believe I'm lucky enough to have you.' He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair and inhaled deeply, his hair still smelling of the bath water from last night.

'And what about me? My body's clearly not a virgin anymore but in my mind I'm still one. I suppose that's the scary thing.' Sherlock frowned. 'Was the drug supposed to bring back my memories or just cure me of my physical ailments?'

'It was supposed to bring your memories back,' John said. 'You lost your memories after you fell asleep, we'd... Well, we'd just made love and you fell asleep. You woke up shivering so I gave you a hot bath, then you went to sleep again. And when you woke up you didn't remember me.'

He clutched Sherlock to him and breathed in deep. 'I don't know if you just need to sleep this all off in order to get the drug to work or whatnot, but it couldn't hurt. And I'm going to stay here if you don't mind.'

'No. I want to see him,' Sherlock retorted. 'I'm not sleeping till I have.'

'You want to visit your brother?' John asked, smiling slightly. 'I think I can arrange that yeah.'

'Firstly, does it look bad?' he asked worriedly.

'He looks frail and weak, yes, but you can't see the wound. And there are all sorts of tubes coming out of his body, keeping him stable,' John explained, standing up to grab a wheelchair. 'I know you don't have a weak stomach, but prepare yourself just in case. It's always different with family.'

Sherlock winced. 'When he wakes up I am going to kill him,' he sighed.

John smirked. 'I said the same thing about you a while back.' He wheeled the chair over to Sherlock's bed and held out his hands, offering Sherlock his assistance to get in it. Sherlock shook his head as he was propped up in the wheelchair.

'So there wasn't any sign that he was going to be an idiot? That he was going to risk his life?' he asked, ignoring John's comments.

'Well,' John paused, thinking back. 'After he called Moriarty he... probably shouldn't have been left alone. I didn't think he would go right after Moriarty but... He said that he was going to get Moriarty's head on a stake. I just didn't think he'd be foolish enough to go after him right away. Or that he'd find him so easily.'

'But you suspected he was in some sort of trouble and yet... you let him go alone.' Sherlock turned a deep shade of red and his breathing hitched.

'What was I supposed to do Sherlock? Leave you here alone defenceless?' John demanded. 'I wasn't going to leave you here alone with the threat of your father's return looming over your head. I thought Mycroft wouldn't be so stupid or foolish or reckless, I thought he would bring a team or something with him, but no. He was an idiot and I'm sorry for letting him go but you are my number one priority, Sherlock. I will always be more concerned about your safety than anyone else's, including my own.'

'Don't do that!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'You have no right to decide whose life is worth protecting. The point is I was already in the hospital and it was a trap. My father knew Mycroft would want to protect me so he waited for him. I would have been fine here because they were never coming for me. And as for saying your own life is less important than my own, that is the most moronic thing I have ever heard. Your own life should be your priority because believe me if we're going to go back to how things were I don't want to hear such utter bull. You saw that my brother was in an emotional state and yet once again John you did not observe!' He slapped John's hands away from the wheel chair and began to wheel himself away. He'd find his brother's room by himself.

John was fuming. Sherlock was right but he wasn't ready to admit that just yet. Sherlock was always right... Most of the time. He wasn't going to let him out of his sight though. He wouldn't help him find his brother's room either. He would walk behind him and fume while Sherlock did the same until he either found the room himself or refused to ask for John's help while acting like a petulant child until John finally showed him where the room was. Sherlock kept on wheeling himself down the corridor, ignoring John, glancing about frantically for a sign of where his brother was being kept. It would of course be a private room so that narrowed it down and from there it didn't take him long to find the right room. He pushed the door open, almost scaring the silver haired man leaning over his brother half to death.

'Jesus!' Greg exclaimed. 'Sherlock? What are you–? How are you–? John?' The DI looked up at John utterly confused. John just sighed and shook his head, 'don't ask' written all over his features. Sherlock wheeled himself over to his brother, ignoring the shocked man. It was far, far worse than he could have imagined.

'You're an idiot,' he mumbled under his breath. 'And I hate you.' The words were dead, not filled with their usual venom. 'I would have been fine.'

John stood by the door, closing it behind him. If Moriarty's henchman could get in here then maybe he'd come back. John wasn't going to take that chance. He also wasn't going to interrupt Sherlock when his old self was expressing brotherly emotion for the first time. He motioned for Greg to be silent as well and the man nodded, grasping one of Mycroft's hands and bringing it to his lips.

''I swear that when you wake up I'll kill you.' Sherlock hung his head low and swallowed. 'I might hug you first. Oh I bet you'd love that,' he laughed lightly. 'Just be ok. For me.'

John felt tears prick in his eyes. He'd seen the two Holmes boys show emotion before, but they were always away from each other when it happened. And now here was Sherlock, showing emotion towards his brother. It was a tender moment and John almost hated to be watching it. It should have been private, just the two of them, and he felt like he was intruding.

Sherlock lifted his head. 'Greg, right?' he asked the silver haired man.

The man in question blinked. 'Yeah,' he said slowly. 'But come on Sherlock, you know me. What game are you playing?'

_Oh, that's right. Greg doesn't know,_  John thought. He was still mildly pissed at Sherlock so he kept his mouth shut and let him do the talking.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. 'I, yeah, sorry,' he muttered under his breath. 'Just thanks, for finding him.'

'Yeah, it's no problem,' Greg smiled softly. 'The doctors said if I hadn't found him when I did he might have... Bled out.' He swallowed thickly and pressed Mycroft's hand closer to his face, holding it tightly. Sherlock sighed, blinking back tears. When had he become so emotional?

'Like I was saying. I am going to kill him.'

'I'll join you,' Greg smirked. 'The idiot, going out there alone. What the hell was he thinking?'

'He wasn't.' Sherlock's voice broke. 'This is all my fault.'

'Hey, Sherlock, no it's not,' Greg said, locking eyes with him. 'This isn't your doing. You're not the one who shot him. You weren't the one who put him in the hospital. This isn't your fault.'

'Oh but it is,' Sherlock whimpered. 'It's always my fault. Who knows the amount of times he's gotten hurt because of me?' Sherlock clenched his fists tightly. 'The last time I saw him was at the manor house. We had a fight about how I didn't want to stay there because of old memories. Imagine if that had been the last conversation between us.'

John blinked. He didn't tell Sherlock that. Or was it a different time Mycroft had made him stay at their childhood home?

'When was the last time you spoke with him?' Greg asked, gazing down at the ginger man. 'I saw him yesterday. He came in to the precinct, we had lunch. We never have lunch. I should have known something was wrong but I thought he was changing, trying to make me happier. I don't know, but I should have seen it. Why didn't I see it?' He wiped his nose on his sleeve and grasped Mycroft's hand tighter in both of his.

'None of us could have seen it coming.' Sherlock exhaled. 'The last time I saw him was–' His eyes welled up. God it hurt to try and remember. His mind was a jumbled mess of discombobulated memories that were trying to fit back into their rightful places. John could see the gears grinding behind Sherlock's eyes, could see the pain it was causing him to try to remember. Forgetting his petty grievance he stepped forward and placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

'Yesterday,' he supplied. 'He saw him yesterday. But with all the crazy happenings it's understandable if the days have seemed to blur together.'

Greg nodded, wiping his eyes, looking up at Sherlock.

'You should probably go rest,' the D.I. said. 'You look like shit, like it's taking all your energy just to remain upright. We aren't going anywhere. We'll be here when you wake up and you can come back.'

'Every time I go to sleep it would seem something bad happened. I'm not going anywhere,' the curly haired man huffed stubbornly. 'I'll be fine waiting here.'

'That's not true, Sherlock,' John whispered in his ear. 'Our first night together, which you don't remember yet, when you woke up you were blissful and happy.' He rubbed his back soothingly. 'You shouldn't live in fear of bad things happening every time you go to sleep. It happens sometimes but it's not a permanent thing. Please, let's get you back to bed. I can't promise that nothing will happen, but I promise to help you through it if something does.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Ok.' He was too tired to fight John anymore. He turned to Greg and offered out his hand.

'Thank you,' he said again. 'For everything.' The man in question simply stared at his hand like it was an alien object. It took him a moment but Sherlock realised this probably wasn't his usual behavior around Greg. He blinked, sighed and lowered his hand.

'Come on,' he mumbled to John. John nodded and grabbed onto Sherlock's wheelchair. He nodded to Greg and he wheeled Sherlock out of the room and back to his own. He didn't speak, knowing Sherlock was thinking and wouldn't appreciate him interrupting. When they got back to Sherlock's room John helped him into his bed, drawing the covers around him. He ran a hand through his hair, cupping his cheek.

'I'm sorry for the things I said,' he whispered. 'I shouldn't have said those things, but you are the most important person in my life, Sherlock. And there isn't anything I wouldn't do to keep you safe.' He ran his thumb across Sherlock's cheekbone, stroking soothingly.

'Now please, try to get some sleep. I'll wait outside if you aren't comfortable with me in the room while you sleep.'

'Stay,' Sherlock said softly. 'I don't want to be alone. Not now.'

'Alright love,' John said, offering Sherlock a small smile. 'If you need me don't be afraid to holler. When it comes to you I'm a pretty light sleeper.' He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead before retreating to the chair in the corner, sitting down and watching Sherlock and the door, just to be safe.

Sherlock laughed loudly. 'Holler.' He closed his eyes and snorted. 'You're not even bothering to hide it now, are you? Holler is a rather erotic word, don't you think?'

John snorted. 'I didn't even mean it like that, but yes, I suppose it is.' He smiled over at his lover, a twinkle in his eyes. 'Normally I would say something along the lines of "If you're good and go to sleep I'll reward you greatly later" but seeing as you don't remember how I reward you I'll just say, go to sleep and we'll see how your memory is in the morning.'

Sherlock giggled. 'My life sounds like a badly written porn novel. The Captain and his Detective. What do you think?'

'God, that  _does_ sound like a porno,' John laughed. 'I can see it now. "Deduce me like a whore" and "Fuck me like one of your trainees, sir."'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Is that what you are to me John? My little whore,' he cooed playfully.

'Sometimes, yes,' John blushed. 'And you're mine as well.'

'I hope to resume my position sir,' Sherlock sighed, resting his head on the pillow.

'I hope you do too, soldier,' John whispered as Sherlock drifted off to sleep. 'I hope you do too.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know what to say about all that. But the antidote Sherlock took will take affect next chapter, and some smut shall ensue. Plus John and Greg will have some bro bonding time as well. Look forward to that. See you next week, and happy Red Pants Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	14. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for not posting this last Monday. We had thunderstorms all week last week and I didn't want to risk traveling to the library in the rain. So, as an apology, I'm posting 2 chapters today. Enjoy!
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft, Greg
> 
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: amnesia, lewd acts in hospital, some inappropriate conversations, and John getting quite frustrated.

When Sherlock awoke he felt different. He wasn't quite his lost and confused self but he wasn't his previous self either. Some memories were there and some were blank and then there were others that were just out of reach.

He glanced over to John. He was fast asleep and snoring with his mouth open.

The chair was uncomfortable against his back, he had been sitting so long he couldn't feel his arse, his jaw hurt from sleeping with it open, and his throat was sore and dry from snoring. He woke with a shake of his head, a sound coming from his throat that sounded like a cat coughing up a hairball, and his vision going blurry for a moment before he focused on Sherlock sitting up in his bed.

'Hey,' John yawned, stretching out his arms. 'How are you feeling today?'

'In far better shape,' he replied. 'I remember some things–'

'But?' John supplied. 'I can hear a but coming.'

'Ah, yes it's quite a big but.' He bit his lower lip. 'It would appear not all of them are returning. The damage has been done. They are gone.'

John paled and moved over to Sherlock's bed, sitting down beside him. 'What can't you remember?' he asked softly, his eyes searching Sherlock's. Sherlock shifted closer to John.

'If I knew that then I would be able to remember them. I can just feel it.'

'Right. Right, of course,' John sighed, shifting closer to Sherlock as well. 'Well, I guess I should ask my most important question.' He looked up at Sherlock from under his lashes. 'What can you remember about me? About us?' Sherlock lunged forward so he was pinning John down to the hospital bed. He felt like a new man: strong and powerful and healthy. He stared into his eyes intensely.

'I have some very inconclusive data.'

John gasped and smiled. 'How can I assist in the data collection?' he smirked, wriggling teasingly below Sherlock.

'Let me find every sensitive spot.' Sherlock ground himself against John and licked a line up John's neck.

'Oh god,' John moaned, arching into Sherlock's touch, craning his neck back so Sherlock could explore every nook and cranny. Sherlock rocked against John and pushed down harder, licking his neck faster with each beat his poor over excited heart was pounding out. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him closer, his shoes digging into the mattress as he pushed his groin closer to Sherlock's. He threw his head back so Sherlock's tongue could continue exploring. His body wasn't even touching the bed at that point, his back was arched completely off it as he tried to get his body to touch every inch of Sherlock's. Sherlock chuckled. He moved his tongue in small circular movements and began to nip at John's exposed flesh too. He rutted against John in manic, thrashing movements. Small grunts passed his lips and John was making the most endearing of sounds.

'Yes, Sherlock, yes,' John moaned, pushing himself as close to Sherlock as was humanly possible. 'Oh god Sherlock, yes!' He thrust his hips against Sherlock, their cocks sliding against each other through the fabric of their clothes. John moaned obscenities as Sherlock explored his body, storing the data in his mind palace. John snaked a hand down from Sherlock's shoulder to his bum, squeezing just enough to get a tight grip but one that wasn't painful. Sherlock stopped for a moment. It seemed that John wasn't at all happy about that because he was pouting.

'I remembered how you liked dry humping. We were in Lestrade's office and... That's as much as I can remember,' he said softly. 'I remembered something else too.'

'And what's that?' John asked, panting.

Sherlock slid down John's body. 'This.' He grinned from ear to ear as he opened his mouth and clamped it over John's clothed erection.

'Oh fuck!' John exclaimed. He threw an arm over his eyes and thrust his hips into Sherlock's mouth. He was desperate to have Sherlock's mouth around his cock and he whimpered as he thrust, trying to get his cock into Sherlock's mouth through his jeans. Sherlock trailed a hand up John's top, his fingers gliding delicately over the exposed flesh. He pressed his tongue to the throbbing erection. It wouldn't be long now. John was coming undone.

'Oh god, Sherlock,' John gasped, pressing his throbbing cock against Sherlock's tongue. He was so close it hurt. He thrust against Sherlock's mouth once, twice, three times before he bit the heel of his hand and came with a stifled cry, collapsing against the bed as his taut muscles relaxed. Sherlock unpopped his mouth from John with a bemused expression on his face. He sighed and settled back against his pillows, simply staring on at the panting and red faced man.

John closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. Sherlock had just gotten him off without even properly touching him. As his post-orgasm haze cleared he went through what Sherlock had told him. Remember dry humping at the Yard and having him be putty in his hands (or mouth) that he came in his pants. But was that all Sherlock remembered about their relationship?

He cleared his throat and sat up, his gaze meeting Sherlock's.

'That was bloody wonderful,' he smiled. 'God, I haven't cum that hard in ages. I just... I have a question.' He held Sherlock's gaze, willing him not to break away. 'Is that all you remember about us? Being in Lestrade's office and how to turn me into putty in your hands?'

Sherlock's bliss faded and he frowned. 'I'm trying to recall more, John. I do remember a fight we had a long time ago about how we had to stop acting like a couple because it was giving people the wrong idea.' He cocked his head sideways. 'Do you see what I mean by having inconclusive data on us? Half the time we fight and the other half we shag.'

'We didn't start shagging until last week,' John pointed out. 'But I see what you mean. He shifted and grimaced. The cum in his pants was already cold and it felt disgusting against his skin.

'So you're still remembering bits and pieces about your life past the manor house,' John mused. 'So maybe the antidote takes a little longer to work its way through your system than the initial virus did.'

Sherlock hummed. 'Memory is a delicate thing. Especially for a complicated mind like mine.' John hummed and nodded. With his genius mind it might take longer for Sherlock to regain his memories. And even at that he could probably recall a lost memory months or even years down the road.

'I have one more important question for you.' He turned to look Sherlock in the eye, ignoring the cold feeling in his pants and jeans. 'Do you remember what I asked you the night before all this happened? Or is that all still fuzzy?'

Sherlock nodded. 'How could I forget something like that for long?' he questioned. John smiled, pulling Sherlock into a deep kiss. Sherlock groaned and wrapped his arms around John, nearly gaining his own release as warm lips pushed heavily against his. John slipped his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, flicking it against Sherlock's in greeting. He snaked a hand across Sherlock's thigh, palming his lover's arousal through his pants. Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pressed it tightly to him. He began thrashing himself into the army doctor's touch. One, groan; two, waning moan; three, a growl; four, a squeal as he too came. John swallowed all the delicious sounds that came from Sherlock's mouth. He squeezed his cock lightly after his orgasm and removed his hand, tangling it in Sherlock's curls as he continued to snog his lover.

In the end it was an awkward cough that broke the busy couple. Sherlock's eyes widened as he saw it was Greg. His first instinct was to panic as he remembered his brother was hurt. He lightly pushed himself out from under John and went to stand. However, he had obviously misjudged his limbs' strength as he landed on the floor with an almost sickening thud. John leapt from the bed and helped Sherlock up off the floor, easing him into the wheelchair from last night. He checked him over just to be sure he hadn't broken his nose in the fall and deemed him fine. He turned back to Greg, trying not to grimace at the cum still in his pants, and gave the inspector a small smile.

'Hello Greg. How's Mycroft doing?'

'He's awake at least. Been wanting to see Sherlock all night,' Greg smiled lightly.

'Then let's go see him,' John smiled lightly. 'You up for it, Sherlock?' Sherlock nodded solemnly, not really sure if he could speak. He frowned and chewed at his lower lip.

'Hey, you alright?' John asked, crouching down to Sherlock's level. 'What's with the lip?' He grabbed Sherlock's chin until he released his lip from between his teeth.

'Fine,' he choked out, glaring at his feet pointedly.

'Don't blame yourself,' John whispered, knowing Sherlock wouldn't want Greg to hear. 'This isn't your fault. And if you start blaming yourself then I'll have to go all Captain on your arse to make you see straight. Okay?' Sherlock nodded but didn't reply. How could he not blame himself?

'It'll be alright, love,' John whispered softly. He brushed Sherlock's curls off his forehead and placed a gentle kiss there. 'Now let's go see how your brother is doing, yeah?'

'Yeah,' Sherlock smiled weakly. The smile was more for John's sake than his own. Deep down he just wanted to yell. John knew Sherlock wasn't fine, but he also knew that now was not the time to discuss it or try to fix it. He pet Sherlock's cheek and sighed, standing up to wheel him from the room to Mycroft's, Greg leading the way.

Mycroft looked paler than last night, probably because he was conscious and also conscious of the pain, both physical and mental. John offered him a small smile as he wheeled Sherlock to his bedside, stepping back to let the brothers have some space.

'Mycroft,' Sherlock acknowledged his brother.

'Sherlock,' came the raspy reply.

'You're an idiot,' Sherlock accused.

'I know.'

'I hate you,' the younger Holmes whispered.

'I wouldn't have it any other way,' Mycroft gasped weakly.

John couldn't help but smile at the two of them. He looked over to Greg who was smiling as well.

Sherlock wheeled himself closer. 'I know you lied to me about father.'

If it were possible Mycroft had paled further. 'I–' his brother went to say something. An apology maybe?

'Don't you dare.' Sherlock shook his head. 'Don't you bloody dare.' He leaned over his brother and wrapped his arms awkwardly around him.

'Sherlock... what?' Mycroft asked, flabbergasted.

'Shut up,' Sherlock grunted. 'Don't say anything.'

John blushed and motioned for Greg to follow him from the room. If the Holmes boys were going to have a brotherly moment best it be done in private.

'I think they'll be fine alone,' John smiled hopefully. 'Let's go get some food. You look like you haven't eaten in a while.'

Lestrade followed John closely. He barely registered where they were going until they had reached the hospital cafeteria. He was only thrown out of his haze when a sandwich was thrown on the table in front of him. He stared at the food like it was the most revolting thing he'd ever seen. His stomach lurched at the thought of even eating. It had been almost twelve hours since he had digested anything and he was hungry but every time he looked at food he felt guilty. Mycroft was in the hospital hooked up to wires, pale as a ghost, in pain, and was unable to eat much.

 _I could have saved him from this pain. I knew something was wrong. I knew there was more than what he was letting on. God I love that man. I love him so much. Bloody Mycroft Holmes._  
  
Then of course there was Sherlock. He was so different. It was as though he was a changed man. Oh how his heart went out to the two Holmes boys. The two brothers had been through so much.

'So. The Holmes boys, eh?' he spoke before he could barely register the fact that words were forming on his lips. John smirked and leaned back in his chair, nibbling on some crisps.

'God those Holmes boys,' he sighed, shaking his head. 'They'll be the death of us one day.'

Greg began chewing tenderly at his sandwich. Sighing heavily he questioned John, 'Why is it that bad things always seem to happen to them?'

'Because they're idiots,' John answered. 'They are major, stupid, fucking idiots who don't think and then we have to save their arses.'

'Who's more foolish? Them or us for falling for them?' Lestrade blushed and rubbed the back of his head.

'Us,' John laughed. 'Definitely us.' He sighed and ran a hand through his coarse hair. He needed to get it cut, but he rather liked it too.

'So, when did you and Mycroft happen?' he asked. 'Because I didn't know until Sherlock mentioned it.'

Greg smirked. 'I can't explain it. It just sort of happened. He was feeling a bit down because of his work and I just listened as he vented. Then he snogged the living daylights out of me and for a while I was terrified. I don't know why but there's something definitely daunting about kissing Mycroft.'

'I'd be daunted if I had to snog Mycroft too,' John smirked. 'In fact, it's daunting snogging Sherlock. The man analyses everything, and sometimes I think he's absorbing so much information while we snog that he's not focussing on the snog, you know?'

'He seemed pretty focused before,' Greg laughed lightly before frowning. 'He's changed. I mean don't get me wrong he seems to be changed for the better, but he seems a little lost. And that isn't surprising with what's going on. In fact I've never seen the two of them so... affectionate towards each other or so emotional. It's just strange. And what was that about yesterday? I mean it was as though it was the first time he'd seen me and did he really want me to shake his hand? I wasn't even aware Sherlock knew of such a gesture.'

John swallowed and avoided Greg's gaze.

'Yeah, about yesterday...' He paused and swallowed again. 'Sherlock had, to put it mildly, a bit of a memory lapse. It's not early onset Alzheimer's or dementia, thank god. Moriarty caused it somehow. That man that came in earlier, gave me that vial? Yeah, that was supposed to restore Sherlock's memories. There are still blanks but he remembers our relationship now and that he's a consulting detective for the Yard.'

He smirked at Greg's final comment. 'And while Sherlock may not know the basics of social interactions he does know what a handshake is. He shook my hand the first day we met at the flat. He just never shakes yours because he sees himself as above you. I was too until that first case, then I was almost his equal. And now we are equals; mind, body, and soul.'

'Jesus. If I'd have known,' Lestrade muttered under his breath. 'Even with memory lapse, why would he try to shake my hand? He's never done that before. On second thought, who knows what goes on in his mind. He's a Holmes. They're tall, handsome, and mysterious. How typical of me to fall in love with one. Not that he knows I love him.' He exhaled deeply. 'I think he just want things to be casual between us.'

John smirked and glanced back at Greg. 'Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that.'

Greg's brow furrowed. 'What do you mean?' he asked the smirking man.

'Mycroft may have mentioned to me about how he would feel if he lost the man he loved,' John grinned. 'And I know he wasn't talking about Sherlock, Greg.'

Greg burned bright red. 'He said that, huh?' He shook his head. 'I sure wish he would tell me it himself.'

'I'm sure he will one day. Lord knows it took Sherlock long enough to admit his feelings for me. Granted, he had to get high in order to do it, but he did. Let's just hope Mycroft doesn't have to do something so drastic to admit his feelings.' John sighed and nibbled on another crisp, sipping his drink occasionally.

'I hope so too. Though just between me and you he's a bit of a light weight. When he's better I swear I'll get a couple of glasses of wine down him.' Lestrade laughed. 'He's ridiculously funny when he's tipsy. He starts singing about his life like he's in a musical.'

'Oh my god, please tell me he dances around waving his umbrella singing "Singing in the Rain"!' John laughed. 'Or anything from Mary Poppins.'

Greg sniggered. 'Actually he likes a bit of Take That. He's a really good singer.' He beamed from ear to ear. 'And that umbrella... sometimes I think he's dating it rather than me.'

'I'm the same way with Sherlock and his skull,' John nodded. 'Did you know he named it? He calls it Billy. Don't ask me why because even he won't tell me.' John shook his head and sighed, leaning back in his chair.

'How did we get lucky enough to worm our ways into the hearts of the Holmes boys?' he mused aloud.

'I don't know. I really don't. Sometimes I really don't think I deserve him. I mean, I'm not exactly what you could call up to his standards. We're from completely different walks of life. He's a rich git and I'm an overworked DI.' Greg visibly sank down in the chair.

'I know how you feel, mate,' John sighed. 'Sherlock is such a spoiled, arrogant, genius, prick of a man. And what am I? An army doctor invalid from Afghanistan brought up by homophobic parents. I have an alcoholic sister, nerve damage in my dominant arm, and a blog where I glorify Sherlock into some sort of angel.'

John sighed deeply and sank down in his own chair. 'I don't know what I did to be blessed with that man though. But I've never been happier in my whole life.'

'Posh gits, really know how to work a number on your heart, don't they?' Greg smiled. 'It's like they just walk on in there without a care in the world and no matter what you do you can't block them out.'

'The gits consume your every thought. You can't get them out of your head no matter how hard you try,' John smirked.

Greg rubbed a hand down his face. 'I've never felt so scared to lose someone.'

'Me too,' John swallowed. 'The first time Sherlock was in the hospital I was so scared he was going to die from his injuries. This last time though, it was a whole new level of fear. He couldn't remember me, what we were to each other, like I never even existed. And that is just the scariest thing for me is Sherlock not being able to remember. I would rather have him physically injured than mentally because a physical trauma will ease or go away. Mental trauma is with you for the rest of your life.'

'Especially with a mind like his.' Greg let out a low whistle. 'He's getting better though, yeah? You two seemed to have everything worked out.'

'There are still some blanks, but he's better now, yeah,' John nodded. He sipped at his drink again before abandoning it.

'Enough with the bad things,' John huffed, straightening up slightly. 'Let's get some good things going. Let's start with... Most irritating and most adorable thing your Holmes does. Go.'

Greg hummed in thought. 'The most irritating thing about him is the way he works himself up over work. I get that his work is important but I swear to god he'll have a heart attack if he keeps going like this,' he smiled warmly. 'The most adorable thing? He's ticklish and I don't mean just when I'm actually tickling him. The lightest of touches has him on the floor in laughter in seconds.'

'I never would have pegged Mycroft as the ticklish type,' John giggled. He paused in thought, popping a crisp into his mouth and chewed it slowly.

There were so many irritating things about Sherlock. The body parts in the fridge, the constant experimentation, playing the violin until five in the god damn morning. But John could tolerate all those. There was really only one thing Sherlock did that irritated John beyond all measure, and he grimaced just thinking about it.

The same went for adorable things Sherlock did. The way he wrinkled his nose in his sleep, his almost obsessive love of bees, how he treated Mrs Hudson as an equal and respected her and never deduced anything about her because he loved her. But there was one thing that Sherlock did that would always make John smile without fail.

'It's hard to pick just one for Sherlock, you know?' John smiled. 'He's always irritating but then he'll do something so adorable you won't remember why you were mad in the first place.' John sipped his drink before he continued.

'But the one thing that Sherlock does that just truly infuriates me is when he follows me. I'll go to the pub and have a few drinks, chat up a woman, and then go back to the flat. And Sherlock will know what I'd had to drink, how much, and be able to tell me that the woman was married or newly divorced or just looking for a fling. And then he goes on and on about her, rattling off deductions, saying things like "How could you not see that John?" And that's when I know that he followed me and spied on me. Then I get angry and start yelling and he starts yelling at me and all the petty issues we'd kept bottled inside all spill out and we're fighting just for the sake of fighting. And he always says something really irate and I sit on the sofa with a huff.'

John paused and smiled. 'And then the adorable thing comes into play. He'll see how angry and hurt I am and he'll realise what he did was a bit not good and he'll apologise. But he doesn't apologise in the conventional way. He'll sit by me on the sofa, slowly scootching closer before he lays his head in my lap, wriggling until I pet his hair. It soothes us, our anger dying in the calm. If I stop for even a moment he'll nudge me until I put my hand back and he relaxes again. He's basically a cat in the way he craves my touch. He was like that before we got together, but now that we are he does it all the time. Whether I'm irritated at him or something else entirely, he'll lay his head in my lap and I'll pet him until we both relax. It calms me down like nothing else and it just makes me really chuffed that he does that for me. He's fallen asleep in my lap a few times too, and then I get to see the adorable way his nose crinkles up when I pause in my petting him and how it instantly relaxes the second I start again.'

John took in a deep breath, reining in the emotions that had snuck up on him. 'Yeah, long answer. Sorry.' He rubbed his eyes and sighed. 'Why don't you ask something now? We can take turns discussing and asking about our Holmes boys.'

Greg beamed from ear to ear. 'Prepare yourself for many embarrassing questions fired your way.' He let out a low chuckle and with a deadly serious face fixed his eyes on John. 'Let's jump straight to the bedroom. What's he like? Any sexual kinks? Bondage etc...' John looked absolutely mortified which made Greg laugh almost hysterically.

'Good god Greg,' John laughed rather awkwardly. 'I haven't noticed any kinks yet, although he seems to like my dominating Captain mode. And Sherlock is a little bit of everything in bed. He's dominating, submissive, rough, gentle. We've tied my hands behind my back with one of his scarves, we've had rough and tumble sex, we've had role play sex, we've had sex in the shower, and most embarrassingly we've gotten each other off here in his hospital bed.' John blushed crimson and swallowed. 'Sherlock just doesn't fit into one category, you know? He's a bit of everything.'

John laughed lightly and asked, 'What about you and Mycroft? You guys gotten into some kinky acts in bed?'

'So that's what you were busy doing before I interrupted you.' Greg eyed John knowingly. 'As for me and Mycroft, it's all about Mycroft taking control. You know how he is. He has a power complex the size of his intellect. And as strange as it might seem we have a shared kink for cake, specifically when it's melting in his mouth.' Greg tilted his head back and licked his lips at the memory. 'God that man and his mouth,' he moaned, forgetting John was watching him. John blushed and shifted in his seat. Not that Greg was turning him on, far from it. But the way Greg was moaning in the middle of a crowded cafeteria was making John self conscious.

'Do you think maybe you could keep your voice down?' he asked softly. 'Sorry, it's just... We're sitting in a café talking about sex with our boyfriends. I don't want other people to hear about our private lives.'

John blushed again and huffed a laugh. 'But I know what you mean. Sherlock has a very talented tongue, and those lips. Good god. They're absolutely beautiful when they're being used on me. You know what I mean?'

'Now who need to keep his voice down?' Greg laughed heartily as John began to make a range of strange noises. Noises obviously brought on by the thought of Sherlock. Greg nodded. 'I can sympathize with you entirely though. It would seem our Holmes boys have tongues talented in all areas.'

'God yes they do,' John grinned. 'Okay, my turn.' He rubbed his hands together and smirked at Lestrade. 'First time you and Mycroft had sex. What was it like, what did you do, and where was it?'

'Mycroft would probably kill me if he knew I told you this but the first time we did ... anything together ... it was during a video call meeting he was supposed to be having. I was under his table ... and I suppose I don't need to fill you in on total details. He had to keep a straight face during that call and I don't think he succeeded as he was making all sorts of noises. It was bloody amazing. Knowing I could affect him like that and knowing full well that the people he was video calling could probably tell what was going on.'

John laughed and covered his face in his hand, muffling his laugh but not by much.

'I can't believe you two did that!' he exclaimed. 'Oh my god!' His laughter died down slightly. 'I'm not going to be able to look at him later without chuckling. Jesus.'

He sighed and breathed deeply, gathering his wits about him. 'Ok, your turn. Ask me anything.'

'I've heard mentions of a hallucinogenic drug a couple of times. What's that all about?' Greg raised an eyebrow.

'Oh. That's Sherlock making his own homemade drugs to escape reality,' John explained rather nonchalantly, much to his surprise. 'He imagines fairies everywhere and they try to teach him how to fly. Last time he was bare arsed on the coffee table and I could only coax him down with cocoa.'

Greg let out a low whistle. 'I bet that was what set you two up for good, huh?'

'Oh you have no idea,' John grinned. 'I stayed with him all night when he finally passed out and let me tell you, that drug had a very unexpected but very satisfying side effect. Think Viagra on steroids. Needless to say, we shagged like rabbits working that off.'

'God, remind me to do a drugs bust so I can get my hands on that.' Greg bit back a groan.

'Sherlock's perfected it by now. So you get the steroid Viagra without the hallucinations or orgasm denial. Now that was a bitch to work through.' John shuddered and shook the memory away for the moment.

'Ok, let's see,' he mused, stroking his chin like a cheesy movie villain. 'How about... First time you thought you loved Mycroft and the first time you knew you loved him.'

'You have to get me some of that!' Greg exclaimed, laughing.

Sobering up he sighed. 'I suppose I always had my doubts about how platonic me and Mycroft's relationship was. I perhaps stared at him for a moment longer than I should have, I found his cologne far too appetizing for my own good, and he was so sweet and kind. He's helped me through a lot of shit with my wife and the divorce. I remember lying awake one night and thinking, "Dear god Greg you've only gone and fallen for a man, a Holmes at that!" I didn't act on it, I didn't do much. I moped for a long time. Until one day we kissed and then we dated and shagged a numerous amount of times. Despite that I think I only realised how I truly felt when I saw him with a bullet in his chest, bleeding on the ground.'

'God. I'm sorry mate,' John said, placing a comforting hand on Greg's shoulder. 'He's going to be fine though. I saw his chart. It didn't cut through any major arteries or organs, just a lot of tissue damage. And believe me, that hurts like a mother fucking bitch and is going to leave a really nasty scar.'

John sighed and released Greg's shoulder, leaning back in his chair. 'But I know how you feel. I didn't know I was in love with Sherlock until the first stint with Moriarty a while back. In that moment I knew that there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for that man, and I was devoted to him completely. I was in love. Stupid, reckless, idiotic love. But I ignored it for the longest time because Sherlock shared no interest. Not until the drugs where he would always tell me he wuvved me, but I never did anything about it until the last time.'

Greg almost choked. 'Wuvved?' he questioned. 'Aww bless. Sherlock wuvs his army doctor.'

'Yes. And this army doctor wuvs his consulting detective right back,' John smiled. 'Now go ahead and ask me that burning question. I can see it in your eyes. Just ask it.'

'And what question are you assuming I want to know the answer to?' Greg asked, smirking.

'Now Greg, surely you don't need me to tell you that,' John smirked.

'Maybe you should, John. I could think of a thousand questions right now. Care to be specific?' He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

'The one that you've always been curious about since Sherlock first brought me to a crime scene,' John stated.

'Why you're mad enough to follow him?' Greg grinned. 'What was up with all the major eye sex? Oh how I could go on.'

'I was mad enough to follow him because he caught me from the start. He knew about Afghanistan from looking at me for all of five seconds and I was hooked. I needed to know more.' John sighed and smiled. 'And the eye sex was because I think I was always attracted to him, and I wanted him to know that but I was too afraid to tell him. Our first night together he told me he was married to his work but he was flattered by my interest, but I was stupid and played it off. So, I settled for eye sex.'

'Nothing wrong with a bit of eye sex now and then. I swear Mycroft has fucked me more times than I can imagine just by looking at me.' Greg shrugged. 'He has such a strange effect on me. I don't know how to explain it.'

'I know the feeling. Trust me,' John groaned. 'That first day in the Yard after we got together? Yeah, Sherlock was undressing me with his eyes and probably fucking me on every available surface.'

'Yeah. I may have turned a blind eye to that. Don't think that I don't know what you two were up to back in the Yard.' Greg tutted and wagged a finger in mock disapproval. John blushed and attempted to look ashamed but he honestly didn't regret doing that in the Yard.

'Ok, I get two questions since I answered two of yours. First, what is the most romantic thing Mycroft has ever done for you? Or to you if you want to go that direction. And second, how big is he?' He laughed at Greg's almost mortified expression. 'Don't look at me like that. One of us had to break down that wall eventually. And I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.'

Once the mortification had died Greg smiled. 'There are so many romantic things. He takes me to restaurants and books the entire place to ourselves. We tend to have nights in where we have Chinese and watch chick flicks. And after he initially kissed me his exact words were "Gregory, I wish to court you."'

Greg took a deep breath. 'As for size he's, er, quite big.' He gestured with his hands as to how long he was and then how thick he was too. 'I mean I don't have anything apart from my own to compare it to but I still think that as big.'

John smirked and sat his elbow on the table, his arm poised in the air. He drew a line starting at where palm met wrist and continued down to just past the middle of his arm. He raised an eyebrow and grinned rather smugly.

'And that's when he isn't erect,' he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows. 'Add another two centimetres to that and you've got his full length. As far as thickness goes, he's not fat but he isn't skinny either. You know the saying "thick as a baby's arm"? It's about like that. It's long and strong and can reach the most magnificent of places.'

'Blimey,' Greg laughed. 'I can't believe we're having this conversation.'

'I don't either. God, I feel like we're two teenage girls gossiping about their boyfriends.' John shuddered and shook the image from his mind. 'You have the power right now to turn it around, go in another direction. So go ahead. Ask me anything.'

Greg shook his head. 'I wasn't complaining. I was simply stating that this is weird. Ok. Next question. Is he a screamer or more of a silent shag?'

'He's only a screamer when I tell him I want to hear him. Most of the time he just moans and groans and whimpers though. But if I tell him to be vocal then he's vocal.' John smirked and shifted in his seat. Now is not the time to get a hard on Watson, he scolded himself.

'For my question, have you two talked about any fantasies and have you acted any out?'

'God no but I have a countless number of them,' Greg replied, blushing and rubbing a hand at the back of his head awkwardly.

'Same here,' John smirked. 'There's just so much you want to try and not enough time to try them, you know?'

'I swear if me and Mycroft were locked in a room together for a week we'd finally be able to play them out,' Lestrade sighed happily.

'Sherlock and I were cooped up in the safe house for a week and we didn't do anything. Nothing. Sherlock tortured me with endless sexual frustration. He didn't touch me and I wasn't allowed to touch myself. By the time we finally did anything I had been accidentally drugged by that Viagra and had cum twice in half an hour.' John pouted and huffed, falling down into his seat.

'That and with his injuries we probably wouldn't have done much anyway,' he sighed. 'The first time I tried to clean him up he tore his stitches and I had to fix him before he lost too much blood. God, that was terrifying.'

Greg wrinkled up his nose at the image of a bleeding Sherlock . 'I can imagine. Sherlock always gives off the impression that nothing can touch him but he's as vulnerable as us all. Same goes for Mycroft.'

'They both have that illusion that they're unbreakable, or invincible, when they're really just as human as the rest of us,' John said softly. 'And I think now that this has all happened they both realise that they're human, that they can get hurt, and they can be broken. And it scares them.'

Greg hung his head low. 'Scares me at least. Scares me a lot.'

'It scares me too,' John whispered. 'And I was there when Sherlock was nearly beaten to death. I was tied to my chair and gagged, completely helpless. I wasn't even scared for me as I was the more helpless of the two of us, but I was more scared for Sherlock because he was the one being attacked.'

Greg groaned. 'I could have helped him. I could have sent a team to back him up. If only I hadn't accused him of those murders.'

'Greg, please don't blame yourself,' John said softly, reaching for one of his hands. 'There are too many people involved in this to put the blame truly on one person. But I find it easiest to blame Moriarty as he's the one who started it all. But then Sherlock is also to blame for playing Moriarty's game, me for following Sherlock, the list goes on and on but it all stems back to Moriarty.'

'What does he want? Why is he bent on destroying all of our lives?' Greg sighed.

'I have no idea,' John admitted, shaking his head. 'He's bored? He enjoys ruining people's lives? He's a psychopath?'

'Doesn't it frustrate you? Not knowing what move he's going to make next?' Greg exhaled and bit down on his lower lip hard.

'Of course it does. I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, paranoid beyond all doubt. I never feel safe anymore. And I won't until Moriarty's head is on a stake.' He glowered and released a harsh breath through his nose.

'We're powerless, John. Utterly powerless.' Greg's voice shook tremendously.

'The way I see it, we can either sit by and do nothing or we can stick by their sides and do our damnedest and fight alongside them.' John's eyes were vacant and far away, lost in the memory of the pool where he had done just that. They hadn't even had to speak, they knew exactly what needed to be done, and they would have gone out together.

'Together or not at all,' John muttered.

'Agreed. We stick together on this. I'm not going to let them fight alone.' Greg nodded in affirmation to what John had just said. John blinked and minutely shook his head, breaking out of his revelry.

'Right. We aren't going to stand idly by with this. They need us just as much as we need them, and we'll be there to support them no matter what.'

'How do you think they're holding up?' Greg asked.

John glanced at his watch, his eyes widening in surprise.

'Well, we've been gone for almost an hour. I think they've had enough time to sort out their brotherly feelings,' John smiled. 'What do you think? Should we go back up there?'

'God I hope they haven't killed each other. We should probably at least check on them,' Greg said, standing to his feet.

'I hope they haven't either,' John smirked, standing to his feet as well. 'If they're fine we should definitely continue this wonderful little chat of ours. Or make it a weekly thing.'

'Yeah. Why not?' Greg beamed. This chat with John was rather nice.

'Excellent,' John grinned as he walked to the lift. 'We need to do it during the week though. Maybe go to a pub where we won't be overheard so easily.'

'Yeah. Maybe every Wednesday? Middle of the week is as good a time as any,' Greg suggested.

Meanwhile, back with the Holmes boys, things had gone from hugging to Sherlock sat in the corner, cross armed, and glaring at his older brother. There was only so much of the infuriating idiot that he could take.

'Wednesday sounds great,' John grinned. The lift finally arrived and John stepped in, punching the number of their boys' floor and the doors closed, steadily rising to their destination.

'We can call it Moan About Your Holmes Wednesday,' John joked with a smirk. God, that sounded almost as bad as the Red Pants Monday the fandom had created. John just laughed and shook his head.

'And what kind of moaning are you implying?' Greg grinned wildly.

'Every kind, Greg. Every kind,' John smirked as the lift stopped and opened. He strode out into the hall and to Mycroft's room. He knocked before he opened the door and peeked inside.

'Hello boys,' he smiled as he saw Sherlock pouting in the corner. 'And how did your chat go?'

Sherlock turned his glare to John. 'Fine,' he bit out.

Mycroft looked up at Greg and sighed tiredly.

'Oh good lord,' John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'What happened?'

'Nothing apart from the usual,' Sherlock said in a voice dripping with anger.

'Sherlock please–' Mycroft tried.

'Sherlock, for fuck's sake,' John sighed, covering his face with his palm. He took in a deep breath to calm himself down. 'Fuck it. Just fuck it. Sherlock, we're leaving.'

He grabbed Sherlock's chair roughly, spinning him around so he could grasp the handles.

'Mycroft, I apologise. Greg, thanks for a very entertaining lunch.' He wheeled Sherlock out the door, Greg closing the door silently behind them. John wheeled Sherlock back to his room and locked the door behind them. He left Sherlock in his chair, John retreating to his own in the corner, staring him down until Sherlock calmed down enough to be civil to talk to.

Sherlock huffed. 'I'm not going to apologise,' he said, voice steady and ice cold. 'I'm not the one in the wrong.'

'I didn't say you had to apologise,' John huffed. 'Just tell me what the hell happened.'

'I can't. Or rather I don't want to. I just want to sleep. So if you don't mind, can you please help me on to the bed?' Sherlock glanced away from John's prying eyes. John glared at Sherlock, not really mad but disappointed. The Holmes boys had been hugging it out when he last saw them. What the hell had happened that made them so angry with each other?

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was calmer but still confused and disappointed. He stood up from his chair and approached Sherlock, caressing his face before sighing again. Without saying a word he grasped Sherlock's hands tightly and hoisted him up, slowly moving him to the bed and tucking him in.

'I wish you two would try to get along during this,' John whispered. 'I realise Mycroft has made some stupid and idiotic decisions but he really is trying to help. Now, going directly to Moriarty was a completely stupid move, but he did it for you. I may not have done exactly the same thing, I would have at least gotten a team together, but I would fight for you, Sherlock. Because, to me, you're worth fighting for.'

He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, noting how greasy it had become since his arrival in the hospital. 'Get some sleep, love. I'll be here when you wake up, and then maybe we can clean you up later.'

Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes. 'It has nothing to do with that. Well, it does, but not really.' He nuzzled against John.

John sighed and caressed Sherlock's face gently.

'You two are both idiots,' he smiled softly. 'But I love you.'

'This idiot loves you too.' Sherlock turned his face into John's hand and kissed it.

John smiled. 'You missed love.' He snickered at Sherlock's confused face. He leaned in and kissed him properly, Sherlock's mouth warm and soft. Sherlock moaned in a muffled surprise. The blood in his veins pounded and more specifically flooded downwards. John smiled against his lover's lips and kissed him deeper, his hands tangling in Sherlock's hair and his tongue flicking out in greeting.

'God John,' Sherlock moaned loudly and he turned, pressing himself against the man in question. John smirked and climbed over Sherlock, their lips still connected, John's tongue dancing with Sherlock's.

'Glad you aren't hooked up to a heart monitor this time,' John murmured, moving from Sherlock's lips to suck a bright red mark right on his pulse point.

'Oh fuck.' He shuddered and jerked his hips upwards. John moaned and bit down on the mark he had just made, rocking his hips against Sherlock's.

'Put the blinds down and turn the lights off,' Sherlock moaned. 'We want a little privacy.' His breath hitched in his throat as John continued to suck on his neck.

'Mmm yes,' John moaned, releasing Sherlock's neck with a loud pop. He ran his tongue along it for a moment before standing and shutting the blinds in both the windows and the small one in the door, making sure it was locked before turning off the lights. He blinked a few times before his eyes began to adjust to the sudden darkness, slowly moving back to Sherlock's bed and crawling back on top of him.

'What do you want, Sherlock?' he whispered against his lover's neck, rocking his hips against him. 'Hand, mouth, or full on penetration?'

'I'm not ready for the latter,' Sherlock whispered in shame. 'And the thought of having your mouth around my cock terrifies me something chronic.' He laughed. 'I'm sorry. I'm not particularly good at this it seems. I'll take your hand.' He sighed heavily. 'Sorry,' he apologized again.

John's smile faltered. Sherlock doesn't remember... No, it's fine. It's all fine, John reminded himself. He kissed Sherlock again, slowly, passionately. His hand snaked down Sherlock's torso, pausing at the waistband of his trousers.

Sherlock arched and groaned. 'Oh my word,' he gasped. John sucked on Sherlock's neck again as his hand delved into Sherlock's pants. His cum was still caked inside, cold and sticky. John used it as lube and slicked up Sherlock's cock, the coldness going away as he worked his hand up and down rather quickly, twisting at the head. Sherlock whimpered and thrust himself upwards.

'Faster,' he ground out. 'Harder.' John was only too happy to comply. He squeezed Sherlock's cock harder and stroked at an unforgiving pace, his hips rutting against Sherlock's.

'Harder than that. Come on,' Sherlock growled, panting hard as his breathing became laboured. He closed his eyes as he felt himself beginning to throb under John's touch. John smirked, accepting the challenge. He moved down between Sherlock's legs, positioning himself as if he were to fuck him. He leant over Sherlock, capturing his gaze as his hips pounded against Sherlock's arse mercilessly and his hand matched the pace of his hips. Sherlock tensed and trembled as he began to cum over John's chest, hand, and his own stomach in short, sharp spurts. He let out a strangled cry and melted into the bed sheets beneath him.

John hummed appreciatively at the sight, working him through it, slowing down his movements. When Sherlock finally collapsed into the sheets John smiled rather smugly and released Sherlock's cock. His stomach and chest were peppered with his cum, most of it having collected in John's hand. John fished around in the blankets and found the flannel from the other day, using it to clean themselves.

'Don't think this means I've forgiven you for being an idiot,' he whispered in the darkness. 'Because you're very much still an idiot. Now go to sleep.'

'I have nothing to be forgiven for,' Sherlock stated, tugging his trousers back up. 'I am not the suicidal bastard here.'

John groaned and thunked his head on Sherlock's chest.

'You honestly think he went there with a death wish?' John questioned. 'I don't think Mycroft would be that stupid.'

'Oh I don't  _think_  that. I  _know_  that. You see, whilst you and Greg were having lunch discussing our sex life, my brother and I were having a little chat too.' Sherlock let out a low growl. John glowered at Sherlock, rising up on his hands to look down at him.

'Oh, so you know what we discussed do you?' he grit out. 'Of course you would be able to tell what Greg and I talked about. You could probably tell what I had to eat just by looking at the crumbs on my shirt. But I don't care. Deduce what you will because you know what? It was good to talk to someone who knows what it's like to date a Holmes. And while your brother is a major fucking idiot you are too for acting like such a petulant child when he was trying to save your goddamn life. While what he did was completely stupid and I don't condone doing it ever again, he did it so your brain wouldn't eat itself alive as your memories deteriorated.'

John jumped from the bed in a huff and stood by the side, his hands clenched into tight fists. 'If he hadn't done something you might still be dying, or worse dead. So I'm grateful that he risked his life for you when I didn't. He saved your life, Sherlock, and for that I will owe him a great debt.' He stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him. He stopped outside Mycroft's door, contemplating. He made a quick and rather immature decision.

'Your brother is a massive twat!' he yelled at the door before stalking off again. He didn't know where he was going; he just needed to walk for a while.

'Don't fucking come back!' Sherlock screamed but it was too late. John was long gone. 'Fuck him, just fuck him.' He began to sob, and his entire body curled in on itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the ending, but we gotta get the angst in somewhere. John is just frustrated that Sherlock can't remember and he needs to clear his head. Resolution next chapter.
> 
> TSA + IB


	15. Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter for today. I've also decided that once I get back to school I'll be updating this 3 times a week. We finished this a couple days ago, and there will be 65 chapters in total. Now, I don't want to be posting this for the next 50 weeks, so I'm hoping posting this 3 times a week will make a dent in the time it'll take to post this completely.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Greg
> 
> Me: John
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: suicidal ideations
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: ill-will between our boys (but not for long), shower sex, dom/sub action, hurt and comfort

John wandered around the hospital for hours, checking out corridors and hallways and talking to the late shift nurses. Rory was back, and he said he and his girlfriend had worked things out. John offered him a small smile, wishing he and Sherlock had done the same. He scuffled along until his anger had ebbed and all that remained was irritation mixed with guilt. He had told Sherlock he wouldn't leave him but he had up and ran away from him when he probably really needed him. He was still confused, his memories still spotty, and John should have been there to help him.

'God fucking dammit,' he swore aloud, heading back to the lift to go to Sherlock's floor. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hung his head in shame on the ride down, the guilt starting to overtake the irritation. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed with Sherlock and run his fingers through his hair until he fell asleep. But would Sherlock let him?

He reached Sherlock's door and paused outside it, contemplating. He pursed his lips and clasped the doorknob, turning it slowly and opening the door a crack. Sherlock was curled in on himself, not really sleeping but almost there. His body was too tense to be asleep. John sighed and shut the door behind him, toeing off his shoes before they could make too much noise. Cautiously he crept over to the bed and paused, waiting for Sherlock to say something.

'I said don't fucking come back,' Sherlock whispered, quite aware of the presence in the room. He turned so he was looking at John. His blue eyes penetrated straight through the older man.

'All I wanted was to talk. To get some shit of my mind, but for you to react like that–' He laughed though his laughter was dead and without any humour. 'Do you normally react like that when I try to discuss things with you? I suppose I'll never know. Because do you know what John? You seemed pretty pissed with me over something which is way out of my control. I suppose you're the controlling type aren't you? The fuck and run type. I can read you like a book. If it's not done your way it's the wrong way, right? That's how it's always been and that's how it will probably continue to be.' The great consulting detective snarled, locking his jaw.

'Now get out and don't even bother coming back. I've been hurt by enough people in my life. I don't need a load of more crap to deal with. I definitely don't need someone who is going to flip out because of the issues between me and my brother. He's my family, not yours. I especially don't need this crap right now.'

He held up a hand. 'Don't say anything. Just leave, ok?' he panted. 'I swear if you say anything I'm going to do something I'll regret.'

Tears fell down John's face. He had really fucked up this time. Sherlock was still trying to remember him and he had run away and given him one of the worst impressions of himself. He wiped his tears away and shook his head.

'No, Sherlock, no. I'm not leaving you again. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I fucked up. I fucked up big time. I'm not normally like that, I swear, and I'm so sorry.' He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

'So if you want to lay it on me go ahead. I deserve anything you give me. Your wrath, grief, whatever. Just lay it on me. I deserve it. And when you finish I'll still be here, and if you want to talk about your chat with your brother afterwards then I'll listen.' John swallowed and stood straight, holding his arms out to accept Sherlock's sharp words.

Sherlock shook his head. 'I have nothing to say to you. Please just leave.' All the fight had left his body. Any harsh words he wanted to say died on the tip of his tongue. 'If you're around right now I really think I'd hurt you. Walk away and let me think because god damn it I need to do a hell of a lot of that. I guess I won't be getting much sleep tonight.' He sighed heavily. 'I won't ask you again.' His voice was soft and feathery light and in that moment he became so childlike and innocent. He rested his head on the pillow and let out a stifled sob. 'Just go.'

John took in a shaky breath, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. He really didn't want to leave Sherlock alone with his thoughts. It was never a good idea and could sometimes be dangerous. But he didn't want to push Sherlock any more than he already had, didn't want to hurt him further, didn't want to cause him any additional pain. There was so much he wanted to say but he didn't want to say it, didn't want to fight. So he turned around, grabbed his shoes, and left. He didn't go far though. He sat a fair distance away from the door, his knees drawn up to his chest, sobbing silently. Sherlock was left there, shaking, crying, confused, hurt, angry, and with the feeling of betrayal and hate running through his veins.

Meanwhile, Greg had crept from Mycroft's room. His lover was asleep (finally). Whatever had gone on between the two Holmes boys had been something quite big. Greg hadn't seen him so tense or worked up before. That's when he heard sobbing. He glanced around for the person the strangled sounds were coming from. It didn't take long for him to find their source.

'John?' he questioned softly. 'You alright mate? What's happened? Is it Moriarty? Is there something else wrong with Sherlock?'

'I really fucked up this time,' John chocked out. 'I fucked up big time.'

'Come on John.' Greg shook his head, sitting next to the crying man. 'It can't be that bad.'

John sobbed harder, pressing his eye sockets onto his knees.

'I ran from him, Greg. I ran from him when he needed me the most and now he doesn't trust me or want to look at me or even have me in the same goddamn room.' John let out a chocked sob and turned his face away from Greg.

'And he still barely remembers our relationship. Barely remembers me. And I just... It kills me to know that I was just erased like that. That I could disappear from his memory like I never existed. Like I was a bit of information he deemed useless from his hard drive and deleted me like I was nothing.

'But that's exactly what I am now. I'm nothing. I'm the man who got him off and left as soon as he started talking about our conversation together and then tried to talk about his and Mycroft's. In his eyes I used him and left, that I always need to be in control or I'll leave, the fuck and run type.' John gasped a sob and clutched his hands in his hair as his entire body shook.

'Hey,' Greg hushed. 'None of that is true. You are loyal. It's not your fault that you got a little emotional and had to take a break.' He squeezed his friend's shoulder. 'Maybe you should have talked to him about what happened between him and Mycroft. Lord knows I tried to talk to my Holmes boy and he hasn't said a word since Sherlock left. It scares the honest crap out of me because it's clear they're both in pain and I just want to get to the bottom of things.' He sighed. 'Let him cool off. It'll be ok. You know how Sherlock is, right? Always throwing a temper tantrum.'

'God, but this time it seems so much worse. Sherlock's mind is still healing and this can't be good for it. And what if his memories are lost forever? What if I just gave him the worst impression of me I possibly could?' John clutched his legs tighter, pulling them against his chest so tightly he struggled to breathe.

'Look, you want to fix this, right?' Greg asked. 'Of course you do. Go back in there and tell him everything you love about him. I mean it John. Go back in there and just tell him about the connection between you two. The one that you denied for far too long, and the one that you'll never be able to lose. Go, now.'

'He won't listen to me,' John mumbled.

'Then you make him listen because god damn it one of us needs to get to the bottom of this and Mycroft's not going to open up any time soon. At least your one's talking to you. Even if it is with anger. Go to him, John. The worst that can happen is for him to yell at you. The best outcome will be for you to get in his good books once again.'

John nodded but made no attempt to move.

Greg sighed and rolled his eyes. 'Come on. You're coming with me.' He pulled John to his feet and grabbed his hand, dragging him back in the direction of Sherlock's room. 'It will do no good for you to both stew in your own thoughts so don't give me that look, John.'

John groaned and followed Greg, shuffling his feet. He stopped outside Sherlock's door, refusing to move. He was scared, and he knew it was completely irrational, but dammit he was scared.

Greg opened the door and grabbed John by the elbow. 'Talk to him,' he sighed, pushing the stubborn army doctor inside the room and shutting the door behind him.

John let out a small squeak as Greg shoved him inside. Sherlock was still curled up on the bed, in the same position he'd left him in. John was at a loss for words, not knowing what to say or where to start to get Sherlock to listen to him.

'You can come closer, John. I'm not in the biting mood,' Sherlock spoke into the darkness.

John swallowed and stepped closer, sort of shuffled really, until he was at Sherlock's bedside. He swallowed thickly, his throat dry. His mind was blank, words failing him when he needed them the most.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock whispered. 'I overreacted. I said some pretty horrible things. However this doesn't make up for flipping out on me. I was trying to tell you something important about my brother. I didn't appreciate being left alone when I had a ton of crap running through my mind.'

'I know, and I'm so, so sorry,' John whispered. 'I behaved childishly, I overreacted, I ran away when you needed me most, and I'm so, so sorry.' John took a deep breath to steady himself, and finally began to say the things Greg told him to say.

'I don't normally act that way. But over the last few days I'd just been so stressed and overly emotional that I took it all out on you. And it scares me that you can't remember, that all we had was nearly wiped from your mind. Do you know what that feels like? To be erased like you never existed? Because to me it feels like I wasn't enough. My memories weren't strong enough to stay, I wasn't good enough for your brilliant mind to keep me. And I know it's irrational to think that way but that's how I feel.

'And we had so much, Sherlock. So much. And now it's all gone. Erased, deleted, forgotten. And there's this constant ache in my chest because I don't know how much you remember and I'm constantly second guessing myself in what I can and cannot do or say with you or around you. And the stress is killing me and my head hurts and my entire body aches.'

He clutched himself tight and inhaled deeply, his voice and body shaking uncontrollably.

'Have you considered how scared I am right now?' Sherlock questioned softly.

'Over the past few days half my mind palace has been literally demolished, and now I am having to rebuild it brick by brick. That is half of my mind that was taken from me, John. For anything to be in my mind it has to be important. I know those memories of you are, so therefore I know of what we once had. It felt right kissing you. It felt right when you ... you know. That thing you did to me was really rather good.' He smiled sadly. 'I can tell that by your whole body language that this is emotionally hurting you. I don't pretend to understand emotions because I can't. Which makes this whole situation ten times worse.' Sherlock paused for breath.

'My brother is suicidal. It is a fact that he had a death wish. I heard it from his own mouth. I suddenly feel like my brother isn't the man I always thought him to be and yet I don't know what to do with that feeling. I wanted to know your opinion of what to do because I myself am lost and confused and...' He took a deep breath and shook his head. 'I wanted to know your opinion because even without all my memories intact I know that you are incredibly important to me. I could feel the connection between us even as we spoke against each other in anger.

'And you ran. Not completely because of anger but because of pain and disappointment too.' He closed his eyes and swallowed. 'I hated the fact that I made you feel like that. Hurting you hurt me and I lashed out.'

'God Sherlock,' John breathed. 'I... I'm so sorry. I am so sorry for leaving you with all that on your shoulders.' He risked climbing on the bed and curled up against Sherlock, holding him close. He buried his head in Sherlock's back and inhaled his scent, calming down instantly.

'I'm sorry to hear about Mycroft as well. I had no idea he was suicidal. I'm sorry I left when you were so desperate to talk to me about it. We should get him help, we need to let him know that we're here for him, we support him, and Greg needs to be there too. We can't let him take his own life, not even if it would save one of our lives. He needs to know that he's important too, and that we love him.' John smiled against Sherlock's back at the small scoff he gave.

'Well, we do,' he smiled. He hugged Sherlock closer and buried his nose in his hair. 'And I don't think you don't understand emotions. I think you understand them fine, you just don't understand why people hold onto them so tightly. You don't understand the sentimentality behind emotions, not emotions themselves.' He sighed and ran a hand through Sherlock's hair soothingly.

'I love you,' he whispered. 'I love you and I'm so sorry. For everything.'

Sherlock shuffled against John so his body practically moulded into him. 'I love you too. I fucking love you.' He placed a tender kiss to John's neck. 'Now look at us. Two sentimental bastards,' he laughed.

'My brother being suicidal is partly my fault. Which is why I was pissed.' He exhaled. 'Would you please listen to what he said to me this time?' His voice cracked. 'Because all of this is killing me inside.'

'Of course I'll listen,' John whispered. He grasped one of Sherlock's hands and twined their fingers together, squeezing it to assure him he was there for him now. Sherlock squeezed John's hand and let out a shaky breath.

'He said that everything was beginning to pull at him. That this whole situation along with his work was pulling him paper thin. He also told me how he only had two important things left in his life.' He snorted. 'I said, "What are those then? Cake and your umbrella?" He told me that it was in fact me and Greg. Which was fine of course but then he went on to say how he was terrified of losing us. He kept on muttering how this was all his fault and how he was terrified of losing us, how the world would have been a much better place without him, how if we got hurt again it would be his fault, how his death could save us from more pain. He blames himself for our upbringing, for father's escape, and for some reason he blames himself for Moriarty's unhealthy interest in me. He told me he wants to leave this place because he can't deal with things anymore.'

John wiped away the tears that began falling again at Sherlock's story. He ran his free hand through his hair, ignoring how dirty it was for the moment.

'Why is everyone playing the blame game?' he muttered. 'I am so sorry your brother feels that way, but he really shouldn't. I wish I had a simple solution for this, that I could just give Mycroft two pills and tell him to call me in the morning. But depression and suicidal thoughts aren't that simple. He needs time away from work, he needs to spend more time with Greg, he should probably be on some form of antidepressant medication.' John shook his head, not wanting to fall too far into doctor mode.

'And how could he possibly be responsible for your father's escape? He didn't let him out, so it wasn't his fault. As for Moriarty I'm questioning that as well. He didn't tell Moriarty to start playing games with you because you were bored. He needs to stop blaming himself and he needs to get some professional help for his depression and suicidal thoughts.'

John hugged Sherlock closer and finally pulled his hand free of his hair. It came back shiny and greasy and his nose wrinkled up in disgust.

'I don't know about you but I would really like to wash your hair before you fall asleep,' he murmured. 'Your room has a private bathroom, so it's doable. What do you think, Sherlock?'

'I think it would be nice to have a shower,' Sherlock smiled weakly at John. 'Will you do me a favor though? Can you speak to him afterwards? Please.'

'Speak with Mycroft?' John asked, sliding off the bed and moving to help Sherlock down.

'Yes. Please can you? I'm scared for him and he won't hear me out,' he replied.

'Of course, love. Of course,' John assured him. He helped Sherlock out of bed and they made their way to the shower. John turned it on so the water would warm up and helped Sherlock out of his shirt. He paused at his trousers though.

'I almost hate to ask but I just want to be sure,' he said softly, looking up into Sherlock's eyes. 'Are you alright with me undressing you? And would you like me to wash your hair for you? I'm warning you now that that would require me to get in with you and I would be undressed as well. Seeing as you can't remember what I look like naked, I just thought I should give you the option to say no if you wanted.'

'Thank you,' he said softly.

'I am fine with this. I think we have to start somewhere and seeing you naked will probably be as good a place as any,' he smirked. 'Besides, I can see that you're a hunk under your clothes.'

John blushed and smirked as he pulled off his jumper and t-shirt, leaving his jeans on for the time being. He helped Sherlock get his off, peeling away his pants and tossing them in the bin. He did the same with his pants; no point in keeping them as they were beyond repair.

He flushed as Sherlock's eyes raked over his naked form, wanting to cover himself but not. His own gaze flicked over Sherlock's body, drinking in the flat planes of his stomach, his thick torso, and his muscled arms. In only two days he had almost forgotten how beautiful Sherlock looked naked. He smiled appreciatively at the sight.

'Remind me of what I was saying?' Sherlock grinned, reaching his arms around John's waist and pressing every inch of his ivory skin to John's tanned body.

'That... Um...' John swallowed as Sherlock pressed his entire body against him. 'That... I'm a hunk under my clothes?'

'I've never been so right,' Sherlock whispered down John's ear, watching in satisfaction as he shivered. John groaned and pressed himself closer to Sherlock's body.

'You're not so bad yourself,' he whispered, nipping Sherlock's collarbone. Sherlock's heart thudded in his chest and he whimpered as he began to feel hopelessly aroused.

'Shower. Get in,' he ordered.

John pulled Sherlock in with him, pulling him against him as soon as the hot water hit them both. He manoeuvred them around so Sherlock's head was under the spray, wetting his hair, John's hands cradling his face as the water cascaded down.

'You're really good at this,' Sherlock moaned out as John's fingers worked their magic.

'I've been told that a few times, yes,' John smiled, grabbing the cheap shampoo. It wasn't anything like what Sherlock used at the flat, but it would do until they got somewhere else. He lathered the shampoo in his hands before working it through Sherlock's hair, the pads of his fingers massaging his scalp. Sherlock chuckled and reached out a hand to twine in John's shaggy mop of blonde-grey hair. He hummed and began scraping his fingers through the overgrown hair. Much to his surprise John let out a loud groan and arched into Sherlock's touch, his hands stilling in Sherlock's hair.

'I didn't say stop,' he hissed playfully. Sherlock grinned wickedly. 'I'm sure I'll find a way of punishing you for being a bad little soldier.'

John's hands began massaging again, working on getting the sides of Sherlock's head before going to his crown.

'Yes sir,' John purred. God, when was the last time he had called anybody sir? 'I should be punished for my mistake.' He tilted Sherlock's head back and rinsed the shampoo from his hair, running his fingers through it as it became softer.

'Yes Watson,' Sherlock hummed. 'I shall punish you.' He laughed loudly. 'I'll get you back so hard you won't be able to walk.' He looked at John for a long time. 'If you catch my drift.'

John looked up at Sherlock wide eyed. His entire body began to tremble at just the thought of Sherlock doing that to him.

'Yes sir,' he nearly whispered. 'I understand. And that seems like a suitable punishment.'

'Good. Now finish the job.' He tilted his head and smiled sweetly. John stood on tiptoe and grasped Sherlock's hair in his hands, tilting his head back further before he clamped his lips on his neck and sucked hard.

'Tut tut Jonathan.' Sherlock clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 'Did I give you permission to do that?'

'No,' John growled against his neck. 'But it looked so delicious, I wanted a taste.' He swirled his tongue over the pale red mark he'd left and hummed.

'I see.' Sherlock smiled devilishly. 'You don't think that you should have asked me if it was ok?' He grabbed John's wrists and flipped him over with expert ease. He placed both of John's hands on the shower wall and spread his legs out. 'Answer me,' he leaned down and spoke to John.

'No sir, I never thought to ask,' he moaned out, his entire body vibrating. 'I apologise, sir.' He scrabbled at the tile of the shower for purchase, holding himself up as his legs felt rather weak.

Sherlock grabbed the bottle of shampoo and squeezed it onto his hands. He yanked John's head up and began to roughly ruffle up his hair.

John tilted his head back further and purred at Sherlock's touch. It was a little rougher than he was used to, but because it was Sherlock it felt wonderful.

Sherlock smiled. 'You know, despite being apprehensive about you taking me because I've heard it hurts like fuck at the start, there's nothing stopping me from taking you.' He reached for his arousal and coated it in shampoo before lining himself against John's arse.

'Sherlock,' John breathed. 'Sherlock, wait.' He pressed a hand to Sherlock's abdomen, stilling his movements.

'You need to prepare me first,' he explained. 'You can't just shove your prick up my arse and expect it not to hurt. You have to stretch me first.' He grabbed Sherlock's shampoo coated hand and pressed his fingers to his entrance, easing a fingertip inside. He pressed back against it and it slid in to the first knuckle. John groaned at the feeling and moved his hips slightly.

'Think you can do that?' he asked in a shaky breath.

'I could try,' Sherlock shrugged. 'Of course, I knew you wouldn't be able to take me straight away.' He sighed in disappointment, moving his finger slowly in and out. 'You just wouldn't be able to take it, would you?' he teased, placing a hungry kiss to John's throat.

'No, I wouldn't have been able to take you,' he smirked. 'Your cock is just too damn big for my tight little arse.' John groaned and pushed back against Sherlock's finger. 'You're gonna have to add another finger now, Sherlock.' Sherlock did just that before pressing a third finger in too.

'I want you to scream, John,' he growled. John did. He screamed as Sherlock pressed his third finger inside him, stretching him, feeling a slight burning sensation but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He screamed when Sherlock's fingers found his prostate and he pushed back harshly against them, wanting them on his bundle of nerves again.

'Are you ready? Do you think you can take me now?' Sherlock yanked John's head back up.

'Yes sir! Yes! God yes!' John screamed as Sherlock wrenched his head back rather harshly. He'd never been so rough before and John's body loved it. Or maybe it was because Sherlock was about to fuck him even though he didn't really remember who he was. John didn't care. He wanted this. God did he want it. He pushed back on Sherlock's fingers and whimpered.

'Please, sir, please. Take me.'

Sherlock removed his fingers and leaned back. 'Your wish is my command soldier.'

He shoved himself inside of John and began gently rocking into him at first. However, after only a few moments his primal animal instincts and all of his anger and frustration that had been building up inside of him came toppling down on him like a ton of bricks. Thus his thrusts became manic and so fast his lungs were burning out of exhaustion. John trembled underneath his power and was beginning to slip down the shower tiles. That didn't stop him. He continued to pound himself into John furiously.

And then they fell with a thud to the shower floor. John cried out as he was the one to cushion the fall for Sherlock. The thing that scared Sherlock the most was the fact that he couldn't stop. Even as he started cumming he still continued to thrust in and out. John lay there, deadly still, his own cum spurting out.

'Oh god,' Sherlock squeaked. 'What have I done?'

He pulled himself out of John and looked down at the deadly weak looking man. John lay still against the cool tile, collecting his breath and his strength. He had deserved that, for leaving Sherlock and not listening. He knew he deserved it, so he allowed it to happen.

He slowly turned around so his back was against the wall, propping himself up as his arse was in a lot of pain and his legs felt boneless. He hissed as his arse stretched when he sat, pain shooting up and through his body. He sat in the spray of water, the warmth exactly what he needed at the moment. It rinsed the shampoo from his hair as well and John closed his eyes so they wouldn't get irritated.

He gulped down deep breaths until his heart rate slowed and he could breathe somewhat normally. He wiped his face with his hands and turned to look at Sherlock, who was watching him with so much guilt running across his features. John didn't know what to say, he couldn't really speak, but he didn't want Sherlock to think he was angry. He was sore and tired and sated, he had deserved what he'd gotten. Sherlock had said he would lash out and hurt him, but John had expected verbal abuse instead of physical pain.

John offered Sherlock a small smile before turning his face back to the spray of water, warming him up, cooling him down, and relaxing him.

Sherlock sighed heavily. 'I am so sorry. I tried to stop myself.' He reached out and placed a hand on the small of John's back. John shuddered at the touch but leaned into it.

'It... It's fine, Sherlock,' he said softly. 'You did say you would hurt me. All that pent up anger trapped inside would have needed to come out somehow. And I'd rather you fuck me into oblivion instead of shooting our walls again.'

'I still could have stopped myself,' Sherlock said, his voice filled with self hatred. 'I never wanted to hurt you.'

John reached out and cupped Sherlock's cheek in him palm, running his thumb soothingly across his skin.

'I don't feel all that bad actually,' John lied. His entire body was on fire but his soldier training had him ignoring the pain. In his head he was fine, but his body begged to differ. 'And I know you didn't mean to hurt me, I know it was an accident, that you couldn't control yourself. But the way I see it is it was best to get it out now before that anger stewed in there for far too long and you lashed out and hit me. Trust me, this was a far better punishment.'

Sherlock frowned. 'I would never hit you.' He wrapped his arms around John and kissed his bad shoulder. John moulded himself to Sherlock, humming as Sherlock's lips met his scar. He reached up and stroked Sherlock's wet hair, the strands soft in his fingers.

'Can you stand or do I need to go fetch my wheelchair?' he asked softly.

John tested his legs. They could move but they probably wouldn't support him very far.

'I think the wheelchair,' John murmured. 'And turn the water off. It's gone cold.' He shivered and wrapped his arms around his torso. Sherlock gulped and nodded, getting up to his feet and switching off the water. He collected the wheelchair, a towel, and a pair of pyjamas.

'Come on,' Sherlock whispered, hoisting him up to his feet and popping him down in the wheelchair. He didn't miss the look of pure pain now on John's face but he decided to remain quiet. He quickly towel dried him and pushed the set of pj bottoms on him before proceeding to pull a top over him.

'It would seem our roles have switched,' he murmured, pressing a kiss to John's head.

'So it would seem,' John grit out. His arse was in a tremendous amount of pain and it hurt to sit down. He just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep it off. 'Can we go to bed now?'

'Yes, of course dear,' Sherlock said softly. He pulled on his own clothes before wheeling him over to the bed and pulling him onto it. He crawled underneath the covers too, tugging John tightly to him. John rested his head on Sherlock's chest, listening to his erratic heartbeat. He reached out and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair again, the feel of the soft strands and the motion soothing for him. He buried his nose in Sherlock's shirt and clutched him close.

'I love you,' he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut.

'I love you too,' he whispered to the now sleeping man. John held tight onto Sherlock in his sleep. He didn't dream and while he was exhausted he was only half asleep as he didn't want Sherlock to pull away from him. He wanted Sherlock to know that even if he hurt him, accident or not, he would still want him around. So he clung to him in his sleep, listening to his heartbeat, his head rising and falling with Sherlock's chest. The movement lulled him back to sleep and his grip loosened slightly but he still held on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we'll get back to a 'normal' schedule next week. Sorry for the delay, but I hope these two chapters made up for it. See you next week, and happy Red Pants Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	16. The Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Sorry this is so late in the day. It's been pretty hectic at home the last few weeks, but I'm still gonna try to get out at some point and update this.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft, Greg
> 
> Me: John, random nursing staff
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and actions
> 
> Warnings: a very emotional talk with Mycroft, blow jobs in hospital, men going at it, blow jobs in a lift

Sherlock was left to his thoughts that night. His mind was spinning out of control. His brother's suicidal thoughts, his father's unexpected return looming over his head, his ability to hurt John (a man he knew deep down that he loved and cared for), his helplessness in this whole situation. He didn't sleep a wink and in fact was only just nodding off because of his exhaustion taking over when John awoke. He groaned as the older man shifted in the bed but he didn't open his eyes. He was completely riddled with fatigue now.

John shifted and nuzzled Sherlock's chest, slowly waking from his dreamless sleep. He groaned and stretched, his legs and arse still sore but a lot better than they were last night. He lifted his head and blinked as sunlight filtered in through the closed blinds. He glanced up at Sherlock and saw the heavy bags under his eyes. His brow knitted in concern.

'Did you sleep at all Sherlock?' he asked softly, moving off Sherlock's chest. Sherlock grunted out a small 'no' before burying his face in his pillow.

'Trying to now.' John nodded and slid off the bed, managing to walk to the wheelchair and sit down without much difficulty.

'I'm going to visit Mycroft,' he said softly, testing out pushing himself about. It was quite easy much to his surprise. 'Get some sleep, love.'

Sherlock hummed. 'You might have to bribe him to talk. Try buying him some cake. Chocolate is his favourite.'

'Alright,' John smiled. 'Sleep now. I'll be back.' He wheeled himself from the room, shutting the door behind him before heading to the lift. It wouldn't hurt to get Mycroft a piece of cake. Besides, he probably really needed it.

Getting the cake was a different story altogether. Because he was wearing hospital issue pyjamas and going around in a wheelchair, staff thought he was a patient escaped from his room. After he assured everyone he was in fact not a patient, he had just showered and hadn't put on fresh clothes, he made it to the cafeteria and bought the chocolate cake, grabbing three forks in case Greg was still there.

He made it back up to the Holmes floor without much trouble, steadying the cake on his lap as he wheeled down to Mycroft's room. He heard snoring coming from Sherlock's as he passed.

_He must have been tired. He only snores when he's exhausted._  
  
John made it to Mycroft's and knocked softly, waiting for Greg to open the door or for Mycroft to say something that granted him entry.

Mycroft heard the knocking. 'Come in,' he spoke in a low, wavering voice. Greg had just left to pick up some fresh clothes for himself so he knew it was most likely John or Sherlock. John opened the door and wheeled himself inside, shutting it behind him.

'Good morning,' he smiled. Mycroft's eyes widened briefly at the sight of the army doctor in a wheelchair.

'Are you hurt as well? What happened?' He scanned his eyes over John before coming to a realisation. He smirked. 'Oh, I see. My little brother happened.'

'Yeah, Sherlock happened,' John blushed. 'He sent me over to talk to you.'

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes. 'I should have known this would happen sooner or later.' John frowned, wheeled himself closer to Mycroft's bedside.

'I realise you don't want to talk about this, but you should. And I brought an incentive.' He held up the cake. 'If we have a civil conversation about this I will let you have this. If we don't, Greg and I get to share it or I eat it on my own. Possibly even in front of you. Understood?'

Mycroft licked his lips hungrily and sighed in defeat. 'Okay. I'll talk.'

'Good,' John sighed, sitting the cake on the bedside table just out of Mycroft's reach. He manoeuvred himself to face the bed and gazed upon Mycroft. He was staring at the ceiling, refusing to look at John. So John just let the silence stretch until he saw Mycroft's body relax minutely. It was good enough for him.

'I'm not really sure where to start,' he admitted, scratching the back of his head. 'So, I suppose I'll just be blunt and ask you when it started. The blaming yourself for your father's abuse, the depression, the suicidal thoughts.' John paused and glanced at Mycroft's wrist, grabbed it gingerly and sighed. 'And suicidal actions too.'

'I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about. Those are merely scratches. Gregory has a cat...' Mycroft ripped his wrist away from John's prying eyes and continued to glare at the ceiling.

'Don't lie to me Mycroft,' John scowled. 'I'm a doctor, I know what self harm scars look like.'

Mycroft swallowed. 'Since I was old enough to understand what was going on around me,' he answered John's former questions.

John nodded and swallowed. 'Why do you blame yourself for your father's escape?'

'Because it's my job to protect Sherlock and I should have simply killed father whilst I had the chance. Therefore the mere fact that he is still alive is my fault.' Mycroft's voice was cold and detached.

'And who told you it was your job and yours alone to watch after Sherlock?' John questioned.

'No one. It just is because I am his older brother. It's just always been the way,' he replied sadly.

'Uh huh,' John muttered in thought. 'Mycroft, I know you don't want to hear this but I'm saying it anyway. Sherlock is a grown man now and doesn't necessarily need your constant protection. Plus, he's got me now. And I can look out for him when you can't.'

'I can't just stop with a snap of my fingers.' He ground his teeth together. 'I'm losing control of my life. The only thing that makes sense in my life right now is my duty that I owe to my brother; a duty to protect him.'

'I didn't say you had to stop completely,' John assured him. 'Just practise easing off slightly. I'm here for him too, so you don't have to do this yourself. And I know you see it as your duty to protect your little brother, but don't forget about your duty to Queen and Country as part of the British government.'

Mycroft's entire body shook with the breath he took. 'My work,' he scoffed. 'Sod my work. Sod everything.'

'You honestly think the world would be better off without you in it?' John asked, his entire demeanour changing. He was on the defensive now.

'I am certain of that, yes.' Mycroft closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

'Mycroft, if you were...,' John gulped. 'Dead... Then who would look after Sherlock? You said yourself that it's your duty to look out for him. And I know this contradicts everything I just said, but he needs you now more than ever. He's worried about you, Mycroft. His entire image of you has been shattered and he's scared. He needs his big brother right now, he needs you to be there for him, and he needs you to stay alive. No more suicidal missions. Because if you kill yourself I can guaran-damn-tee you that Sherlock would blame himself and never forgive himself for not stopping you.'

Mycroft shook his head.

'It's hard to want to stay alive. I know that I'm a selfish bastard but I've stopped caring. Besides, you were right. My brother has you now. And I'm sure Gregory shall move on soon enough.'

'You would really leave the man you love, and who loves you back by the way, alone in the world?' John demanded. 'You would do that to him? Because I can assure you he wouldn't move on from that "soon enough."'

'I think that he deserves better than me. He deserves a pretty young woman, not someone that is so ... fucked up.' A single tear escaped the solid walls of his closed eyes.

'You think that do you?' John scowled. 'I can assure you he doesn't. Greg doesn't want anyone other than you. He told me that you book an entire restaurant for the two of you when you go out. You eat Chinese and watch chick flicks. No one else would do what you do for him. I know you care about him deeply and he cares about you just as much. You can't leave him just as he's moved on from his divorce and has grown to trust again. Not only would that be selfish of you but it would devastate him. He would constantly wonder if there was something he could have done to stop you, if he wasn't good enough for you. You can't do that to him. Or Sherlock for that matter because you know he would blame himself.'

'I don't know what to do,' Mycroft sobbed, running a hand down his face. 'I'm confused and I just–' He shook his head. 'I want these feelings to stop. I want to be selfish and leave.'

'You know what you should do?' John asked softly. 'You get help, you form a strong support group, and you get better. There's medication you can take if you need it, and if you want to talk I'm here. I know you won't want to talk to Sherlock, and in a pinch you can talk to Greg. He should know about this so he can help you too. Don't leave him in the dark. But if you ever need to talk about anything, anything at all, you can talk to me, okay?'

'I'm trying to protect him. If Gregory knew I was feeling like this he would be hurt.' Tears fell thick and steady now.

'No he wouldn't, Mycroft,' John said softly. 'He would be worried and would want to get you help. I was the same way with my sister and her alcoholism. I know that doesn't compare to how you feel, but I know what you're going through. I went through it too, I got help from the most unexpected person, and look at me now. I'm alive and well and I'm getting better.' John paused and took a deep breath, telling himself he needed to tell his story.

'Before I met Sherlock I was walking through a park, heading back to my dingy flat to kill myself. You know about my unregistered firearm. I was planning on using that. But my friend Mike stopped me and he introduced me to Sherlock, and he saved my life. He knows, but not to that extent. And I'm asking you not to give up hope just yet. Because I survived, I got better, and I know you can too.'

Mycroft's breath hitched. 'I didn't know that you were suicidal,' he whispered softly.

'I suppose I should tell him. I'd hate for Sherlock to get there first. How does one go about bringing this sort of thing up in conversation?' he questioned, wiping his tears away.

'I don't know,' John admitted. 'I haven't even told Sherlock about my suicidal tendencies, not that he hasn't already deduced it. If he does know he doesn't bring it up out of respect.' John sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

'As far as bringing it up with Greg goes, you can be blunt and tell him outright or you can sit him down and tell him... something. Just, don't be brash about it. Approach the topic gently, let him know you want help, and I'm sure he'll get you nothing but the best.' John reached out and grasped Mycroft's hand.

'And my offer to talk still stands. I've gone through what you're going through now. So if you ever want to talk, to have someone listen to you who knows what you're going through, don't hesitate to call or text. I'll listen, I'll give you advice, I'll help you in any way I can. Just don't give up, alright?'

Mycroft nodded, chewing on his lower lip. 'Thanks, John. It's really quite appreciated that you want to help me.'

He sighed. 'Where do I go from here? I don't truly want to kill myself but life has a tendency of pulling at me. Ending it seems like such a logical solution.' He paused and turned towards the door. He and John were no longer alone. There stood an extremely pale and pain stricken Gregory Lestrade.

'Ending what, My?' the man in question quizzed him.

Mycroft was at a loss for words. His lips moved but no coherent words came out. More tears pricked in his eyes as he watched Gregory run from the room, slamming the door loudly.

'Gre-gory,' he cried softly. He slid underneath his covers, pulling his head under the sheets too. 'Come back,' he mumbled under his breath over and over until he could speak no more.

John was saying something but by this point Mycroft had shut himself off from his senses.

'Son of a bitch,' John swore. Mycroft had retreated in on himself, so John knew he wouldn't hear him but he talked all the same.

'Mycroft, I swear to you that I'm going to fix this. I am not going to let the man you love leave you. I am going to fix this, I promise you.'

He wheeled himself from the room and shut the door, searching for Greg along the halls.

'Greg?' he called. 'Greg, let me explain what we were talking about. Please. Greg? Come on mate, don't do this. Just let me explain.'

Greg heard John and paused, reversing and coming around the corner to face him.

'Explain,' he demanded. His eyes flickered over John. 'What did Mycroft mean by "ending it"? Is he bored of me already?' He exhaled. 'Is that why he's been acting so weird lately?'

He blinked as though seeing John for the first time. 'And what the hell is up with the wheelchair? What's gone on?'

John sighed. 'The wheelchair is because Sherlock rendered my legs practically useless last night. We had some rather intense make-up sex.' He wheeled closer to Greg.

'Mycroft didn't mean ending your relationship, Greg. He doesn't want to leave you. He just...' John paused and bit his lip. How did he want to say this? He took in a deep breath.

'He's been having suicidal thoughts, Greg,' he finally said. 'He wanted to die when he bargained for the antidote to whatever Sherlock had. But he doesn't want to die now, he wants help, and he wants you. I'm sorry for being so brash but there really is no other way of bringing this up in a conversation.'

Greg felt his heart freeze over and his entire body tense. 'He's suicidal? He – since when?' He sighed heavily. 'How could I have missed this? I'm supposed to be there for him. I know the signs – and yet I didn't pick up on anything.'

'He didn't give me an exact answer, just when he was old enough to realise what was going on with his family,' John sighed. 'And I know I don't spend as much time with him as you, but I'm surprised I didn't pick up on it as well. I'm a doctor for Christ's sake.' He wheeled closer to Greg and nudged his hand.

'You need to go to him,' he said. 'Don't leave him alone right now. It's not safe, and his mind can be just as dangerous as Sherlock's. Bribe him with the cake I brought if you have to. But you need to go to him. Now.'

Greg nodded. 'Thanks for letting me know - I mean - Jesus.' He shook his head. 'You go be with Sherlock. I'll take care of Mycroft.'

'No problem,' John sighed. 'Just go easy on him. He's scared and doesn't understand why he feels the way he feels.'

'Of course,' Greg nodded in understanding. 'I love him. I'm not going to lose him, John.' And with that he began striding back to Mycroft's room with a sense of urgency. John watched him leave, his entire body relaxing in relief. He wheeled himself back to Sherlock's room. He was still sleeping thankfully, his snoring softer. John clambered back in, his mind exhausted from talking with Mycroft. He pulled the covers over him and draped an arm across Sherlock, snuggling closer to him as he drifted off to sleep.

Sherlock awoke with a start. He could hear John mumbling under his breath from nearby. Opening his eyes he realised that John was talking (almost whimpering) in his sleep. He seemed a little distressed and so Sherlock did what came naturally to him. He sang whilst carding his hand through John's blond mop.

'Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more.'

John shifted constantly in his sleep, worried about what Mycroft had told him, worried about what he and Greg had talked about. Suddenly there was a rich, deep baritone singing in his ear and fingers carding through his hair, soothing him. He hummed and pressed his head closer to the touch, listening to the voice.

'Once I rose above the noise and confusion. Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion. I was soaring ever higher. But I flew too high. Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man. Though my mind could think I still was a madman. I hear the voices when I'm dreaming. I can hear them say. Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more.'

_'Wayward Son.' He's singing 'Wayward Son' to me,_ John sighed in his sleep. _God I love this man._  
  
Sherlock smiled softly as John calmed. It was amazing that he had such an effect on John. He had never affected someone like that before. It felt good, fantastic even.

'Oh John, you really are a rather impossible thing in my life.'

John smiled and pressed himself closer to Sherlock. 'You're a pretty impossible thing in my life too,' he mumbled, nuzzling Sherlock's hand.

'Are you awake?' Sherlock questioned softly. 'Or are you still rambling nonsense?'

'A little of both, I think,' John mumbled. 'Still half asleep. Wouldn't mind if you woke me up though,' he smirked.

'Have it your way,' Sherlock grinned, pressing a feather light kiss to John's neck. He slid down the blonde's sleeping form, stopping at his crotch. He snickered as he saw no movement from John apart from a brief flicker behind his eyelids. He then proceeded to pull John's pj bottoms down, and with a bold rush of courage he clamped his mouth around John's beautiful member. Still not a sign of awakening – just a brief and dreamy moan. Perhaps John did indeed think he was dreaming. He began swirling his tongue in ways he hadn't realised were possible.

Okay, now John was awake, wide awake.

That only made Sherlock laugh harder.

John groaned at the sensations flowing through his veins. Pleasure, so much pleasure. God, it all felt fucking fantastic. His entire body lurched when he felt the wet swirl of a tongue along his shaft. So he wasn't dreaming. Sherlock really was waking him up with a blow job.

'Oh fuck,' he moaned, shifting his hips slightly. He reached out and grasped a handful of Sherlock's curls, egging him on.

Sherlock chuckled and continued his work. Using his tongue's magical powers to turn John into a pliant mess of shaking and pleasurable moans.

John moaned and threw his head back, rutting his hips as Sherlock's tongue worked in ways he'd never felt before. Jesus Christ he was good at that. His hand clamped tighter in Sherlock's hair, pushing him closer to his cock.

'Sherlock,' he moaned obscenely. 'Sherlock, put... Oh fuck... Put the head of my cock in your mouth. Suck on it like you would a lolly. Please.'

Sherlock pulled back. 'Well, since you asked so nicely, ok.' He lunged himself onto John, swallowing him almost whole before he started sucking on him. John let out a harsh cry as the wet heat of Sherlock's mouth surrounded him. His legs shook from the pleasure and he tried his hardest not to thrust into Sherlock's mouth.

'God, fuck, yes!' John cried, gripping Sherlock's hair so tightly he was surprised he hadn't ripped it. 'Jesus, you–' He groaned. '–you have a talented mouth.'

Sherlock hummed and gave a muffled reply of 'I know.' He gazed into John's eyes mischievously and quickened his movements. John cried out again, his free hand scrabbling on the sheets, grabbing a fist full.

'God Sherlock,' he moaned, his hips moving slightly. 'God, I'm close. So fucking close.'

Sherlock sucked harder, bracing himself for the inevitable. John couldn't stop his hips from thrusting, forcing his cock deeper into Sherlock's mouth. The muffled grunt of surprise and involuntary swallow that followed were what sent John over the edge, Sherlock's name on his lips as he came with a loud cry. Sherlock wriggled backwards, releasing John from his mouth, coughing and spluttering and rubbing at his raw throat. John sucked down deep breaths as he came down from his high. He looked down at Sherlock and saw the discomfort written all over his face, his hand clutching his throat.

'Sherlock? You ok?' John asked.

Sherlock nodded. 'Never been better,' he choked out. 'You?' he questioned, still rubbing frantically at his burning throat. John leant forward, removing Sherlock's hand from his throat to feel it himself.

'I feel pretty fantastic,' he answered, examining Sherlock's throat. 'Did I hurt your throat?'

'A little,' Sherlock shrugged, his usually clear baritone voice breaking out in patches of raggedness. 'But I guess I did deserve it. I wrecked your arse pretty badly yesterday.'

'I'm sorry,' John frowned. 'I didn't mean to.'

'I know.' Sherlock pulled John's trousers back up and climbed onto him, leaning his head just underneath his lover's chin.

John carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair, sighing in content. It was all so... domestic, especially for Sherlock. He nuzzled his nose in Sherlock's hair before he remembered why he had been so distressed in the first place.

'I talked to Mycroft like you asked,' he said softly, his fingers sliding through Sherlock's hair with ease. 'And I brought him cake to bribe him into cooperating.'

Sherlock glanced up at John. 'How did it go? Was he willing to cooperate? I'm sure his stomach won over his heart and mind.'

'He was rather reluctant at first, but he did cooperate,' John answered. 'I gave him some advice, told him if he needed someone to talk to that he could call me, and we told Greg about it so he could start helping him too.'

'Good,' Sherlock smiled. 'That's good right?' He breathed a sigh of relief. 'Thanks for talking to him. I know it couldn't have been easy.'

'Yes, it's very good,' John smiled, hugging Sherlock closer. 'And it wasn't terribly easy no. He wouldn't listen to me until I told him...' He paused. 'Until I told him I understood what he was going through.'

'You do?' Sherlock questioned in a worried panic.

'Yeah, I do,' John sighed. 'You probably don't remember, but the first time we showered together I told you that I was in a dark place before I met you, that you saved my life. I just never told you how far into the darkness I was.

'I had been feeling depressed for months. I was an army doctor invalid home from war, and I felt like I had failed my life's purpose. So... I made plans. Plans to end my life. I was going to give myself one last good day enjoying the London atmosphere. I rode a double decker from start to finish, I visited the Crown Jewels, did all those lame tourist attractions, and finally stopped in a park to enjoy the peaceful serenity. By the time I was ready Mike stopped me, and my life was forever changed. Because he brought me to you and you saved my life. And for that I am eternally grateful.'

He took in a shaky breath and wiped away the stray tears that had fallen. He clutched Sherlock tightly, needing something solid to hold on to. He didn't like visiting that part of himself because every time he did those dormant feelings rose to the surface and he would have to act in some way to get them to go away. Normally he would drink, but seeing as he was in a hospital that wouldn't be happening. So he held on to the man who had saved him, hoping it would be enough to keep him sane. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, holding him like he was his safety net, and he cried.

He cried because he couldn't remember. He cried because if he hadn't met John then lord knows where he would be in his life now. He cried because John was crying. However perhaps a major factor to his was that he was frightened John would go back to that dark place and do something drastic.

He raised his head and cupped John's cheek. 'Don't you dare fucking ever leave me, ok. Promise me.' His entire face crumbled. 'Promise me that no matter what you'll stay strong.'

Fresh tears fell down John's face at how distressed and emotional Sherlock looked. He held his lover's face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.

'I promise, Sherlock,' he whispered through choked sobs. 'I promise that I will never leave you. I promise that I will stay strong, for both of us. And I promise that I will always be here for you, to help you remember, to care and look after you, and to remind you that you are loved.' He placed a small kiss to Sherlock's forehead and held him tight, crying into his hair.

'Good, because I'd follow you into the darkness if you ever entered it again. That connection we have together? I can feel your pain just as much as your happiness - in fact I can probably feel your pain more so. I tend to pick up on negative emotions better because they're the ones I understand better.' Sherlock's voice trembled at a dangerously high level. John sobbed into Sherlock's shoulder now, clinging to him like he was his lifeline. And, in a way, he supposed he was.

'I'm not going anywhere,' he choked out. 'I swear, I won't go back to that place. And I definitely don't want you to follow me there if I do go back. You saved me from myself, Sherlock, and I'm not going to leave you so long as you don't leave me. I love you. And sometimes I think I love you a little too much. But I don't care. I love you with all my heart and soul and that's all that matters.'

Sherlock smiled and nodded. 'I love you with all my heart and soul too.'

He slowly drew John's mouth to his, kissing his lips so gently that his mind barely registered he was doing it. He stretched his legs out so they were placed on either side of John and he began to rock on his lap. The feelings of arousal and pleasure that hit him were welcomed. They didn't replace the negative feelings but they made him forget about them for the time being.

John kissed Sherlock back gently, slowly rocking his hips against him, feeling Sherlock's arousal grow. John groaned and felt his own cock begin to thicken, his movements quickening as his arousal grew. With one hand he tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair, deepening their kiss, licking his bottom lip for permission to enter; the other hand snaked around Sherlock's waist and pulled him closer to his arousal, their cocks sliding together through their thin pyjama bottoms.

John groaned out an 'I love you, I love you, oh god, I fucking love you,' before he slowly flipped their positions. Now he was rutting over a very debauched and pliant Sherlock, sucking his tongue into his mouth and nipping it before his own came out to greet it.

'So are we gonna cum in our trousers like a couple of bloody teenagers?' John whispered against Sherlock's lips, his hips snapping sharply, eliciting a moan from the pair of them.

Sherlock's heart pounded in his chest erratically. 'Let's,' he whispered back before once again ensuring that his lips were attached to John's. He met each thrust John gave with a sharp and expert one of his own and almost laughed out loud at the strange noises John was making. John whimpered and groaned and moaned as he writhed above Sherlock, positioning their cocks to slide against one another with each thrust. His arm wrapped around Sherlock's waist and he lifted him up slightly, the new angle allowing him to rut against him more forcefully. His fingers tangled in his hair gripped hard, holding Sherlock's head so their tongues could meet again and slide against each other, almost dancing a strange sort of waltz in their mouths.

Sherlock shifted, groaned, and wiggled beneath John, bathing in ecstasy. He moved his long, spidery fingers and shoved them up John's top, noting how the action made John shiver. He started to write circles on John's stomach. They were Gallifreyan. He could remember being bored one night and learning the completely fictional language. John was in that memory too and laughter. So much laughter filled that glorious memory.

John faltered in his movements as Sherlock drew circles on his stomach. They were words he knew all too well, words he wasn't sure Sherlock would even remember. He was writing in the Doctor's native language, and he was writing beautiful words of love, friendship, and intimacy.

John felt tears in his eyes again, but they were tears of joy this time around. He kissed Sherlock fervently, his hips picking up their pace, rutting against his lover who was writing words of encouragement and endearment along his stomach.

He remembered the day Sherlock had decided to learn the fictional language out of boredom. John had once done the same with Elvish back in Uni, writing notes to himself on his assignments in the language. One time a professor could read what he'd written and had responded back. John still had the paper stashed away somewhere. But with Sherlock and Gallifreyan, he had taken to writing on the walls, on the table, and eventually on himself. When John got back from his shift at the surgery, Sherlock was covered in black and blue circles. He looked like someone who had gotten into a really bad fist fight and had come out the worst of the two. And John had laughed. He had laughed so hard he fell to the floor where he found more writing and then he laughed harder. John had learned some of the language that day as well. Sherlock taught him the basics, common words, and words John used most frequently. John could still remember how to write them, and for Sherlock to remember was the best memory he could have asked for.

He forced himself back to the present, rutting against his lover with newfound force and stamina, gripping him tightly, bringing him closer. God, John was close, he was so close, but he wanted Sherlock to cum first. He rocked faster, sliding his length along the most sensitive spot of Sherlock's, making sure to hit it with every upward stroke.

Sherlock's hands stilled for a moment as every inch of his body was overcome by a strange yet soothing heat. He titled his head back and yelled John's name. All the while he resumed his fingers' actions. He wrote words that were perhaps too complicated for John to know but the patterns were so beautiful and intricate that he hoped it would convey his feelings at the current moment in time.

John didn't understand what Sherlock was writing anymore but that didn't matter. He was still writing, still remembering, and that was the most beautiful thing to John. He thrust faster, feeling Sherlock's hands falter just slightly as he was brought closer. John buried his nose where neck met shoulder, licking a thick, wet stripe before leaning in to Sherlock's ear.

'I want you to scream for me when you cum, Sherlock,' he said, rutting faster, feeling Sherlock coming undone beneath him. 'I want you to holler, cry, scream, yell until your throat is sore. I want everyone in this ruddy hospital to know who you love, to know what we're doing, and to know just how fucking amazing I make you feel. Scream for me, Sherlock.' And with that he wrenched Sherlock's neck back and bit down on the junction between his neck and shoulder.

That's exactly what Sherlock did. He screamed John's name until his mouth ran dry and his voice was completely lost. Tears of utter joy ran down his face and his head lolled to an awkward angle as the waves of pleasure toppled him over the edge. John's hips stuttered as he felt Sherlock's release, his teeth biting harder into Sherlock's flesh as he neared his own. He thrust harshly against him, so close his entire body was shaking. He pulled against Sherlock's waist, his now sated cock shifting to a new position that hit John's most sensitive spot and he gasped and came with a harsh cry, Sherlock's name escaping from his lips. John collapsed against his lover, very much sated and exhausted. He smiled goofily against Sherlock's chest and nuzzled his nose against the underside of his chin.

'What were you writing?' he asked in a soft voice. 'Just before you came. The words were so intricate that they felt beautiful. What were they?'

Sherlock grinned and kissed John's nose. 'I believe it was a combination of both our names and the word eternity.'

John hummed and pressed himself closer. 'Yes, you and me for all eternity,' he sighed happily.

'I believe it's called marriage,' Sherlock replied tenderly.

'One day, I promise,' John whispered, linking the fingers of his left hand with Sherlock's. 'And I'll propose properly before we do, with a ring and everything.'

'Not if I get there first dear,' Sherlock laughed lightly, squeezing John's hand.

'Really?' he asked, sitting up so he could look at Sherlock's face. 'You would propose to me?'

'I believe that's what I just implied. Dear god, what must it be like to be in your mind?' Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes in a way that only he could pull off.

'Not everyone can think coherently after having a fucking amazing orgasm, Sherlock,' John teased. 'You have to give me time to get my faculties back.' He laid back down against Sherlock's chest, listening to his heartbeat.

'I want to take you back to the flat,' he said softly. 'I want to see if maybe it will trigger any lingering memories.'

'Yes, why not?' Sherlock shrugged. 'Though I don't see what good it will do. Most of my memories are truly fucked.'

'Well, if the trip doesn't trigger any memories we can at least put on fresh clothes. Though I'm sure most of our belongings are back at your manor house. And I don't really want to go back there right now,' John murmured.

'Quite right too,' Sherlock said. 'We could always go on a shopping trip. That could be a spot of fun.'

'Sherlock Holmes going shopping,' John giggled. 'Never thought I'd see the day where you would actually want to go shopping.' He nuzzled into his chest and grinned. 'Yes, let's get out of here, go back to the flat for fresh clothes, and go shopping.'

'Yes, let's,' Sherlock agreed, humming in thought. 'We could make it a little interesting. We could choose each other's clothes.' He gave John a big glowing smile. 'Prepare yourself for some tight leather trousers.'

'I think your arse would look better in tight leather trousers,' John groaned and hummed, the mental image of Sherlock in leather making his cock lurch. He forced himself to sit up before he got carried away, sliding off the bed and heading to the bathroom to clean up a bit.

Their clothes from last night were still strewn on the floor and John smiled at the memory. While his arse was still sore he didn't regret having such rough, mind blowing sex. He relieved himself before removing his cum-stained trousers, putting his jeans and jumper back on before grabbing Sherlock's clothes and heading back into the room.

'Here, put these back on,' he instructed, tossing Sherlock the clothes. 'I'm going to go check you out and then call us a cab. We'll visit your brother first if you want, and then we'll be off.'

Sherlock began to shove on his clothes at a frantic rate. Once he was done he sighed and stretched out on the hospital bed with a big grin spreading across his features. 'I can't wait to get out of here. I just want to get away to, I don't know, escape all of this.'

'We need a holiday,' John mused. 'Get out of London, go somewhere warm and green. I don't know. You stay here, maybe clean up, and I'll be right back.' John pulled his shoes on and walked to the lift, heading for the main desk to check Sherlock out of the hospital. He was surprised no nurses had checked up on them after their rather loud activities. Maybe Rory or Mycroft had warned them, or simply the fact that Mycroft was on the same floor he probably had them all cleared out. Privacy and all that.

The nurse at the desk was young, probably still in school, and she flirted with John to no end until he casually mentioned he and his boyfriend were going home. She stopped flirting but kept asking him questions about how to handle boys. He just rolled his eyes and walked away. Thankfully she had cleared Sherlock for leaving before he did, so he just went back up to Sherlock's floor and entered his room.

'We're all set to go,' he said. 'We should probably stop by your brother's because I'm pretty sure he still has my mobile. And that might come in handy if we're going out.'

Sherlock hopped off of the bed and sighed a little wearily. 'I'm not entirely sure he'll want to see me. I did say some pretty mean things to him the other night.'

'Oh, Sherlock,' John tutted. 'It'll be alright. If you don't want to see him that's fine. I'll pop in for a spell, let him know we're leaving, grab my mobile, and get out of there.'

'I might as well make an appearance,' Sherlock retorted. 'He is my brother after all. What do normal people call the need to see their family? Ah, sentiment, right?' He couldn't have sounded more sarcastic if he'd tried.

'Sentiment isn't all bad,' John said. 'You have sentimental feelings towards me, and you seem to enjoy them. Well, the pleasurable ones at least. But let's go see your brother really quick. And be nice. If you feel like you should apologise then do it, alright?'

'Alright,' Sherlock groaned. 'You're starting to sound like my mother.'

'Whom I still need to meet,' John grinned. He clasped Sherlock's hand and they left the room, heading down to Mycroft's. John knocked lightly, just in case Mycroft was sleeping.

'You would really like her,' Sherlock smiled softly at John as a slightly disheveled Greg answered the door.

'Hey,' John smiled, concern in his eyes. 'You alright? You look a bit out of it, mate.'

'Yeah, I'm ok. Just you know...' He glanced nervously over his shoulder '... Mycroft,' Greg replied.

'I'm not deaf Gregory!' Mycroft exclaimed from inside the room. 'I know that you're talking about me.'

'Has he been giving you trouble?' John asked.

'No, not at all,' Greg smiled sweetly. 'Haven't you My?' He turned to face the government official.

'I've been on my best behaviour inspector,' came Mycroft's reply. John blushed, finally realising what they had most likely been up to.

'Right, well, Sherlock and I were just stopping by as we're headed out. I was hoping I might be able to get my mobile back as well.'

'You can come in. I'm sure Gregory won't mind.'

Greg nodded. 'Yeah - come on in,' he said awkwardly.

'Dear god I think I'm disturbed for life,' Sherlock whispered down John's ear.

'Me too,' John whispered back. He stepped inside, Sherlock close behind, and blinked at how red faced Mycroft looked.

'Definitely scarred for life,' he whispered under his breath.

'The phone's just over there. 'Mycroft nodded to his bedside table, smiling slightly at both Sherlock's and John's discomfort. John snatched it and shoved it in his pocket, blushing at the obvious activity Greg and Mycroft had been participating in. Were he and Sherlock like that?

'Thanks,' he nodded curtly. 'I, uh, hope you recover soon. And, well, if you need to talk about anything call me.' He turned to Greg. 'I'll see you Wednesday.'

'Yeah, course. Wouldn't miss it for the world,' Greg smirked. Mycroft simply nodded in understanding and Sherlock was left mouthing the word 'Wednesday?'

John smirked and said, 'I'll explain later.' He turned back to Mycroft. 'Get better soon. I'll be back to check on you.' He pointed a finger at Greg. 'And don't over exert yourself with him. You need to heal first before you can do,' he waved his hand in the air vaguely, 'anything else.'

'I don't know what you're implying,' Greg huffed, turning a bright red.

'And here I am wishing I didn't know what you're implying,' Sherlock hissed down John's ear.

Mycroft laughed loudly. 'I'll see you soon, John.'

'Yes. Goodbye Mycroft. Greg,' he nodded curtly, ushering Sherlock from the room. As soon as the door clicked behind them John let out a huff of laughter.

'That wasn't funny!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'That was disturbing.'

'You were what was funny,' John snorted. 'Your face. God! That was priceless.' He hit the button of the lift, waiting for it to arrive. 'And Wednesday is the day Greg and I agreed to meet to discuss you two. Like what we did in the cafeteria the other day.'

'You're going to chat about our sex life with Greg each Wednesday?' Sherlock asked in disbelief.

'Yep,' John nodded. 'And Greg is going to talk about his and your brother's. But it won't always be about the sex. We'll probably complain a little too. Tell funny stories and whatnot.' The lift finally arrived and the two climbed in, John hitting the main floor button as the doors closed.

'Would you like some more stories to talk about?' Sherlock asked, wriggling his eyebrows. He reached out and pressed the stop button, freezing the lift in place.

John flushed deep red. He swallowed thickly and turned to Sherlock, his pupils blown wide. 'Yes,' he whispered. 'God yes.' He grabbed Sherlock and pulled him flush against him, moulding his lips to his. Sherlock allowed John that kiss before breaking away and pushing him to his knees.

'I think you know what to do from here,' he grinned.

'Oh I most certainly do,' John moaned. His hands grasped the back of Sherlock's thighs, stroking lazily. He nosed against Sherlock's crotch, inhaling deeply. He smelled like sex and it was invigorating. He pulled Sherlock's trousers down so his erection could spring free. He mouthed along it, his tongue sneaking out and tasting every now and again until Sherlock's knees were shaking and a bead of pre-cum leaked from the head of his cock.

John stroked him a few times before licking the bead from the head, swirling his tongue around it before slowly sucking Sherlock into his mouth.

Sherlock gripped his fingers into the material of John's shirt. 'That's it, John. Torture me. Show me my place.' He shoved himself deeper into John's throat, practically choking him.

John spluttered but swallowed Sherlock down, slowly easing him down his throat until his nose was tickled by Sherlock's curls. The smell of sex was even stronger there and John moaned at the scent. He swallowed around Sherlock's cock before sliding off, swirling his tongue around the head and plunging back down.

Since Sherlock had already had one release he could feel himself coming undone pretty quickly. 'Jawwn!' he moaned, sliding down the lift wall and coming into John's mouth at a rapid and almost painful pace. John swallowed Sherlock's load, some dribbling down his chin as Sherlock came rather quickly. He licked Sherlock's cock clean before wiping his chin with the back of his hand, licking that clean as well. He kissed Sherlock deeply, letting him taste himself on his tongue, humming into the kiss.

Sherlock pressed his lips tighter to John's before jolting backwards. 'We should go. You have just given me a blow job in a public lift. And well...' He paused and glanced to one corner of the lift. 'There is a CCTV camera.'

John's eyes widened and glanced up to the corner Sherlock indicated. 'Fuck,' he swore, pressing his forehead to Sherlock's chest as he flushed for an entirely different reason. He hoisted Sherlock's trousers up and started the lift again before getting up and helping Sherlock to do the same.

'Thanks,' Sherlock murmured, clinging on to John, exhausted from the wonders John's tongue had done to him. 'We've got to get out of here, now.'

'I agree,' John nodded. The lift stopped and the doors opened. John peered out, almost expecting security to be waiting for them. As soon as he deemed it clear he and Sherlock booked it to the main doors, exiting the building in a flurry. As soon as they were outside John huffed a laugh while searching for a taxi.

'Next time you say no to sex in public lifts, ok?' Sherlock burst out into laughter. 'That's not going to happen.'

'I don't want to spend time in lock up for pleasuring you,' John smirked, finally flagging down a cab. 'I love you, but I'm not going to jail for giving you a blow job in public.' He opened the cab door and helped Sherlock inside before sitting down next to him. '221B Baker Street,' John told the cabbie. The man nodded and headed off, John trying to reign in his giggles.

'Both of us know that you wouldn't even think about not pleasuring me,' Sherlock whispered. 'Besides I'm sure Mycroft would be able to get us out of any major trouble.'

'I'm sure he would,' John whispered back. 'Not that he wouldn't chew us out himself.' He smirked and linked his fingers with Sherlock's.

'I really want you,' Sherlock purred loudly, squeezing John's thigh with the hand that wasn't linked with John's fingers. John blushed and glanced to the cabbie. He was smirking.

'Once we get back to the flat,' John whispered. 'Not in public. Once we get back home, in our own bed. I promise.'

'Good god you make me a horny bastard,' Sherlock murmured down John's ear, nibbling at his neck, and squeezing John's thigh tighter.

'You have no idea how happy that makes me,' John purred, arching into Sherlock's touch, spreading his legs a little wider. 'Knowing that I, boring, plain, John Watson M.D. can turn the great Sherlock Holmes into a horny bastard.'

'You,' nibble, 'are not,' nibble, 'boring,' squeeze, 'or plain.'

John moaned softly. 'Not anymore, no,' he said softly. 'Not since I met you. Before I was certainly boring. But now... You make me feel extraordinary.'

'You are extraordinary – in my mouth,' Sherlock giggled against John's neck.

'And you're pretty damn extraordinary up my arse,' John snickered.

'You haven't experienced anything yet honey,' Sherlock said, licking a line up John's neck.

John shivered and slumped down in his seat. 'Neither have you,' he whispered. 'Not as far as you can remember. Not many people get the opportunity to lose their virginity again. What do you say, love? You up for it?' He trailed his fingers up Sherlock's thigh and squeezed.

Sherlock thought about it for a moment before nodding nervously. 'For you I'd do anything.'

'I'll go slow,' John whispered, drawing Gallifreyan circles on Sherlock's thigh. 'I want you to be comfortable.' He wrote 'love' at least three times before moving on to 'dear,' 'promise,' and 'eternity.'

'Thanks, dear Watson,' he smiled softly and pressed a firm kiss to John's lips. John hummed into the kiss, his hand reaching to cup Sherlock's jaw tenderly.

'Are we almost home?' Sherlock questioned through the tender kiss. John hummed and glanced to the cabbie. He held up a hand, all five fingers up.

'Five more miles,' John whispered, drawing Sherlock in for another tender kiss. Those five miles flew by and neither man talked. They simply held each other close and kissed each other with a mutual fondness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the boys will return to Baker Street next chapter. Sexy times will indeed ensue. The whole chapter is basically porn. Just a warning ;)
> 
> See you all next week!
> 
> TSA + IB


	17. Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Men going at it, oral sex, anal sex, loss of virginity (again), instructed masturbation. Oh, and John has a nipple kink. Yeah, this entire chapter is porn. Enjoy!

Three awkward coughs from the cabbie and John finally pulled away to see they were outside 221.

'We're home, Sherlock,' he whispered, handing the cabbie the fare plus a little extra for putting up with their affection. He opened the cab door, helping Sherlock out, the cabbie taking off almost as soon as the door closed.

The two men stood outside 221, John clutching Sherlock's hand tightly.

'Home,' Sherlock breathed out. 'You have no idea how weird it is to say that word. For me it feels like it's been a long time since I've had a home.'

'I know love, I know,' John said softly, squeezing his hand. 'But this has been your home since I've known you. Almost a year and a half. We live up on the second floor, the sitting room is just through those windows.' He pointed up and sighed. He had missed their little flat, their home, and it was good to see it again.

'Our landlady Mrs Hudson lives downstairs,' John said. 'She thinks of you like her son, and she's probably been worried about us since the break in. So, if you see her, please be nice to her. I know you love her just as much as she loves you. We'll explain to her what happened soon, then we'll go shopping, alright?'

Sherlock smiled fondly. 'Yes, I can remember her slightly. Likes to talk a lot, kind, and she always insisted on not being our house keeper.'

John smiled. 'Yes, she would always insist that even though she was the one who always ended up cleaning the flat.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand again. 'Ready to go inside?'

'Ready as I'll ever be, yeah.' Sherlock gripped tightly onto John's hand.

John nodded and walked to the door, fumbling in his pocket for the key. He found it and unlocked the door, being mindful to be quiet as he didn't want to alert Mrs Hudson to their presence just yet. He gestured to the stairs, closing the door behind them. He let Sherlock lead, following him up the stairs to the sitting room. Thankfully it had been cleaned since the break in. He watched Sherlock as his gaze swept across the room.

Sherlock's eyes scanned the flat's sitting room, searching for a sense of familiarity. There was certainly that shot of déjà vu but apart from that no memories came to him. He let out a long breath and walked over to the sofa, flopping down on it in defeat.

'Nothing,' he muttered. 'Not one measly memory.'

John sighed and frowned. He hadn't expected as such, but it would have been nice for him to remember at least shooting the wall. He nodded toward the kitchen and Sherlock's bedroom, letting Sherlock explore. Sherlock got up to his feet and firstly ventured into his bedroom. It was clean, mundane, and extremely un-lived in. He scrambled through his drawers and found notebooks and random bits and bobs left over from experiments, and then came the pleasant surprise of finding several handguns and a long silver knife. He popped his head outside of his bedroom.

'Was I a psychopathic pirate?' he asked, beaming from ear to ear.

John lingered in the doorway, leaning against it. 'I suppose you could say that,' he smiled. 'But I don't think you're a psychopath. You're self-described as a high-functioning sociopath.'

Sherlock laughed. 'Which explains my vast range of fascinating weapons, how?'

'You've always been experimenting with various weapons. Seeing the ways different knives left different lacerations, different bullets left different sized entrance and exit wounds. And you kept the weapons for later reference,' John explained, coming into the room. He peered into the drawer and smiled. 'I don't know if you kept them for scientific purposes or sentimental. Probably a combination of the two, like your skull.'

'Oh, you mean Robert?' Sherlock mused. 'Yes I suppose that does count as sentimentality.'

He grinned devilishly. 'Tell you what. If you get on that bed of mine I'll show you how sentimental I can be.' He growled like a lion hunting down its prey, eyeing John hungrily.

'I thought you named it Billy?' John asked, his breath hitching at Sherlock's growl. He shut the bedroom door and climbed on Sherlock's bed, sitting on his heels, waiting for Sherlock to make a move.

'I must have acquired another skull. I had one as a child too, called Robert. Mother wasn't very pleased by that, as you can probably imagine,' Sherlock replied, clambering onto John's lap.

'Yes, you did acquire another one,' John answered. 'He sat on the mantle over the fireplace. You said he was your friend, and you talked to him sometimes.' His hands wrapped around Sherlock's waist, pulling him down onto his lap.

'Now, why don't you show me how sentimental you can be, Mr Holmes?' he purred, rocking against him gently.

'Well Mr Watson, I'm going to first of all show you exactly how much I love you.' Sherlock pressed a number of small kisses on John's jaw. 'And then I hope you return the favour.'

'Of course love,' he moaned. 'One good turn deserves another.'

'So what do you want from me?' Sherlock smirked. 'I'll happily oblige with anything you request.'

'Start with kissing me everywhere,' John whispered. 'Explore, find the spots that make me shiver and moan. Use that talented tongue of yours. When I want more I'll let you know.'

'As you wish.' Sherlock pulled John's top off with ease and placed kisses from the very tip of John's chin to the waistband of his trousers. He began using his tongue to run up and down the older man's ribs, counting each one as he traced their outline beneath his tanned skin. John fell back against the mattress, letting Sherlock explore. He wasn't sure which parts liked Sherlock's tongue the best; all he knew was that he was shivering and moaning constantly as Sherlock's tongue explored him. He discovered his ribs were ticklish though as he giggled each time Sherlock's tongue travelled over them.

'Kiss me,' John demanded. 'Kiss me, please.'

Sherlock moved so his entire weight was pressed down on John and teasingly began to kiss his gorgeous other half. John groaned and grasped Sherlock's arse, pulling his groin down so John could rock against it. He kissed his lover fervently, when their lips touched, groaning when they pulled away to kiss at his throat or ear.

'You have too many clothes on,' John moaned, his hands travelling up Sherlock's back and grasping the hem of his shirt. 'Let me help you with that.'

'Go ahead,' Sherlock ground out as he rutted against John like a wild animal. John ripped Sherlock's shirt from him, tossing it to the floor. His hands explored Sherlock's bare chest, the flat planes of his stomach, his broad shoulders; learning him all over again. He glanced up at Sherlock, writhing above him, and smirked.

'I've been wanting to do this again for a while,' he whispered, sitting up and wrapping an arm around Sherlock's waist. He leaned closer to Sherlock's chest, inhaling his scent, before clamping his mouth around one of Sherlock's nipples. Sherlock felt a spark of fire flood through his thin and gangly frame. That felt good. Actually that felt more than good. He let out a small sound, not quite a groan, and not quite a grunt. He leaned forwards, nuzzling John's chest. It would only be fair if he gave John the same brilliant feeling that he was feeling himself. He licked a circle around one of John's nipples before sucking on it as John was doing so nicely on his own nipple. John gasped at the warm, tingly sensation that traveled straight to his groin as Sherlock sucked on his nipples.

'Gah, oh, fuck,' John moaned, arching into Sherlock's touch, rocking against him, holding him close. 'Oh Sherlock, oh Sherlock, yes, yes.' He was getting closer to his release, he wanted to cum, but he wanted to cum inside Sherlock.

'Sherlock, Sherlock stop,' he panted. He pushed Sherlock off him, a hurt look on his lover's face. 'It's fine, love, you did fantastic. I just don't want to cum yet. I'd like to make love to you, if you're alright with that.' Sherlock's eyes widened in his skull in a slight pang of fear but he nodded all the same.

'Does it hurt?' he questioned softly. 'I know that I hurt you, but I was being quite rough.' He gazed upon John, awaiting an answer cautiously, like a child trying to comprehend something completely new and alien.

'If you do it wrong it hurts,' John said, caressing Sherlock's sides. 'But if you do it slow, do it right, then it feels wonderful. It might burn from the stretch at first, but that eases pretty quickly.' He brought a hand up to Sherlock's face, cupping his chin in his hand. 'I promise to make it comfortable for you. I'll go slow, and if it hurts at all you tell me to stop, alright?'

Sherlock gave John a small smile. 'I suppose this wasn't an issue last time. Me being cautious? I was, after all, high as a kite from what I have been told.'

'The first time this happened you were drugged on a hallucinogenic Viagra solution and your cock refused to cum to the point of pain. So, in order to help you find your release, I fucked you until you came screaming,' John mused, pulling at the drawstring of Sherlock's pyjama bottoms.

'But after that you weren't so cautious. You fucked me soon after, and then I fucked you, and we basically took turns for a couple days. But you were definitely a lot more adventurous after that first time.' He pulled the bottoms down until they rested under Sherlock's arse, kneading the flesh there.

'You wanted to experiment with different positions, different places, even tying my hands behind my back with your favourite scarf.' He looked up at Sherlock from underneath his lashes, licking his lips. 'And I hope we get to try all of that again.' He shoved Sherlock's trousers to his knees, his erection bobbing free between them. John undid the button of his own trousers, sliding them down and off as he switched positions with Sherlock. He then pulled Sherlock's trousers off completely, both of them naked on their bed like it should have always been. John reached into the side table, pulling out the lubricant and coating his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the gel.

'I'm going to put one of my fingers in you, alright?' John told Sherlock. 'It's coated with lubricant so it won't burn as bad, and I'll go slow. Tell me to stop or go slower if you need to.' He circled the digit around Sherlock's puckered hole, letting him get used to the feeling before he attempted to push it inside.

Sherlock felt his heart stop beating for a moment. And where was the air? Where had all the air gone? He gasped, both struggling for breath and gulping in huge amounts of oxygen at the same time. The feeling stung a little but it was nothing he couldn't handle and he pushed backwards, egging John on. John pushed his finger in to the first knuckle, twisting it slightly so Sherlock would stretch around it. While his body was tense he was pushing back, so John pushed his finger in a little further, twisting it as he pulled it back out. He watched Sherlock's face, looking for any sense of discomfort. Sherlock closed his eyes and whimpered; partly because his body was feeling such strange occurrences but partly because he was slightly fearful of what came next.

'I'm going to add another finger now, Sherlock,' John said softly, working his finger in and out slowly. 'Brace yourself.' He brought his finger out entirely then slowly began easing two in, pushing past the first ring of muscle with relative ease.

'Ah... John!' Sherlock cried out, pushing downwards, desperate for more, wanting more, gasping for his breath, turning a dark crimson colour.

'That's it Sherlock, yes,' John encouraged him, scissoring his fingers slightly to stretch him more. 'You're doing great love. One more finger after this and then I'll take you.'

'God, yes, take me.' Sherlock let out a low wailing sound, letting John's fingers delve in deeper. John slipped in his third finger easily, pushing further in. He curled them slightly and found Sherlock's prostate, trailing his fingers across it lightly as he pulled them in and out of Sherlock's now stretched entrance.

Sherlock's jaw swung open and he grunted loudly. 'What the hell did you just do?' he managed to ask before another bolt of elicit pleasure rolled through him, and there it was again, and again.

'That's your prostate, Sherlock,' John grinned. 'Feels good doesn't it?' He hit it again for good measure.

'Feels bloody fantastic!' Sherlock yelled, his back arching in the air. John's fingers now slid in and out of Sherlock easily, squicky liquid sounds escaping now and again.

'I think you're ready, Sherlock,' John panted. He removed his fingers and slicked up his cock, positioning the head against Sherlock's entrance. 'You ready?'

'As I'll ever be.' Sherlock made a keen whining sound.

'Alright,' John nodded. He pushed in slowly, revelling in how tight Sherlock felt. He gasped an almost choked sounding moan before pushing in further, going slow for Sherlock's benefit. When he was buried balls deep he stopped, catching his breath and watching Sherlock. Sherlock was humming, moaning, and making strange predatory sounds.

'You're big,' he panted, pushing himself onto John as hard as possible. 'Feels brilliant.'

'You feel pretty brilliant yourself,' John grunted, moving slowly out before easing back in.

'Oh fuck!' Sherlock roared, rocking against John harder and faster. John grit his teeth and snapped his hips sharply, gasping at how wonderful it all felt. He pulled out almost completely before ramming himself back in hard.

'Oh god!' he cried, quickening his pace.

Sherlock's eyes did a front flip in his skull and his world turned a little hazy. He let out a small growl and stuck his tongue out, breathing heavily with the effort it was taking not to cum right there and then. John growled and lifted Sherlock's hips, the new angle allowing him to delve a little deeper. He leaned over Sherlock, his hips quickening slightly. His right arm propped him up; his left snaked up one of Sherlock's thighs, leaving a small trail of lube behind. He gingerly ran his fingertips up the length of Sherlock's cock, teasing, letting him know what he wanted to do.

Sherlock grabbed at the teasing hand. 'Don't play games with me, Watson. You won't win.' He moved the hand to wrap firmly around his throbbing member and held it in place.

'But it's quite fun to see you like this,' John grinned, wanking Sherlock in time to the snapping of his hips. 'Vulnerable, open,  _mine._ ' He growled the last word before leaning further down to nip at Sherlock's neck, leaving little indents in his skin.

'Oh god, I can't hold on much longer, you tease,' Sherlock gasped, feeling himself losing complete control over his body.

'I want to hear you, Sherlock,' John growled, his hips faltering slightly in their fast pace. He was close too, so close. His hand quickened and tightened on Sherlock's cock, pushing him closer. 'Let me hear you.'

'I'm getting fucked by John Watson!' Sherlock proclaimed to the world, screaming as he felt himself cumming messily across John, himself, and the unsuspecting bed. John laughed at the proclamation before gritting his teeth, trying to hold back his climax a little longer. It was difficult with Sherlock's cock throbbing in his hand and his arse clenching him tightly as he came. He gasped and panted and moaned as he thrust harder and faster, dragging out Sherlock's orgasm as long as possible.

When he couldn't hold back any more he rammed himself as deep as he could inside his lover and screamed, 'I'm fucking Sherlock Holmes!' at the top of his lungs before cumming long and hard inside him.

'Fuck, fuck, bollocks!' Sherlock screamed until his lungs burned from the effort and he was just left as weak as a baby, crumpled in the sheets, his eyes closed, and his mouth wide agape. John did his best not to collapse outright on top of Sherlock. Instead he lowered himself down on shaky limbs, laying beside him but with most of his weight on him. He gulped down deep breaths, pulled out of Sherlock, and rested his head near his chest, listening to the echo of his erratic heartbeat.

'Thank you,' he whispered.

Sherlock breathed out heavily. 'What for?' he mumbled, still quite out of it.

'For letting me do that,' John smiled, closing his eyes and breathing in Sherlock's scent. 'I know it couldn't have been easy for you, letting me take your virginity again, letting me penetrate you and make love to you. So, thank you. Thank you for trusting me enough to let me do that.'

'It wasn't easy, believe me,' Sherlock sighed softly. 'It was terrifying but – amazing at the same time.'

'That's normal,' John mused. 'I was nervous the first time you made love to me as well.' He pulled himself closer to Sherlock, his head now resting on his chest. 'And I was a little nervous just now, making love to you. Because in your mind it was your first time, and I wanted to make it comfortable and pleasurable.'

'It was both of those things and more,' Sherlock purred softly.

'Good,' John sighed, smiling against Sherlock's chest. 'I'm glad you enjoyed it. Although, that was pretty obvious.' He trailed his fingers through Sherlock's cum that was still spattered across his chest. 'We should probably clean you up.'

'Yes,' Sherlock grunted. 'Then I believe we will be off to buy some new clothes.'

'Yes, we will,' John smiled. He sat up and clambered out of their bed. He went to the bathroom and grabbed a flannel, heading back to their room and gently cleaning Sherlock's stomach and chest.

'Much better,' he grinned, wiping his hand clean. 'Now, let's get dressed and get some more clothes.'

Sherlock shuffled off the bed and stood to his feet with a small grunt as his arse stung slightly now. 'Would you like to do the honour of dressing me?' he asked, a smirk tugging at his heart shaped lips.

John smirked and walked over to Sherlock's wardrobe. He pulled it open, frowning at the limited choices. Mycroft's men had been thorough in packing clothes. John hummed as he rifled through the clothes. He pulled out a pair of pants and jeans, tossing them in the direction of the bed. Picking a shirt was rather difficult though. Most of them were stretched and worn from being slept in or stained from multiple experiments. Surprisingly, he found a couple button-downs shoved in the back. He pulled one out, a dark red that looked like it might actually fit without the buttons straining.

He turned back to Sherlock with a smile. He walked back over to him, unbuttoning the shirt. He pulled Sherlock's arms through, draping the soft material across his shoulders.

'I can't believe I've never seen you wear this before,' he mused. 'It's a gorgeous colour on you. Almost as beautiful as the purple.' He buttoned the shirt up, rolling the sleeves up to Sherlock's elbows.

'I can't remember,' Sherlock shrugged. 'I must have had some reason for it. It's nice material and the colour compliments my skin tone.' He hummed and pursed his lips together. 'Of course it is a little loose on me. I prefer my shirts skin tight.' He raised an eyebrow. 'But then you'd know that, wouldn't you?'

'Sometimes I think I can hear the buttons screaming in agony,' John smirked. 'Now, sit.' He pointed to the bed, reaching for the pants and jeans.

Sherlock sat down on the bed, grinning. He ran a hand through his curls, ruffling up the brown locks. 'It's not my fault that they can't hold the sexiness down.'

'You need to stay away from the fan forums,' John laughed. He pulled the pants on, prompting Sherlock to lift his bum so they sat on his hips. He pulled the jeans on, nearly hauling Sherlock off the bed to sit them on his hips, zipping and buttoning them up.

'I don't think I've ever seen you wear jeans before,' he purred, leaning over Sherlock. 'I wasn't even aware you owned a pair until now. And they make you look absolutely delicious. Good enough to eat.' He trailed his fingers lazily up Sherlock's thigh. 'Maybe later,' he grinned.

'Is my little hobbit getting greedy?' Sherlock cooed, standing to his feet and snickering. 'You really are like a little hobbit, John. See? I remember that. You being my hobbit.'

John smiled and nodded. 'I think your hobbit wants some second breakfast,' he smirked, standing on wobbly knees. 'And by "breakfast" I don't mean food.' He winked and licked his lips.

'Your mouth needs a break. Don't want to keep overfilling it with the large portions I give you,' he laughed, licking his lips teasingly.

'But you taste so wonderful,' John smirked, walking past Sherlock, his hand trailing over his chest. 'But you're right. We should take a break. Don't want to over exert ourselves now do we?' He walked out the door and into the kitchen, waiting for Sherlock to follow.

Sherlock followed John, standing behind him and wrapping his arms around his lover's back, gripping him in a bear sized hug. John let out a small squeak as Sherlock hugged him tight. He laughed and pressed himself closer to Sherlock's chest.

'All my clothes are still upstairs,' he said softly. 'I never got the chance to move my things to your room. If we were going to share it that is.'

'Of course you can move into my room. It would be a pleasure.' He hugged John a little tighter.

'Let me dress you,' Sherlock whispered, pressing a tender kiss to John's earlobe.

'Of course. But I'm afraid I don't own any leather trousers,' John smiled. 'Just, please don't dress me like a tart.'

'Would I do such a thing?' Sherlock giggled, sucking on the earlobe, humming.

'I suppose not, but you do particularly enjoy giving me erections at the most inopportune moments,' John moaned. 'Like now, for instance.'

'True, but I can't help it. You're gorgeous, positively gorgeous,' Sherlock purred softly.

'Stop turning me on or my trousers won't fit,' John pouted. 'That, or do something about this, preferably with that talented mouth.'

'No,' Sherlock hissed. 'I shall not.' He moved away from John. 'I don't want to risk dirtying my only fresh clothes. I have an idea though. Do you want to hear it?'

'At this point I'm up to listening to anything you have to say,' John moaned. 'Your voice is very erotic.'

'You go to your room and you wank it off – in front of me,' Sherlock demanded. 'That's an order.'

'Will you talk me through it?' John asked, walking to the stairs as quickly as he could with his erection.

'If you wish. Now hurry,' Sherlock barked, ushering John to speed up the stairs. John took the stairs two at a time, opening his door in a rush and jumping on his bed, turning to face the door just as Sherlock entered.

'How do you want me sir?' John asked, his body trembling in anticipation.

Sherlock kept a firm gaze on John's cock. 'Two hands running your full length at maximum speed, and I want you to squeeze so hard it brings tears to your eyes. Do you hear me?' he growled.

'Yes sir,' John nodded. He laced his fingers together, grasping his cock tightly, wincing at the pressure. He braced his feet against the mattress and began rutting into his hands, working himself up to the punishing pace Sherlock wanted him at.

'Harder, John!' Sherlock yelled in a sing-song voice. John clenched his eyes shut and wanked himself harder, his hands working faster than his hips. He groaned and grit his teeth, his head arching back, the veins in his neck popping out.

'Now slow, John. Slow down,' Sherlock hushed. 'So damn slow it drives you insane.'

John stopped his hips and moved his hands slowly up and down his entire length. He breathed through his nose, trying to get his heart rate to relax. But with how insanely slow his hands were moving it only beat faster. John let out a little whimper, shifting on the bed.

'Now imagine my hot mouth around you, swallowing you whole, devouring you.' Sherlock made a small noise of approval in the back of his throat.

'Oh god,' John moaned, squeezing himself tighter. His hips bucked involuntarily and he sucked in a harsh breath.

'And of course if you add my beautiful tongue into that equation...' he chortled.

'Fuck!' John swore, his back arching off the bed. 'Let me go faster! Please, sir, please!'

Sherlock cocked his head to one side. 'Ok, but remove one hand.' He eyed John intently. 'And make eye contact with me.'

John did as Sherlock asked, removing one hand that immediately gripped his comforter tightly, his other wanking faster. He forced himself to open his eyes, tilting his head so he could gaze upon his lover, thinking of his hot mouth around his cock. John moaned and almost closed his eyes, forcing himself to stare at Sherlock intensely. Sherlock rewarded John by making a range of obscene noises and dropping to his knees, edging closer. He grabbed John's spare hand and placed it on the erection straining inside of his jeans, forcing him to cup him.

'Feel how large you make me, John,' he whispered seductively. John cupped Sherlock's cock more firmly, fucking his own fist faster. His mouth hung open, staring into Sherlock's bright blue eyes. He was close, so very close. He let out a loud whimper, panting Sherlock's name as he squeezed them both tighter.

'Come on John. I think you can wank a little harder than that,' Sherlock smirked. 'And you can bloody grope me harder too.'

John gripped Sherlock so tight he could feel him pulsing through the fabric of his jeans. He worked his hand faster, his hips stuttering as he came right to the edge.

'Do I...' He gulped and sucked down a deep breath. 'Do I have permission to cum, sir? Because I'm very, very close sir.'

'You have permission,' Sherlock groaned, rutting into John's hand.

'Oh god, Sherlock!' John screamed, his back arching off the bed as he came. His other hand grasped Sherlock tightly and he managed to keep his eyes open, watching Sherlock watch him.

'Good boy,' Sherlock praised John. 'You held on much longer than I expected.' He leant over John's now collapsed body. 'Now to get you cleaned up.' He began to slurp John's cum up with his tongue, moaning at the taste of it on his taste buds. John moaned and sighed, relaxing against the mattress. He ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls as he licked him clean, shivering as his tongue felt cool against his heated flesh.

'Pick out my clothes after you clean me,' he said softly.

'Right, done,' Sherlock stated, standing to his full height with a wince. His erection was bulging out from his trousers impossibly large and prominent and by now the throbbing within his jeans was almost unbearable.

Sherlock struggled over to the wardrobe and wrenched it open. His eyes scanned the small collection of wool jumpers, patterned shirts, and cardigans. He smirked because the clothing really was John all over. He hummed in thought and eventually picked out a cream jumper as it felt familiar and brought a strange warmth to his heart. Hobbling back over to John he motioned for John to lift his arms as he gently helped him into the jumper.

John grinned at Sherlock's choice of jumper. It was the one he was wearing on their first case together. He also noticed the slight hobble in Sherlock's movements and smirked.

'If you don't do something about that erection you're going to be in a lot of pain and discomfort,' he said as Sherlock pulled the jumper over his head. As soon as his arms were through the sleeves he clamped his hands on Sherlock's buttocks, pulling him close.

'I can make quick work of that,' he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows seductively. 'Use my mouth, no mess, quick cleanup.' He mouthed at Sherlock's crotch, his fingers kneading his arse.

'Oh, very well,' Sherlock said, voice going up an octave as the wet warmth surrounded him. 'Make it quick though. I want to get some more clothes – or rather I want to pick out your clothes.' He bucked harshly into John's mouth.

John opened Sherlock's jeans and shoved them and his pants down to his knees, drawing Sherlock's engorged prick in his mouth and swallowing him whole. Sherlock's knees almost buckled then as the heat from John's mouth provided a heavy pressure to his cock. John gripped Sherlock's arse and pulled him further down his throat. His nose tickled but he ignored it. He pulled off slightly to lap his tongue around Sherlock's head before bobbing furiously, sucking tightly, hollowing his cheeks, using his tongue. This was supposed to be quick so John was pulling out all the stops. Sherlock grunted and shoved himself as deep as possible down John's throat.

'Not long now.' His voice wavered and his eyes glazed over. John never faltered in his movements, sucking Sherlock down at an unrelenting pace. A hand snuck between Sherlock's thighs and fondled his balls, squeezing them slightly.

That was Sherlock's breaking point. He yelped, thrust forward, and began spilling his seed down John's throat. John felt Sherlock's cum spurt down his throat, swallowing it all. He pulled back and off with an obscene pop and gasped for air, a line of saliva trailing from his chin to Sherlock's prick.

'Nice job,' he grinned, a little breathless, ruffling John's hair like he was praising a puppy. John smiled and pulled Sherlock's pants and jeans back on. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and settled back against the mattress, resting on his hands.

'Now get me some pants and trousers,' he said, wriggling his feet in the air. 'And socks so I can put my shoes on. Which you'll be needing too.'

Sherlock grabbed some red boxer shorts and a pair of skinny jeans, raising an eyebrow in questioning, but moved to slide them both onto John. He tugged at the zipper and laughed when he looked at his handiwork. It was very clear as to what John was hiding underneath his layers of clothing. Then he picked out a pair of wool socks as he thought that it was quite nippy outside and he wanted to keep his hobbit as warm as possible.

As he pulled on those socks John let out a small giggle. 'You're ticklish,' Sherlock stated with a smug grin.

'Mostly my feet, yes,' he giggled as Sherlock poked his foot again. 'But if you do that for too long I lash out and kick, as my sister found out the hard way. And I don't want to give you a bloody nose and split lip too, thank you very much.'

'Would you really do that to me?' Sherlock ran his fingers up and down John's feet. 'If you do that's no sex for a month – or maybe longer.'

'If I do it's an accident and please don't banish sex,' he ground out, forcing his feet not to kick out at Sherlock's face or groin. 'We tried that for a week and it didn't end well, you accidentally drugging me and then you waking up with no memory of me and all. Oh shit.' He groaned and collapsed against his bed. It was literally taking all of his strength to keep his feet from flying out. 'Sherlock, stop. Please stop. It doesn't tickle anymore, it hurts. And I don't want to hurt you.'

Sherlock sighed, moving his fingers to brush against John's sides. 'It was amusing,' he smiled softly. Another giggle popped from John's mouth as he continued to lightly trace his fingers over his ribs. 'Sure you're not very ticklish elsewhere? Somewhere you're less likely to hurt me?'

'My ribs tickle a little,' John admitted. 'Found that out when your tongue was exploring me earlier. I don't think I'll be so violent there.'

Sherlock smiled to himself as he began to draw patterns over John's ribs with his fingertips. John giggled, his tongue poking out between his teeth. He squirmed under Sherlock, sputtering laughter.

'That sound is so beautiful. I want to hear you laugh more often, ok?' Sherlock walked his fingers over John's ribs.

'Gah! Okay! Okay!' John laughed, wriggling beneath Sherlock's torturous fingers. He was red faced and breathless, but the tickling didn't hurt. In fact, it felt quite good. He looked into Sherlock's eyes and smiled, giggling as his fingers continued to play along his ribs. Sherlock moved his fingers delicately up John's top, tickling the bare skin below it.

'You're adorable. Like my own personal dose of adorableness.'

John squirmed and squealed and laughed uncontrollably, gasping for breath. A leg caught Sherlock behind one of his knees and pulled, making Sherlock's knee buckle and fall on top of him. John laughed again and ran his fingers up Sherlock's sides.

'It's nice to know I have that power,' he mused softly, finally catching his breath enough to speak. 'That I can make you smile just by laughing. Make you happy just by being me. It's a wonderful feeling. And you make me feel the same. Because I don't see you smile or laugh often enough, but when you do it warms me to my core and reminds me why I love you so much.'

'I'll try to smile more often if it makes you happy.' Sherlock moved his hands around John's waist and pulled him closer.

'It makes me very happy,' John smiled. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and held him close, resting his head beneath his shoulder.

'Now I'm rather sad however,' he sighed softly. 'I don't want to move from here but I know we have to.'

'I know,' John said softly, caressing his hair. 'But we can always cuddle in bed later tonight. And that sounds really nice. A quiet night in with you.'

'Coffee, Doctor Who, Chinese, and cuddles,' Sherlock smiled against John.

'Sounds like a wonderful date,' John smiled, pulling Sherlock down for a chaste kiss.

'I think we're far past the awkward teenage term "date,"' Sherlock whispered softly through the kiss.

'We seem to be going at this backwards,' John grinned. 'First declarations of love, then sex, then a date.' He giggled and kissed Sherlock again. 'But it is a date; there's no changing my mind about that.'

Sherlock hummed. 'My whole life has been a little backwards. Why stop now?'

'That is a very good point,' John hummed in agreement. He kissed him one last time before shifting. 'Let's get up and go out, get some clothes, maybe some food at Tesco's. Alright?'

He nodded. 'Yes, let's go to Tesco's.' He pulled John off the bed and up to his feet. 'There's something I thought I'd never have to say.'

'Same for me, but it's good to hear you say it,' John grinned. He rummaged around in his wardrobe for his shoes, pulling them on before going back down to Sherlock's room. He pulled out a pair of socks and Sherlock's black dress shoes. They seemed to be the only pair he owned.

'You may want to buy another pair of shoes, Sherlock,' John mused. 'I swear I've only ever seen you wear this pair.'

'Sure, why not? I might go for a more casual look. What do you think?' Sherlock questioned. 'I could become a hipster,' he chuckled.

John hummed and tried to picture Sherlock as a hipster. Thick framed glasses, suspenders, tweed jacket, a Starbucks coffee in one hand and an iPod in the other, a messenger bag slung over one shoulder containing his tablet or laptop. It wasn't a bad mental image, he even purred slightly, but all he could really see was an exaggerated version of the eleventh Doctor and he giggled.

'Maybe not hipster, but I wouldn't mind seeing you lazing about in jeans and a t-shirt every now and again instead of those tatty bedclothes.'

He pushed Sherlock onto his bed and pulled on the socks and shoes, tying the laces neatly in a bow. He pulled Sherlock to his feet and dusted off his shirt; not that it needed it, he just wanted to.

'Shall we be off my darling?' John smiled.

'"Darling?"' Sherlock quizzed. 'That is a rather strange term of endearment. I like it though,' he smirked. 'And as for t-shirts and jeans – that sounds good.'

'Sorry. I had a Clark Gable moment. I think "love" or "dear" suits you better.' John smiled and pulled Sherlock close. 'And I rather like your arse in jeans. Not that your dress trousers aren't nice, but they can't do to your bum what a good pair of jeans can.' He squeezed said bum and purred.

'Of course. In jeans I can tease you to a pliant mess.' He patted his arse and grinned. John purred and nuzzled Sherlock's jaw.

'We should go before I tear the only clean clothes you have off your body and ravish you,' he whispered.

'You wouldn't even dare,' Sherlock snarled back.

'Ooh, so defensive,' John purred, nipping Sherlock's jaw. 'I like that.'

'I bet you do.' Sherlock tilted his chin so John would get better access. John clasped Sherlock's head in his hands, tilting his head to the side so he could nip at his jaw and down his neck. He hummed against his skin and dipped his tongue into the hollow at Sherlock's throat.

'John,' Sherlock gasped. 'Stop. You're bloody going to make me cum in my pants.'

John hummed but pulled away, a little breathless. He looked at Sherlock's blown pupils and flushed face, blushing himself.

'Ok, we really should go before I have to fuck you again,' he breathed. 'Because you look extremely fuckable right now.'

'I  _feel_  extremely fuckable,' Sherlock agreed softly.

'Later, I promise,' John smiled, placing a soft kiss to Sherlock's throat. He twined his fingers with Sherlock's and led him from the room and down the stairs. He locked the door behind them and managed to flag down a taxi for what felt like the first time in his life. At least while Sherlock was around. He still didn't know how the man seemed to procure taxis out of thin air sometimes. They clambered in, John telling the cabbie where they wanted to go, taking off in an almost comfortable silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the porn chapters ;) The boys go clothes shopping next chapter and some of John's insecurities arise. Whatever shall Sherlock do to make John feel better about himself? ;) See you all next week. And happy Red Pants Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	18. Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, random restaurant staff
> 
> Sorry for posting this so late. I was busy with yard work today plus random headaches. I've cured it with some tea, so I feel much better. There are no warnings for this chapter, it's mostly fluff and some angst. The next chapter is basically completely porn. ;)
> 
> Happy Red Pants Monday! See you next week.
> 
> TSA + IB

The journey to the supermarket was filled with a soft silence. The only noise to break it was a thunderous growl let off by Sherlock's stomach. John's eyes widened and he smirked, shaking his head.

'I forgot,' he snorted. 'You haven't eaten in probably three, four days. We should get some food in you before we go anywhere else.'

'Starving.' Sherlock rubbed his stomach and licked his lips. 'What I would give for a full English breakfast.'

'Then a full English breakfast you'll get, my love,' John smiled, kissing Sherlock lightly on the lips.

'Stop here,' he told the cabbie, handing him their fare before exiting the vehicle. John walked a couple blocks before stopping outside a restaurant. A particular favourite of his and Sherlock's. Sherlock's stomach growled again. It was louder, if that were even possible.

'I recognise this place,' he muttered. 'Did we come here often?'

'Quite often,' John smiled. 'You were quite popular here, you and your deductions. The staff really liked them, especially when you would deduce customers who were particularly annoying that day. And you liked the food too, always going on for days about your meal before you were begging me to take you back.'

'Well the food must be good, since I rarely eat,' Sherlock grinned back at John.

'It really is.' John pushed the door open and the owner greeted them with warm handshakes, ushering them to their regular table.

'John! Sherlock! How wonderful to see you again!' he admonished, his somewhat Russian accent particularly thick that day. 'It's been so long!'

'Yes it has,' John agreed. 'We'll make the order simple. Two full English breakfasts and a pitcher of water.'

'Done and done,' the owner smiled, jotting it down on his pad of paper. 'Emily will be by with the water, da?' He smiled and walked off, barking orders to the chef, his brother, in their native tongue.

Sherlock sat, looking a little baffled at all the attention. 'Are we usually so popular?' he said in a hushed voice.

'Not usually no,' John answered in a soft voice. He smiled up at Emily as she brought their water, she smiled back politely. 'But you helped clear the owner's name, proving not only did he not have ties to the Russian mob but he had a solid alibi for the time of the murder. So, he lets us eat here for free when we visit.' He sipped at his water.

'And this is a family business too. The chef, the owner, the hostess, and one of the waiters are all family. Brothers, husband and wife, parents and son. I've always enjoyed how quaint it all is. I think you enjoyed the free food and the bustling Russian atmosphere.' John smiled and sipped at his water again.

'Ah, the three greatest cultures in the world: Russian, Italian, and French,' Sherlock nodded in agreement. 'It was the three cultures that I was practically brought up on as a child. And of course good old British traditions as well!' he exclaimed, shriveling up his nose. 'Though I never really saw anything great in our traditions. Sunday roast dinners and awkward conversation steering away from anything even remotely emotional.' He puffed out his cheeks and hung his head for a moment before pouring the water in the large jug into a glass and sipping at the cool liquid. 'I couldn't even shed a tear when my cat, Ash, died.' He shook his head and placed his glass back down. 'Sorry, I don't mean to bore you about my childhood. You must stop me if I start to wildly ramble. Not all British traditions are bad. A hearty full English breakfast is enough to warm anyone's soul.'

'You mentioned your cat before this all happened,' John said, pointing to Sherlock's head. 'You told me I reminded you of her. Would you mind telling me about her? If you're comfortable telling me that is.'

'Ash was something quite special,' Sherlock smiled fondly. 'She had a spectacular grey fur coat and a sweet personality, and she was a marvellous hunter!' He grinned from ear to ear. 'She also listened. I liked that about her. I'd tell her everything – is that strange? To talk to your animals like they're humans?'

'It's not strange at all,' John smiled. 'I talked with my family's hunting dog, Black Jack. He was a mix, Black Lab with German Shepherd, and he was a great dog. Not only was he great at fetching my father's bird kills, but he was also extremely gentle around me and my sister. Like he knew we weren't playthings. So I would talk to him, tell him about my day and the mean things Harry had done to me, and he would listen and wag his tail and lick my hands and face free of sticky candy or tears. If I'd had a particularly bad day I would curl up with him in his cage and sleep and he would let me, wouldn't move until I woke up. And even then he would stay by my side for the rest of the day.'

John paused and wiped at his eyes. 'He got sick around the time I turned twelve, was sluggish and struggled to breathe. My mum took him to the vet and found out he had a tumour growing between his heart and one of his lungs, but there was nothing they could do. It was too close to a major artery to risk surgery. My dad wanted to put him out of his misery but I wouldn't let him. I wanted to say goodbye first. So, I slept with him in his cage one last time, not really sleeping but more of talking to him. I told him everything that I loved about him, how much he would be missed, and that I would never forget him. He was the best damn dog my family ever had, and he still holds a special place in my heart.'

He glanced up at Sherlock, his eyes bright with tears. 'He was a great dog, and I'll never forget him. Because he listened, he didn't judge, didn't correct, and was a great keeper of secrets.' He caressed Sherlock's cheek with his thumb. 'I suppose you remind me of him,' he smiled lightly. 'How you protect me and care for me, always so gentle with me.'

'He sounds wonderful,' Sherlock hushed, leaning over and pecking John on the lips, wiping away John's tears with the back of his hand. 'I'm sorry that I never got to meet him, and I only hope that I leave such fond memories with you when I pass on–' He paused. 'No need to think about that as it won't happen for a while... not until I'm withered and grey, or god forbid bald!'

Smiling, he tried to lighten the conversation. 'Would you want a pet again?' Sherlock asked him curiously. 'I myself wouldn't mind one. I might be a cruel and heartless bastard to society but just between me and you...' He leaned closer to John and whispered, 'I have a major soft spot for our furry friends.

'A dog might not be a good idea however,' he mused. 'We both have busy lives and the flat along with London daily life is no place for a dog.'

'I don't want to think about life without you,' John sniffled. 'But a pet does sound like a good idea. Maybe a cat or a rabbit. And turtles aren't so bad either. Just promise not to run experiments on them, alright?' He sucked in a deep breath and wiped his eyes again.

'Now, tell me more about Ash. How old were you when you had her?' John asked, changing back to their original subject.

'A cat would probably be the most suitable of creatures. They are independent but affectionate at the same time,' Sherlock replied.

'Now let's see – I would have been eight years old when I got Ash as a kitten. She was beautiful even back then, so small John, and fragile. I thought I was going to break her.' He smiled at the memory of the bundle of fluff. 'She had to be put down when I was seventeen. She was getting on quite a bit and had multiple things wrong with her. It would have been cruel to keep her alive.' He took a shuddering breath. 'I missed her terribly so. Still do if I am being perfectly honest.'

He looked at John expectantly. 'So you really wouldn't mind getting a cat with me? I mean it's an undoubtedly big decision. It would settle us together for a long time.' He reached forwards and linked his fingers through John's. 'Not that I am complaining, and we shall be getting married soon too, but somehow it's the little domestic things like that that seem to make this whole thing between us so much more solid and real.'

'I would be honoured to get a cat with you, Sherlock,' John grinned widely. 'I never had a cat growing up. Just dogs, mainly used for hunting, and none of them were as affectionate as Black Jack.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand.

'Yes, the domesticity of all this is rather quaint. It feels right, especially with you. And while a pet is a big decision, so is our decision to get married. And I am looking forward to that very much.' He kissed Sherlock softly, not wanting to start anything in such a public place.

'One condition though about the cat,' he said, interrupting the kiss. 'We have to get him or her from a shelter. Those animals have likely been through hell and back but survived, and they deserve a second chance at a good life.'

'Naturally,' Sherlock agreed. 'I believe Ash was a rescue kitten. Mother adored her, I adored her, Mycroft pretended to not adore her but really did, and I think even my father loved her dearly – which is quite strange. I thought him not capable of such a thing as love, but I suppose he wasn't totally inhuman. There must have been one part of him that was less beastly than the rest.' He took a deep breath, shoving the memory of his father as far as it would possibly go as it only reminded him that the man that had caused all of his family such heartache was still out on the loose.

Emily picked that moment to deliver their food, wishing them good fortune on their journey. Her accent was quite heavy that day. What was so special about today that the Russians' accents seemed thicker? She winked at John and smiled, walking away briskly.

'Journey? What journey?' he whispered to himself. He shrugged and dove in to his English breakfast, savouring every bite.

'Perhaps she overheard us talking about marriage and she means our journey together,' Sherlock shrugged before beginning to wolf down his food greedily.

'Possible,' John said between a mouthful of sausage and egg. He swallowed. 'Slow down love. Your stomach isn't used to eating so much and I don't want you wretching over yourself or me.'

Sherlock scowled grumpily but slowed down his eating all the same. 'Hungry,' he grunted through small mouthfuls.

'I know you are love, but if you continue like that not only will you have a horrible stomach ache but you'll probably need to expel that quickly to relieve the pressure. And after a full meal I don't like dealing with human bodily fluids. I may be a doctor, but if there's someone wretching near me then I'll be wretching too.' John shuddered and shoved a forkful of food in his mouth to make himself shut up.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'You need to be like me, John. Stomach of steel.' He smirked, biting into a large piece of bacon.

'With your profession you'd need one,' John smirked. He shoved some hashbrowns in his mouth. 'But I only have problems with vomit. I'm fine with everything else. Gore and dead bodies don't phase me. I was pretty neutralised to that during my time as a medic in the war.'

Sherlock smiled sympathetically and stilled his eating for a moment. 'Can I ask you something? I don't mean to intrude, it's just, I've always wondered. Was it worth it? Becoming a soldier and a doctor? Was the saving people worth the death and the pain and the hardships?'

John gave Sherlock a small smile.

'There were days when it was worth it, yes. Days when everyone lived, the wounded were sparse, and we were able to relax before it started up again. But the days when it was bad, days when there were too many soldiers to help, not enough supplies, not enough blood, not enough time... Even those days made it worth it because I was doing what I had been wanting to do since I was eighteen. I was helping people, healing them so they could go back and do what they wanted to do: fight for Queen and Country.

'And while I saw a lot of good men die, friends, colleagues, the lot, it was still worth it. After I got shot and shipped home I felt like it hadn't been worth it. Because I was no longer doing what I wanted to do, I felt useless. But then I found you and I began helping people again. It wasn't exactly the same, but it filled the void. And with my job at the surgery I feel a little less helpless.'

He squeezed Sherlock's hand and smiled. 'So, yes. It was worth it.'

Sherlock gripped John's hand tightly. 'I can't imagine you, out there, in the midst of constant warfare.' His eyes clouded over. 'But then you are in a war right now, aren't you? With me and my life–' He exhaled and chewed on his food lightly.

'It's not so bad,' John said softly, picking at his food. 'It keeps me on my toes, that's for sure.'

'What if I don't want that life anymore? What if I want the flat, a kitten, to be married to you, and to be retired? Maybe we could go travelling together? We could go anywhere, do anything, and instead we are constantly in the line of danger. I don't like it,' Sherlock frowned. 'I don't like it one little bit.'

'It sounds rather mundane for you,' John smiled fondly. 'Settling down in a flat with your husband and cat, tending bees, travelling. It sounds wonderful.' He looked up at Sherlock and smiled.

'You do not understand. Normally the idea of married life and domestic things were always mundane and frankly a little ridiculous to me. Not with you though.' He gazed at John affectionately. 'With you I feel like I could accomplish anything and it wouldn't matter what it was, how domestic it was, or how boring I'd usually find it. I'd enjoy it because you were with me.'

'It's called "love," Sherlock,' John grinned. 'Everything you would normally find boring is suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world simply because the one you love is by your side.' He pulled Sherlock in for a chaste kiss. 'And maybe a holiday would do us some good. We could go somewhere warm. You could use a little sun.'

'I am a little on the pale side, aren't I?' Sherlock joked softly.

'Ghostly,' John smiled. 'A cat, a holiday, and marriage. How very domestic of you Mr Holmes.' He kissed Sherlock again before returning to his plate of food. 'Now eat so we can get clean clothes.'

'I can do domestic when I put my mind to it.' Sherlock gave John a goofy grin, plummeting his food down his throat once more. John rolled his eyes but allowed Sherlock to scarf down his food. He wasn't as hungry as Sherlock, so he just sat and watched him eat, sipping his water. Sherlock quickly finished off his meal and slid down his chair with a soft groan, hand over stomach.

'Stuffed,' he muttered. 'Probably won't be able to move for at least a week.'

'That may be a problem,' John smirked. 'Seeing as not only do you need to move to try on clothes, but you'll also need to be able to move when I ravish you later.'

'It'll make it rather troublesome to try on shirts if my stomach's inflated too,' he sighed and poked his belly. 'As for ravishing, you could always ravish me here, but then I think that would be the last free meal we have in here.'

'And it is rather a public place,' John mused. 'Wouldn't want to get arrested for indecent exposure now, would we?' He looked at Sherlock's protruding stomach. 'Your stomach should relax by the time we get to the store. It's not far from here. We could walk. Work off some of that food.'

'Yes, let's.' Sherlock stood to his feet, thanking Emily and her family for the wonderful breakfast as politely as Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, knew how to, and grabbed hold of John's tiny hand in his far larger one. John waved at Emily as Sherlock dragged him from the restaurant. She waved back and smiled, clearing their table.

Once they were outside in the fresh air John stopped. He turned his face to the sun and breathed deeply. He glanced over to Sherlock and smiled, drawing him close. He just held him for a moment, hugging him, feeling him, before he let go, a smile on his lips.

'I just wanted to do that,' he explained to Sherlock's raised eyebrow. 'I can't remember being this happy before. And I am so glad it's you who makes me feel this way.'

'And I had dreamed of living alone and detached from the world for the rest of my life. Nothing could have prepared me for having you in my life or the happiness you bring me.' Sherlock tugged John into a brief but heartwarming hug. John melted into Sherlock's hug, grasping his shirt tightly, inhaling his scent. He hummed in content, not really wanting to move away from Sherlock's warmth.

'We have to move at some point, John,' Sherlock mumbled into John's hair, holding him close.

'I know,' John mumbled. 'Just... Just let me enjoy this for a while.'

Sherlock rubbed his hand on John's back in small, comforting circles. 'If you move now I promise to do all sorts of wonderful things to you tonight.'

'Oh, that promise implies all sorts of wonderful acts in my mind,' John grinned. He leaned back and licked his lips, wanting to kiss Sherlock but not. He didn't want to start something where they would have to get off in an alley.

'Ok, start walking,' he instructed, dropping his arms.

Sherlock began to quick march down the street. 'Yes, Captain,' he replied sarcastically.

John shook his head and followed behind, catching up to grasp Sherlock's hand.

'I don't know which I like more,' he mused. 'You calling me "sir" or me calling you "sir."' He glanced up at Sherlock and smirked, licking his lips again.

'I quite like both.' Sherlock's lips curled upwards into an impossibly big smile. 'The fight for dominance will be intriguing to say the least.'

'I look forward to it,' John purred, squeezing Sherlock's hand.

The journey went quickly after that with very little chatter but it wasn't needed. Both men were comforted that they were walking hand in hand happily for the first time in a long time. When they finally arrived at the supermarket Sherlock began dragging John inside, very much akin to a child dragging their mother into a sweet shop because they wanted candy.

'Easy Sherlock, slow down,' John laughed. 'What's the rush? It's only clothes.'

'I've never been clothes shopping before!' he exclaimed excitedly, still dragging John behind him.

'Really? Never?' John huffed a laugh. 'I find that hard to believe, but alright.'

'No, never,' Sherlock replied. 'I'm a spoilt brat, remember?'

'Ah, that's right,' John grinned. 'The nannies probably did all the shopping, yeah?' He paused. 'Then where do your suits come from now? Mycroft?'

'Yes. Well I wasn't going to complain when I myself couldn't be bothered,' Sherlock retorted with a mild laugh. John laughed again. They were soon in the men's department, surrounded by expensive looking suit pieces.

'So, where do you want to start?' John smiled. 'Should we split up and look for our own clothes or shop together?'

Sherlock looked most upset. He dragged John's smaller form into a tight embrace. 'Together.' He kissed John for a long time before pulling back. 'Don't leave me,' he whined. 'Please.'

 _Separation anxiety,_  John noted as Sherlock kissed him.  _Understandable after a major trauma._

'Of course. Together,' John nodded when Sherlock broke the kiss. 'Forgive me for even suggesting we split up.' He ran his hands gingerly up Sherlock's chest and fingered the shirt material lightly.

'We'll get you some new button downs, a blazer, some dress trousers, like what you usually wear. And then we'll get you some jeans and t-shirts to laze about the flat in.' He smiled up at his lover. 'And I'll need some more jumpers and jeans as well.'

'Sounds perfect,' Sherlock purred softly. 'I shall promise to pick out only the finest of clothes.'

'I wouldn't expect anything less,' John smiled, pulling him in for another quick kiss. 'Let's find you some shirts first as I know those will be the most difficult. You and your screaming buttons and all.'

'My buttons do not scream!' Sherlock gasped. 'They merely whimper and sob as they try to hold my shirts together.'

'The one time a button popped off your shirt? I'm pretty sure I heard screaming,' John smirked. 'Although I think it was a scream of freedom.'

'Hey!' Sherlock exclaimed with a heavy pout. 'My buttons don't want to leave me.'

'Oh? So they actually enjoy being stretched day after day, holding your shirts together, trying to "rein in your sexy"?' John laughed, using air quotes for emphasis.

'You sarcastic bastard,' Sherlock snarled playfully. 'My buttons love my sexiness if you really must know. They've told me so on many occasions.'

'And I love your sexiness too,' John purred, grabbing the collar of Sherlock's shirt and pulling him down for a deep kiss. Sherlock grunted in surprise but jerked back when he heard someone shout, 'Oi, get a room you poufs!'

Sherlock scowled and stared after the retreating youth. 'Idiot,' he muttered venomously, his entire body tensing in anger.

'Ignore him, Sherlock,' John said softly, running his hands up and down Sherlock's arms soothingly. 'He's an idiot. He's young and stupid and doesn't know what it's like to be in love. It's all fine.'

Sherlock relaxed. 'Sorry,' he sighed. 'Shouldn't allow scum like that to get to me.'

'If Anderson ever says anything again I give you permission to throttle him,' John smiled devilishly. 'Now, I've got my eye on a beautiful green shirt over there that I think would look gorgeous on you.'

'Anderson?' Sherlock questioned, turning to look at the shirt John was talking about. 'Yes, that rather is my colour. But then I can pretty much wear anything and make it look good.'

'He works forensics of some sort with the Yard. He's a massive twat and hates you because you're brilliant,' John explained.

Sherlock grinned. 'I can't blame him. I am rather brilliant.'

'Yes. Yes you are,' John smiled. He found Sherlock's size in the green shirt and began looking through the others.

'Let me know if you see anything you like. Trousers, shirts, whatever,' John said as he rifled through a stack of royal blue shirts.

'That's nice.' Sherlock stroked the blue material of the shirts John was looking at.

'I think this colour will look really nice against your skin,' John hummed. 'Not to mention it will bring out your eyes.' John held the shirt up by Sherlock's face and smiled. 'Gorgeous.'

'Do you think so?' he questioned, stepping forwards and wrapping his lips around John's Adam's apple tightly. The shirts fell to the floor as John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders.

'Yes,' he moaned, tilting his head back. 'You're gorgeous, love. Always have been and always will be.'

'Is that so?' he hummed against John's neck. 'Pick up the shirt, John. I'm going to need that to try on later.' His lips sucked harder on the hard lump in John's throat.

John was losing his balance. One hand gripped the back of Sherlock's neck, the other shot out to grasp something. He stumbled back a few steps before his hand grabbed the edge of the display table, propping himself up as he threw his head back further.

'Don't wanna move,' he gasped. 'Feels too good.'

Sherlock removed his mouth and took a step back. He let his blue orbs bore into John's eyes until he saw him shiver beneath his gaze. 'I promise more of where that came from once we're in the changing rooms.'

John practically vibrated where he stood. He moved, slowly, to pick up the shirts he'd dropped. Any faster would have been painful.

'Have you thought about buying a couple of button downs and dress trousers too? They may suit you,' Sherlock suggested, biting back a smirk.

'I've considered it yeah,' John groaned as he stood up, shirts in hand. 'And while I like wearing button downs under my jumpers sometimes I don't see myself as a dress trousers kind of guy. I like my blue jeans.'

'Really?' Sherlock questioned. 'I happen to think you'd look extremely sexy in them.'

'Well, I suppose there's no harm in me trying some on,' John smiled. 'Want to pick some out for me? Find me something sexy.' He winked.

'Oh love, I assure you, you don't need clothes to be sexy.' He snickered but picked out a shirt anyway. It was a deep indigo coloured button down, silk, and extremely tight fitting. John blushed at Sherlock's words. He gazed over the shirt Sherlock had picked out and swallowed.

'It looks a little tight,' he said. 'Do you think that will look good on me?' John didn't have the same physique he did during his army days, and while running around London on cases kept him fit he certainly wasn't trim anymore. He looked down at his softening belly and pouted.

'Yes, of course. I wouldn't have picked it out if I thought otherwise.' Sherlock frowned and studied John carefully to see why he was pouting.

'Oh I see,' he said in realisation. 'You're worried about the slight, erm... podge you've gained since the army.' Sherlock grinned and poked John's stomach with one long bony finger into the soft expanse of flesh.

John wasn't fat, far from it, but it was unmistakable that he was possessing an oval shaped tire beneath his shirt. 'This shirt ought to hide it,' he tried to reassure him. John flinched back from Sherlock's touch, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

'But if it's skin tight won't it cling to my podge instead of hiding it?' John questioned, still pouting. 'This is why I stick to jumpers,' he muttered.

Sherlock sighed. 'Stop being so oversensitive. You'll look great in it. I wouldn't have picked it out to humiliate you.' He leaned closer to John. 'Besides I like you the way you are. Podge and all.'

'Coming from someone who looks like he was carved from marble,' John smiled softly. 'Alright, I'll try it on. Just, try not to stick exclusively to the skin tight ones.'

'Of course,' Sherlock replied. 'I'll pick out a few jumpers too, and then maybe even a leather jacket.' He hummed, licking his lips. John hummed. He hadn't worn a leather jacket since he left for the army. God, that would bring back memories.

'Ok, sounds good,' he smiled. 'So, you shop for me and I shop for you?'

'Yes,' he nodded. 'I'll pick out clothes that will make you look so hot that everyone shall wish to jump you.'

'And then you leap in and claim me in front of everyone, right?' John smiled, skimming through the jeans. 'Assert your dominance, claim your territory, that type of thing?'

'Yes, exactly,' Sherlock purred, rifling through the jeans himself.

'I like the sound of that,' John purred himself. He pulled out a pair of jeans in Sherlock's size and draped them over his arm. He went to the dress trousers next.

'Just remember Sherlock, we aren't replacing our entire wardrobe,' he said. 'We're just getting enough clothes to hold us over until our stuff from the manor house is transferred over. Which I'm sure Mycroft will get someone to do once he's well enough.' He pulled a pair of trousers off the rack and quickly put them back once he noticed the price.

'That, and I don't have a lot of cash right now.'

Sherlock's brow knitted together. 'Money is no issue John. I'm a rich bastard. And very soon I shall be married to you, so let this rich bastard fiancé of yours spoil you rotten.'

John blushed and smiled. 'I've never had anyone spoil me before,' he said.

'Get used to it,' Sherlock smiled back at John.

'It's your fault if you turn me into a spoilt brat,' John smirked, grabbing the dress trousers he'd put back.

'I don't think that could ever happen, John,' Sherlock replied softly.

'What? Me being a spoilt brat?' John turned to Sherlock with a smile. His smile fell when he saw Sherlock's expression. 'Did I say something wrong?'

'No,' Sherlock ground out with a slight puff of his cheeks, moving past John to pick out a set of dress trousers for John, another button down (a slightly lighter shade of red than the one he was currently wearing), and a pair of dark black jeans.

'Sherlock? What did I say? Was it my joking about being a spoilt brat?' John followed Sherlock through the clothes aisles, feeling horrible and wanting to understand. 'I wasn't trying to make fun of you if that's what you think. I've just never had anyone purchase such nice things for me before. It's a nice feeling. What did I do, love? Tell me, please.'

Sherlock's face softened. 'I know you weren't, John. I'm not mad at you. I wish you'd try to relax. It's not your fault that my moods are practically bipolar.'

'Oh,' John sighed softly. 'I thought you were. But, I'm glad you're not. Sorry.' He looked at his shoes before glancing back up at Sherlock sheepishly.

'Stop acting as if you have anything to apologise for, John,' Sherlock sighed. 'I'm sorry I gave you that impression. Now can we please go get you some jumpers and that leather jacket that I promised you?'

John laughed lightly and nodded. 'Yeah, sorry. I don't know why I keep apologising. And yeah, jumpers and the jacket. Plus shoes.'

'Come on,' Sherlock gestured towards a rack of jumpers. 'Hmm, what about this one?' He held up a thick navy blue jumper.

John tilted his head and gazed upon the jumper. 'I like it,' he said. 'It looks like it'll keep me warm through the winter.'

'That's my job,' Sherlock remarked with a deep chuckle.

'When we're wrapped around each other in bed, yes,' John smirked. 'You're actually quite warm for someone so pale. And you make a very comfortable pillow for being all bones and angles.'

Sherlock's face fell and his eyes darkened slightly. 'I've been bonier. This is probably the fattest I've been in my lifetime.'

John's face fell too. 'I didn't mean– I wasn't– I'm sorry,' he stammered. 'And you aren't fat, Sherlock. You're slim and trim and quite fit. I've seen and felt those abs you hide under your shirts. You're gorgeous, you really are.' He moved to wrap his arms around his love in a tender hug, pulling him close. 'I'm sorry. Once again, I wasn't thinking, and I'm sorry.'

Sherlock sighed into John's shoulder. 'No, I am the one who should apologise. My moods really do seem to be all over the place. Then again, they've always been a little like that. I don't think of myself as fat but I just know that my body is capable of being far skinnier. I really don't want to go back there, to not eating, then overeating, and–' He blinked, pulled back and shook his head. 'You don't need to know about that. That's all in the past.'

John nodded and sighed, releasing Sherlock from the hug.

'Let's find another jumper and that leather jacket,' he said. 'Then we can try all this on.'

Sherlock nodded and started to seek out another jumper suitable for John. He smiled softly to himself as he found a gorgeous one. It was a golden colour and the wool was soft to the touch. He picked it up and folded it on his arm over the clothes he had already acquired.

Then there was the task of finding the leather jacket. It was a far harder task than imagined as he wanted one that suited John to a T. In the end he settled for a simple brown leather jacket with a hood lined with soft material to keep him warm.

'Is that it apart from shoes?' Sherlock asked John, who was currently gazing upon a hoodie. Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. 'Do you want me to wear that too?'

'Yeah, apart from shoes that's good,' John murmured as he looked at the hoodie. It wasn't any different from any of the other hoodies he'd seen in the store, but this one was a deep, rich purple that reminded John of Sherlock's purple button down. He blinked and looked up.

'Huh?' he asked, blinking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked at how out of it John had been. 'I said do you want me to wear that?' he nodded towards the hoodie.

John turned back to the hoodie and nodded. 'Yeah, actually, I do,' he said. 'We should get some t-shirts to go with it though. I don't think a button down shirt and a hoodie would go so well together.'

'Okay,' Sherlock nodded his approval. 'I rather like it in fact. I've never worn a hoodie before.'

John didn't question that statement. Sherlock didn't seem the type to wear hoodies, especially not in his youth. John plucked the hoodie from the display and moved to the section where the t-shirts were. He rifled through them until he came up with three shirts.

A plain black one that John thought would look magnificent against Sherlock's broad chest and pale skin; an emerald green one that, while with the purple would look a little Joker-ish, would bring out the green in Sherlock's kaleidoscope eyes; and a yellow that had some sort of almost snake skin type pattern on it.

'Let's get to the changing room now,' he smiled. 'I can't wait to see these on you.'

'Nor I you in the clothes that I have picked for you,' Sherlock replied. In the end he had chosen two tightly fitting button downs, some dress trousers, two thick woolen jumpers, and some jeans. All of which he was certain would look marvelous on John.

John rushed them over to the fitting rooms, finding one that was large enough to fit them both so they could change without having to pop over to the other's room. John laid out his choices and gestured to them.

'Which would you like to try on first?' he asked.

'I want you to choose,' Sherlock retorted, placing his chosen clothes for John down and unbuttoning his shirt before letting it drop to the floor. He then undid his jeans and stepped out of them so he was standing in front of John in nothing but boxer shorts.

John felt his face flush as Sherlock stripped in front of him.  _Calm yourself Watson_ , he scolded himself.  _It's nothing you haven't seen before. So why are you blushing like a schoolgirl?_

John swallowed down his arousal and contemplated his clothing choices. Which did he want to see Sherlock in first? He smiled as he picked up the hoodie, black tee, and blue jeans. He wanted to know what Sherlock looked like dressed down, like a normal person.

'Here. Since you've never worn a hoodie before might as well start with it,' he smiled.

Sherlock took the clothes, slipping into the blue jeans, and pulling the black t-shirt over his head. He stroked the hoodie with his fingertips for a second before shoving it on too. He looked on at himself in the mirror and frowned.

'I look so... normal,' he muttered, cocking his head he began grinning. 'I like it.'

John broke out in a wide grin. 'Normal seems to suit you,' he said. 'I love that colour on you.' He stroked the material of the hoodie. 'And these jeans make your arse look fantastic.' He squeezed Sherlock's bum and pressed himself close, the hoodie soft against his cheek. Sherlock groaned and pushed himself against John.

'Of course I have yet to put them to certain tests.' He slowly and subtly began moving himself against John. 'Can they take my full size, for example?' He chuckled as John turned a fiery shade of red.

'We can test that now,' John blushed, running his hands down Sherlock's thighs. He slid them back up and over Sherlock's crotch and palmed him through the jeans. 'How are they faring so far?'

Sherlock whimpered. 'Very good indeed but I haven't finished my research.' He pushed John down to his knees. 'Mouth me through my jeans,' he ordered.

'Yes sir,' John whispered. He grabbed the back of Sherlock's thighs before clamping his mouth around Sherlock's clothed erection, pressing his tongue along the length of it and suckling softly. Sherlock grasped John's hair tightly and practically collapsed, trembling under the influence of his lover's tongue.

'God, don't stop,' he grit out, moving his clothed erection in and out of John's greedy mouth.

'Don't you dare cum in these clothes,' John growled. 'I don't want to have to explain to the cashier why they're all sticky and wet.' He continued to mouth at Sherlock's erection however, his hands clenching his thighs tightly.

Sherlock's eyes widened. He was already so close to a release. He pushed John albeit a bit rougher than he needed to. 'Sorry,' he gasped. 'Just–' He blew out his cheeks. 'That was a close one.'

John fell back on his bum and laughed. The situation reminded him of their little torturous experiment at the Yard. He looked up at Sherlock who was red faced and panting.

'So do the jeans pass the size test then?' he smirked.

Sherlock hummed, taking huge breaths. 'Uh– er–' he stuttered. 'I think so, yes.'

'I've rendered you incoherent,' John smiled. 'That's a first.' He rose up on his knees and shuffled back to Sherlock.

'If you like, I can still bring you to release. I'll just pull you out of these jeans and your pants and you can cum down my throat.' He ran his hands up Sherlock's thighs, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

Sherlock thought about it for a moment but in the end he shook his head. 'Save your stamina for later. You'll need it.'

John grinned and stood up, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's shoulders. He kissed him briefly and pulled away.

'Might as well give you some time to recover,' he said, pulling his jumper and jeans off. 'I'll try something on now. You choose.'

Sherlock picked up the deep indigo silk button down and the dress trousers. 'Trust me,' he said with a smile, trying to wipe off the slightly terrified expression on John's face.

John blinked a few times before he sighed, reluctantly taking the trousers from Sherlock. He pulled them on, surprised that they fit so well. He stared the shirt down for a moment though. He was still skeptical about how tight it looked, but he snatched it from Sherlock's grasp with a resonating sigh. He unbuttoned it and pushed his arms through the sleeves, settling it on his shoulders before buttoning it up. Surprisingly, it didn't feel all that snug. He huffed out a deep breath and glanced over to Sherlock.

'How do I look?' he asked.

'Gorgeous, and adorably annoyed,' Sherlock stated, his voice swimming with humour. He took a step forwards and ran his fingers down the shirt.

John bit back a laugh. 'Gorgeous? The adorably annoyed I believe; even  _I_  think I look adorable when I'm annoyed. But gorgeous? No.' He shook his head and looked down at Sherlock's fingers on the shirt. It was a nice colour, and it didn't fit as tight as he imagined it would. But he still had his doubts. And Sherlock was blocking his view of the mirror, not that he was complaining. He would much rather gaze upon his hoodie-wearing sweetheart than himself any day.

Sherlock tutted. 'You really believe that, don't you? That you're not gorgeous?' He sighed and placed both of his hands on John's shoulders, forcing him to turn and face the mirror. He moved one hand to cup his lover's chin, forcing him to stare at his reflection, and the other gently found a place on his stomach. 'I wish you could see what I can. Please just try, John.'

John stared at his reflection but he didn't see the gorgeous man Sherlock saw. He was handsome in the shirt and trousers sure. But he didn't see gorgeous. He scowled as he glanced down at Sherlock's hand on his stomach. It didn't look bad in the shirt, in fact it looked better than he thought it would. He glanced back up and locked eyes with Sherlock in the mirror.

'I wish I could see the gorgeous man you see,' he said morosely. 'I can see handsome, but not gorgeous.'

Sherlock growled. 'Stop it. You are gorgeous. I am merely observing and stating what I can see.' He placed a kiss in John's hair. 'What would it take for you to believe me?'

'I think... I think I have to be able to feel it. I have to feel gorgeous in order to see myself that way.' John shrugged and looked at the shirt again. It really was beautiful. 'I do really like the shirt and trousers though. The shirt is actually quite beautiful.'

'It's not the shirt that is beautiful, it's you, the man who is wearing it.' Sherlock blew a kiss against John's ear. 'Why don't you feel gorgeous? Shall I make you feel like the most gorgeous being in the world? Because believe me when I say I'll make love to you right here and now to try and enforce my opinion.'

John's pupils dilated and he felt his pulse quicken. His mind was flooded with images of he and Sherlock entwined on the bench in the room. Him laying spread eagle as Sherlock entered him, him riding Sherlock as Sherlock rocked into him, him being pressed against the mirror as Sherlock fucked him roughly. He swallowed around the lump of arousal in his throat and adjusted himself in the trousers.

'While I like the idea of you doing that to make me feel gorgeous, I don't like the idea of being caught and carted off to jail.' John smiled up at Sherlock. 'I appreciate the offer though.' He tilted his head up and placed a kiss on the underside of Sherlock's jaw.

'Ah,' Sherlock purred. 'I wouldn't worry about that.' He picked up his original jeans that he'd been wearing when they'd come in and rifled through his pockets, pulling out a small metal object. 'Do you see this? This is a device I designed when I was merely eight years old. And do you know what this device does?' Sherlock grinned, bouncing up and down in excitement. 'It soundproofs rooms,' he smiled smugly. 'I anticipated this moment, thought that maybe a device like this could be useful. It works. I used it a numerous amount of times as a child to simply ignore Mycroft.'

John's pupils dilated further. He looked at the object in Sherlock's palm. It was no bigger than a pen and no wider than one of his fingers.

'How does it work?' he asked in a breathless gasp.

'It's quite simple.' Sherlock fingered the device with his thumb, sliding his finger over a tiny button that would be practically invisible to anyone who didn't know it was there. Then suddenly both he and John were surrounded by an invisible bubble of protectiveness, blocking everything from the outside world out, and making every little sound within the bubble loud, sharp and clear.

'It's a transmitter, a null field. Whilst we're in here with this device no one will hear us and we will not be bothered by anyone either.' He smiled, turning John towards him.

'Now isn't the time for a science lesson, John. Now is your time, the time I make you feel gorgeous.'

John stared around the nearly invisible bubble of protection, mesmerised that it was even possible to create something like that. But of course his Sherlock would be the one to invent it. He looked up at Sherlock, so normal looking yet still drop dead gorgeous in his hoodie and jeans. It wasn't fair, but he didn't want to dwell on that.

His eyes locked with Sherlock's and he felt his pulse quicken in his chest. He swallowed and nodded slowly. 'Make me feel gorgeous, Sherlock. Please.'


	19. Dressing Room Romp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a shorter chapter, and it's all mostly porn. There's an argument and some angst at the end, so be prepared for that.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock
> 
> Me: John
> 
> Gratuitous porn ahead. Ye have been warned.

Sherlock swept his eyes over John's entire form, gazing at him through his eyelashes with a look of utmost tenderness. His fingers barely brushed against John's shirt buttons as he slid the silk button down off of his shoulders. His gentle fingers glided down to John's trousers and gently pulled at them until John was able to step out of them. Then as delicately as he could he removed his boxer shorts. He placed the clothes in one corner of the room before turning back to his lover.

'Lie down, John,' Sherlock ushered softly. John felt his blush creep down his neck and onto his chest as Sherlock undressed him. He moved over to the bench in the corner of the room and slowly laid down on it, shivering as the coolness of it met his hot skin. He watched Sherlock attentively, waiting in anticipation of what was to come. Sherlock stripped himself of his own clothes before clambering onto John, enveloping him in his arms.

'I want you to tell me what you don't find gorgeous about yourself.' He nuzzled John's neck. 'Because I swear I'm going to make you change your mind.' John whimpered and held Sherlock to him.

'My scar, first and foremost,' he answered. 'While I'm proud I got it serving my country a lot of the women I've been with were disgusted by it. A select few were turned on because they thought it made me a badass.' He laughed and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

'My gut too,' he said softly. 'I don't have the physique I had in the army anymore. I had very prominent abs and would walk around shirtless, showing them off on the days the casualties were sparse. But now, I can't even tell where my abs used to be.' He poked his stomach and sighed. 'Those are the two main ones,' he sighed softly. 'Do you want everything or just my main issues?'

Sherlock hummed, caressing John's face with his fingers, soaking in everything that John had told him for later use. 'Tell me everything, every little thing that you hate about yourself. I need to know.'

'It's a pretty long list,' John sighed.

'I hate my ears because they stick out so far. I hate my nose because it's rather large on my face. I hate the bags under my eyes as they make me look over forty when I'm only thirty six. I hate my thin lips. I hate my fat, stubby, little fingers. I hate that I've gained weight even though I get enough exercise chasing criminals across London with you. I hate that my hair is turning grey so early and it makes me feel old and ancient because you're still in your youth and vitality and I just–' He sucked in a deep breath. 'I feel inadequate. Like I don't deserve you.'

Sherlock snarled aggressively as the words tumbled from John's mouth to his ear like bitter acid. He moved his lips to the army doctor's shoulder.

'You deserve me, John. I hate that you think so lowly of yourself. I swear I'm going to change your mind. Let's start with your scar,' he whispered. 'It is not repulsive, nor do I think you're a complete badass. I think you're brave, and I think that blemish on your skin is what makes you perfect. It shows that you are a far stronger man than me, that you fought, that you got hurt but carried on, and this,' Sherlock pressed his lips tightly to the scar, 'is the result. It's a part of you, your soul, who you are, and I love it.'

John moaned and held Sherlock still, letting him mouth at his scar. He loved it when Sherlock worshipped his body, he didn't feel so... abnormal, imperfect, broken. The list went on and on. He had yet to feel gorgeous, but they had only just begun.

He arched into Sherlock's touch and moaned. 'Keep going Sherlock. Make me feel gorgeous.'

Sherlock moved to John's right ear. 'As for your ears, John. They are beautiful because I know they are used to listen to me. Nobody listens to me, but you do. I know you do and that's why I love them.' He swirled his tongue around the ear and sucked it into his mouth. John clutched tightly to Sherlock's shoulders, pulling him close.

'Yes Sherlock, yes. More. Tell me more.'

'Your nose makes you unique.' Sherlock placed a sloppy kiss on John's nose. 'Your graying hair makes you look distinguished.' He ran a hand through the grey mop. 'These bags can be sorted too. You just need to rest; something I don't let you have enough of.' His fingertips brushed the purple bags shadowing John's eyes. 'Your lips are carved perfectly and they are all mine.' Sherlock devoured said lips hungrily.

John clutched Sherlock's head tightly, nipping and sucking and licking his lips like he needed them to survive. He wrapped a leg around one of Sherlock's and pulled him close, a nonverbal cue telling him to continue. Sherlock grabbed one of John's hands and pulled back, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

'These fingers of yours are highly talented. I don't think they get nearly enough credit.' He opened his mouth and sucked in all five digits, slurping on them greedily. John moaned obscenely and watched Sherlock suck on his fingers, panting harshly. His cock twitched at the sight and his hips shifted, wanting more contact. He rocked against Sherlock, encouraging him to continue. Sherlock sucked on John's fingers for a long while, swirling his tongue over them, and rocking slowly but persistently against him. He pulled back with a loud squelching sound and moved down John's body.

'Now for this gut of yours,' he tutted, leaning in close and opening his mouth wide, massaging the slightly flabby piece of flesh with his lips. As the flesh moved in his mouth John was making strange noises making the act almost erotic even. John moaned and whimpered as Sherlock mouthed at his fleshy stomach. He gasped and arched off the bench as Sherlock dipped his tongue into his belly button.

'Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,' he moaned. 'God Sherlock, don't stop. Don't ever stop.'

Sherlock grunted, lapping his tongue in John's belly button like there was no tomorrow. He moved his hands to the flesh too, kneading at it frantically.

'Gah fuck!' John swore, panting harshly. 'I want you, Sherlock. I want you so bad. But... I have an idea.' He groaned when Sherlock's tongue started practically fucking his navel, losing his train of thought.

'Continue,' Sherlock mumbled against John's stomach.

'I... I have an idea,' John repeated dumbly. 'I want... I want to utilise the mirror. Let me watch you make love to me, make me feel gorgeous. I want you to take me from behind like you did in the shower. I want to watch us, I want to watch you, and I want you to watch me.'

Sherlock hummed, licking John's fleshy belly one last time. 'What a wonderful idea. I'll have to prepare you first however.' He moved his tongue downwards and poked John's entrance with it. John braced his feet against the edge of the bench and whimpered.

'Oh god, hurry,' he panted. 'I want you now. God, please.'

Sherlock pushed his tongue further, entering John for one blissful moment. He swooped in, replacing tongue with long fingers, pushing each digit into John until he was practically fucking his hand. John cried out and arched almost completely off the bench. He was chanting 'god yes, please' over and over, rocking back on Sherlock's hand, fucking himself on his fingers.

'I think you're ready,' Sherlock growled darkly, pulling his fingers from John.

'God Sherlock yes,' John groaned, shivering at how empty he felt. 'Help me up.' He held out his hands for Sherlock to grasp. Sherlock hauled John to his feet, pushing him up against the mirror. He looked on at himself and his lover. What he saw was a most beautiful sight.

'I'm going to enter you now,' he whispered, being extra gentle in order to try and make up for how rough he'd been when doing this in the hospital shower.

John watched Sherlock's face as he entered him. The vein in his neck popped out, his brow creased, his mouth popped open as he seated himself fully in his arse. Sherlock was a beautiful sight and John moaned obscenely as his love entered him almost painstakingly slow. John held onto Sherlock's hip, his nails digging into his flesh to still him as he adjusted to the full feeling.

Sherlock groaned, rocking in and out of John slowly. He ran his tongue over one of the army doctor's ears, sucking at it affectionately, and kept a hand firmly on John's stomach, his fingers creeping closer to his erection.

John watched Sherlock make love to him. It was highly erotic, being able to watch himself. He arched into Sherlock's mouth, pressing his ear closer. His eyes travelled lower as Sherlock's hand did, watching him caress his stomach, his erection bobbing and straining as he awaited Sherlock's cool fingers. Sherlock wrapped his cool fingers around John's hot erection. He sucked more insistently on the ear of his partner.

He pulled himself nearly all the way out before slamming full force into John, causing a small cry to fall from his mouth despite it being clamped around John's ear. But John, he almost collapsed with the force. John's knees buckled from the force of Sherlock's thrust and the feeling of his hand around his cock. If Sherlock's free arm hadn't wrapped around his waist he might have fallen to the floor.

'God yes!' John panted, struggling to get his footing back. 'Do that again.'

Sherlock pulled himself nearly out again before slamming into John time and time again. He panted, red faced from the effort of keeping them both up. John's breath fogged the glass of the mirror as his panting became harsher. He slid down the mirror slightly as Sherlock thrust into him hard and fast. He spread his legs wider as his torso slid down, having to stand on tiptoe to keep his arse level with Sherlock's cock.

'That's it Sherlock, yes!' he cried, pushing back as Sherlock thrust forward, letting his prick delve deeper. 'I'm feeling pretty fucking gorgeous right about now. Now fuck me like you mean it. My arse can take it. Come on! Make me cum all over this mirror. Come on love. Come on!' He began meeting Sherlock thrust for thrust, fucking his hand in time to the slapping of their hips, pushing himself closer to the edge.

Sherlock's thrusts became painfully fast and hard and despite the clear pleasure it was causing John it was also visibly paining him too. It would seem he would be carrying him from the changing room at this rate. He twisted his hand around John's erection causing a cry to rip from his throat.

John tensed and cried out, his head tilting all the way back onto Sherlock's shoulder. His back arched into a near perfect curve and the small change in position allowed Sherlock's cock to hit his prostate repeatedly.

'Oh fuck! Sherlock, I'm cumming! I'm cumming!' he cried, pumping into Sherlock's hand twice before cumming long and hard on the mirror, his cum sliding down and pooling on the floor.

Sherlock kept on thrusting in and out until John's body relaxed. He then slid out and pulled John into his arms, placing his worn out body on the bench to recover. John panted into Sherlock's chest, gathering his wits about him as he calmed his breathing and heart rate.

'I feel pretty fucking gorgeous right now,' he smiled goofily into Sherlock's chest. 'Thank you love. Thank you.' He placed small kisses along Sherlock's heaving chest, working his way up his neck when he felt something along his thigh. He looked down to notice Sherlock's cock was still erect and red.

'Sherlock, love, you didn't cum,' he observed, looking up into his face. 'Do you want some help?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'It was about you, John. I accomplished making you see yourself as gorgeous and that's good. This isn't about my own pleasure. Trust me on this.'

'It looks painful,' John remarked. 'And while you fucking me makes me feel gorgeous, do you know what else does?' He wiggled his eyebrows and slid down Sherlock's body, landing on his knees and spreading Sherlock's.

'Giving you head,' he answered before Sherlock could guess. He grasped the base of Sherlock's cock in his hand and squeezed, licking a thick wet stripe from base to tip. 'So please, let me do this.' He engulfed Sherlock's prick before he could protest, swirling his tongue around the head before hollowing his cheeks and sucking loudly.

Sherlock inhaled sharply. 'Idiot,' he grunted, thrusting himself into John's mouth. 'I said–' His head flung back. 'Oh never mind,' he muttered, giving in to the ministrations of the talented tongue working on him. John purred in triumph, sucking Sherlock down his throat and swallowing. He rose up and bobbed his head a few times, sucking tightly on Sherlock's head before plunging back down. He squeezed Sherlock's balls with one hand while the other swirled around his entrance, adding that extra bit of sensation to send him over the edge.

Sherlock howled as he came hot and furiously down John's throat after his denied release. 'John!' he yelped and collapsed fully against the bench, turning over slightly to ease the pressure on his shoulders, eyes closing as he began to feel sleepy after exerting himself through both sexual acts. John swallowed all Sherlock gave, choking on it a bit as he came so hard and fast. He released Sherlock's cock with a loud pop and it fell against his abdomen with a wet slap. John gasped for air and licked his lips, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

'I may be an idiot, but I'm a gorgeous idiot,' John grinned cheekily.

Sherlock hummed sleepily. 'So you  _do_  see what I see. Good.' He nuzzled his nose into John's chest and groaned because he knew that he'd have to get up at some point.

'I do now, yes,' John sighed, nuzzling Sherlock's neck. He felt Sherlock relax under him, his breathing becoming slow and deep.

'Sherlock, love, I'm sorry but you can't sleep right now,' he said softly. He sat up and shook Sherlock's shoulder. 'I don't think we need to try on anymore clothes. Let's get dressed, grab your soundproofer thing, and get some shoes. Then we can go home and sleep if you want. I can always have Tesco's deliver.'

'One more minute,' Sherlock huffed, burying his face into the crevice of John's neck, letting out a small snore, mouth opening agape.

John smiled and let Sherlock rest. Lord knows the man needed it. Although he'd slept more in the past week than John had seen him sleep in the year he'd known him. And he was eating better too. Maybe John was finally influencing him, maybe he finally realised that he needed to take care of himself. John mentally patted himself on the back and lay still, letting Sherlock relax beneath him.

'You're snuggly,' Sherlock smiled softly against the bench, his breath tickling John's hair. 'Like a teddy bear.'

'So I'm a kitty and a teddy?' John smirked, his hand moving to draw circles on Sherlock's shoulder. 'They are pretty cuddly and adorable, much like me.' John hummed and started drawing Gallifreyan circles, telling Sherlock what he was feeling.

_Gorgeous. I love you. Get up. Shoes. Flat. Sleep._  
  
'No,' Sherlock whined. 'I don't want to get up. Tired. Besides I doubt your ability to walk. I'll have to carry you and I need my strength for that.'

'Then you can lay still and I'll dress you,' John sighed, wriggling off him. He stood up on shaky legs and stretched, his arse protesting slightly. He shuffled over to his original clothes, strewn about on the floor. He slipped on his pants easy enough. His jeans were another story. He nearly lost his balance twice before he managed to pull one leg through, the other following with less difficulty. His jumper was easy enough though.

He picked Sherlock's clothes up off the floor and sat them on the floor by the bench. He dropped to his knees by Sherlock's feet because his legs were protesting from standing. He pulled Sherlock's pants on, sliding them past his hips to sit just above his bum. His jeans soon followed but he didn't put his shirt on just yet.

He stared at Sherlock's bare back as he lay on his stomach, his eyes roaming over the scars that covered it, breaking the illusion that Sherlock's skin was perfect and blemish free. Some still looked quite painful despite their age. Others were so light you could barely tell they were there unless you looked at them in a certain light. Then there were the ones that formed patterns, like they were made with a sickening purpose, crossed over one another, making a brutal statement. He saw the word 'freak' carved into Sherlock's trapezius muscle in the middle of his back. As if he needed another reason to hate the word. Sherlock's father had branded him with it, and it probably killed him inside every time Sally called him that.

A lone tear escaped down John's cheek before he managed to swallow down his emotions. He wiped it away and sat on his haunches, patiently waiting for Sherlock to gather his strength. And he wasn't going to talk about it because he knew it was still painful for Sherlock. He wasn't going to ask, he wasn't going to ask, he wasn't going to ask.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He stared at John who was staring at him in return, or rather he was staring at his back. He turned and bolted upright and scowled at John, grabbing his shirt and placing it on his shoulders to hide his back.

'Don't,' he muttered. 'Just don't.'

John swallowed and hung his head, blinking back tears. He didn't risk speaking, knowing his voice would break, but he knew he should say something before Sherlock thought John was disgusted by the marks.

He took in a shaky breath and said, 'I'm sorry. Sorry, for invading your privacy like that. I know you don't want to talk about it, so I won't press you. I'm sorry. I... I won't do it again.'

It's fine,' Sherlock grit out, buttoning up his shirt, getting to his feet and hanging the clothes over his arm. 'Let's go, John.'

John stood up on shaky legs and grabbed Sherlock's silencer pen from the floor. He handed it to him and shoved his hands in his pockets, afraid to look Sherlock in the eye. He could feel the anger radiating from him in waves and he knew if he looked up he would burst into tears. And he really didn't want to cry in public.

'Thanks,' Sherlock sighed in annoyance before storming from the changing room, his mood dark and brooding. John followed behind, his feet shuffling along the floor. He felt like a massive idiot. What did he think he was doing, examining Sherlock's back like that? He hit himself on the side of the head, hard, the noise sounding almost hollow.

'Hurry up!' Sherlock tossed the cold remark over his shoulder to the hobbling John.

John couldn't stop the choked sob from escaping that time. He buried his face in his hands and stopping walking, trying and failing to rein in his emotions. He was having an emotional breakdown in the middle of a fucking clothing store. He felt like such an idiot. And it only added to the embarrassment of staring at Sherlock's back, which in turn made him sob harder. Sherlock froze at the sound of the sobbing and sighed, mentally scolding himself for being so cold. He turned and walked over to the broken man that he had so heartlessly pushed over the edge. Not really knowing how to offer comfort he simply patted his shoulder gently.

'I'm such a fucking idiot!' John sobbed, his voice muffled from behind his hands. He was wobbling where he stood, his legs still sore from his fucking. He leaned into Sherlock on instinct, his face still buried in his hands as he leant on Sherlock's chest.

'I believe you're mistaking yourself for me,' Sherlock tried to joke but John only sobbed harder.

John shook his head and continued to sob. His entire body was shaking by now and he was dangerously close to falling to the floor in a heap. He couldn't speak anymore, the large lump in his throat wouldn't allow that. So he leaned against Sherlock in the hope he would calm down soon.

'Whoa!' Sherlock cried out as John's legs finally gave way. 'Shh John. It's ok,' he hushed, tugging an arm around the crying man.

'No it's not! It's not ok!' John cried. 'I overstepped your boundaries and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. And I just feel so stupid!' He hit a fist to the side of his head again, hard enough the force from the hit made his head bounce against Sherlock's chest. 'And now I'm crying in public and making an embarrassment of the both of us and–' He sucked in a deep breath before he buried his face in his hands again.

'I'm not angry, John. Ashamed, yes. Angry, no.' Sherlock sighed heavily. 'You should try to get up. People are starting to stare at you.'

'Then let them fucking stare!' John cried. 'What do I care if people stare at me? I'm just a stranger to them. They don't care about me! They just want to know why a grown ass man is fucking sobbing in a fucking clothing store and why a gorgeous Greek god is hunched over him.' John curled in on himself and sobbed into his knees.

'Let them fucking stare,' he grumbled. 'I don't care.' Sherlock flinched at John's words. He dropped all of the clothes in a neat pile by his feet and crouched down to his level.

'You misunderstand me. I did not mean that I am ashamed of you. I meant that I am ashamed of myself. My scars are disgusting and I'm not used to people looking upon them. I reacted badly to you doing so and I'm sorry.'

He took a deep breath and continued, squeezing John's scrunched up form in his arms. 'As for the people looking at us, I don't care about them because of me but because of you. They are judging you and as you said they don't know you and have no right to. It's making me extremely angry.' He clutched John tighter to emphasise his words. 'Please get up. We'll go home and we'll watch  _Doctor Who._  I'm not certain who The Doctor currently is played by. My memories are still a little muddled. However it will be fun all the same.'

He began to write Gallifreyan on John's back. It would seem that it had become an almost secret code between them.

_Sorry. Stop the tears. Dear. Forgive me. Get up. I am the one who is an abomination._  
  
Of course the latter one was the most complicated and he doubted John understood it, but it was the truest, and the reason why he didn't like anyone staring at his back. He was an abomination. His fingers came to a sad stop.

'Please get up,' he said softly.

John sucked in a harsh breath and shuddered. Sherlock had a point, although he didn't agree that Sherlock's scars were disgusting. He wouldn't call them all the wonderful words that Sherlock had called his not moments before because not only would Sherlock not believe him but they both knew the words would be lies.

He listened to the Gallifreyan words Sherlock was drawing on his back. He understood everything as he wrote, smiling slightly at the intimacy of it all. The last one tripped him up, however. He was able to make out 'I am the one who is' but the rest was lost. He shuddered again and lifted his tearstained face to look up at Sherlock. He saw the sadness in his eyes, how long he looked in the face, and felt guilty for making such a public scene.

'I'm sorry,' he croaked in a hoarse whisper. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. 'I'm sorry. Hel– Help me up?' Sherlock swooped the clothes over his shoulder before gently guiding John to his feet, wrapping a strong arm around him to stabilise him.

'It's okay.' He placed a kiss on the top of John's head. 'Let's get some shoes then head home, yeah?'

John nodded and shuffled along beside Sherlock. Once they made it to the shoes he sat on one of the little benches and closed his eyes. He needed to calm down first before he looked for new shoes.

Sherlock knelt besides John, clasping his hands tightly. 'Open those beautiful eyes of yours,' he ordered gently. John clenched them shut tighter, in every way the defiant child.

'John,' Sherlock scolded. 'Are you really going to be like this after we've just been through such a beautiful act?'

'I could ask you the same thing,' John bit back, his eyes popping open to scowl at his beloved.

'John, I'm tired. My past weighs on me heavily. I dislike it when either myself or others focus on it. It upset me and I reacted the only way I knew how to.' Sherlock stood to his feet. 'What's your excuse? That I gave you the brief cold shoulder?'

'No. That you made me feel gorgeous and now I feel like shit,' John spat, glaring up at Sherlock. 'I realise that you would rather have your past stay in the past, but it can't. It's a part of who you are whether you like it or not. All your experiences are what make you who you are. And I never bring up your past on purpose because I know how much you dislike reliving it. But sometimes I can't fight my basic human curiosity and I have to ask. And I'm sorry.'

'No,' Sherlock growled. 'I am the only one who should have the power to choose whether those memories resurface! They're my memories, John. Mine to do what I wish with. They have very little to do with you.' He narrowed his eyes.

'You're lucky that I somehow let you into my life but that doesn't mean you hold any power over me. I suggest that you bite down that human curiosity of yours. If I feel the need to open up old memories with you I will but right now I just want a cold shower and a bloody cigarette!' He tossed the clothes at John and dropped his credit card onto his lap too.

'I'm going back to the flat. I'll meet you there. Hopefully both of our tempers will have cooled.'

And with that he stalked away, cold, hard, and confused as to how things had escalated from making love to a bitter fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the angst, but things get better next chapter. Since this one was so short I may get out after the Forth of July or just post the chapter from home using my mom's dinky internet card. Yeah. I'll do that. I'll either post it on the fourth or the fifth, so keep a look out for that. See you soon, and Happy Red Pants Monday! I'm actually wearing red pants (trousers) in celebration today ;) I'm such a dork.


	20. No Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fourth of July my fellow Americans! Have some Johnlock angst and smut to celebrate! There shall be a different sort of fireworks tonight ;)
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: smoking, drinking, angst, porn, some bloodplay, and fainting due to bloodloss (don't worry, the fainter is going to be fine)

John dropped his head in his hands and fought back tears. Why did he have to fuck up everything? Every fight they'd had he had been the one to initiate. The one about the triple homicide (that Sherlock probably didn't remember), the one in the hospital where Sherlock had just wanted to talk about his brother's suicidal tendencies, and now this one about opening Sherlock's past and him behaving like a fucking child.

Why did he have to be such an idiot? He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and took in deep breaths. He wasn't going to buy shoes anymore. In fact, he was going to buy the bloody clothes and head over to Tesco's. If Sherlock needed time to cool off then he was going to give him time. And he needed the time to gather his thoughts as well.

He stood up on wobbly knees, clutching the clothes to his chest, and made his way over to the registers. He paid for the clothes, not bothering to look at the price, and walked out. He walked to Tesco's, conveniently placed within walking distance of 221B and the clothing store. There he put the bags of clothes in a shopping cart and walking aimlessly around the store. When he had been walking for nearly an hour he decided to at least get some milk and nibbles. He ended up buying enough to make a stir fry and, much to his chagrin, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

He hadn't smoked in years. Well before his army days. He quit before he left for basic training, wanting to have the lung capacity for the endurance training. But now, now he didn't need to run. He didn't need his health. And Sherlock could run just fine with his occasional smoking habit. So, for the first time in almost twenty years, he lit a cigarette. By the time he'd gotten back to the flat he'd had six and felt sick to his stomach.

He stood on the doorstep to 221, contemplating if he'd given Sherlock enough time to recover. He himself had barely done any thinking, but then again maybe that would be a good thing. He tended to over think in situations like this, and that always ended badly. Sherlock would pout on the sofa, John would storm from the flat. The silence and war in both of their minds drove them up the wall. The smiley face was evidence of Sherlock's; the smelling of beer and cheap perfume was John's.

He finally walked up the steps to their flat and didn't even pay attention to Sherlock, pouting on the sofa as usual. He put the groceries away, organising the body parts so they wouldn't spoil the food or the milk. He tossed the clothes in the hallway, planning on washing them later as well as his own clothes that smelled like smoke. He made himself a cup of tea, not bothering to make Sherlock any. He wouldn't drink it anyway. When he had steeped his tea he collapsed in his chair, sipping it while stealing glances at Sherlock, curled up on the sofa.

Sherlock had been thinking nonstop since he had entered the flat. He'd taken a freezing cold shower alone and had slipped into a pair of tired and worn pyjamas. All the while his mind had been focused solely on both his physical scars and his mental scars.

Every wound inflicted on him in his childhood spilled out behind his eyelids like a thick and misty poison. Every harsh word, every punch, every scratch, every cut, and slice; they all haunted him. His brand name 'freak' must have wriggled to the surface of his worries over a million times.

Perhaps that's all he was to the world, all he had ever been. An outsider, a freak, a person so different and wrong, an abomination, a useless excuse of human life.

Human.

He didn't feel human. He felt cold, robotic, a gigantic intellect trapped within a piece of meat.

And now his mind, the only thing he had ever truly liked about himself, was decomposing. There were dark spots, memories blotted out, ones that felt important but were just out of reach. He knew John was the focus of almost all of them. John Watson was an enigma.

He was so familiar, yet so strange, and he turned something on in Sherlock that he hadn't even been aware was present. He wasn't sure what he felt for him. He knew that he was a beautiful being, inside and out. He knew that he was friendly and made him feel safe, and loved. Safe and loved... hmmm... two things he had never truly experienced before. He supposed from the moment he had woken up in the hospital he had experimented to see how deep his and John's relationship went. John made him feel good and in return Sherlock tried to make John feel good. He loved the emotions John stirred within him and he truly did want to stay with him forever because those emotions were so much better than the cold and the pain that he was used to. Was his experiment turning into love? If so when had it? And was love supposed to hurt this much?

Why had it turned so utterly wrong?

He and John seemed to bicker constantly, and it angered him, and confused him.

Was it love that he felt for the army doctor? Without his memories he would probably have to learn that himself.

Why was it that his childhood memories were still intact but the ones with John were muddied and stained, damaged beyond repair?

It wasn't fair.

The detective had smoked like a chimney and had found a bottle of whisky stored away. In total he had smoked two full packets of cigarettes and had downed half a bottle of whisky. He felt sick and both his head and stomach were churning. He wasn't used to alcohol intake. He presumed John was the one whom it belonged to out of the two of them. He hated the taste of alcohol but he hated the taste of cigarette ash on his taste buds more.

He was aware that John was now with him but he didn't bother looking at him for the simple fact that he actually couldn't. He sighed heavily, curling in on himself, clutching his stomach in an attempt to calm the alcohol sloshing within him.

John finally came out of his stupor to fully observe Sherlock on the couch. His posture didn't say pouting now that he looked at him. He was in the fetal position, his arms wrapped around his stomach like it was paining him. Then John saw his bottle of whisky, half empty, and understood. He sighed and walked over to the sofa, noticing the two empty packets of cigarettes and the ashtray filled to the brim.

'Oh, Sherlock,' he sighed morosely. He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and rubbed it soothingly. Sherlock whimpered and shuddered at the contact, closing his eyes shut, and clutching his pained stomach harder.

'John,' he muttered, his words slurring at the tip of his tongue. John sighed and shook his head. He carefully turned Sherlock over, hooking an arm under his legs and over his shoulders.

'Come on,' he grunted as he lifted Sherlock as gently as he could. 'You need to empty your stomach in the loo before you do so all over the couch.' He carried Sherlock to the bathroom, placing him gently on his knees in front of the toilet. Sherlock blinked, glancing up at John with his big blue orbs.

'You want me to throw up?' he quizzed. 'I don't want to.' He shook his head, wincing as it caused his mind to spin horribly so.

'Sherlock, if you don't your stomach will only hurt worse,' John said softly, crouching down to his level. 'And while your throat won't feel very good the pain in your stomach will lessen. Trust me. I'm the drinker and the doctor in this household. I have a lot of firsthand experience.'

'No,' Sherlock grunted stubbornly. 'I don't want to.' He wriggled away from John, curling himself in a ball on the bathroom tiles and moaning loudly, eyes slipping shut. John sighed exasperatedly and ran a hand down his face. Sherlock was stubborn on his best days, but when he was inebriated he was less than tolerable.

'Alright, fine. You stay here and I'll do the laundry. My clothes need to be washed anyway.' He stood to leave, glancing down at Sherlock curled up on the floor and sighing again. Why couldn't he have the patience to care for him? Where was his beloved bedside manner when he needed it most?

'Interesting,' Sherlock remarked drunkenly. 'You're leaving me. Tell me, should I file that away in your blank folder in my mind palace?'

'I'm not leaving you, Sherlock,' John replied. 'You clearly don't want my company in your drunken state and I don't–' He stopped. 'Wait... Did you say your "blank folder?" I'm... I'm completely blank to you?'

Sherlock laughed and opened his eyes. 'Seems Moriarty did a pretty thorough job with destroying my memories.'

'So... So everything you did, everything you said... They were all  _lies?_ ' John stammered.

Sherlock shrugged. 'Spose they were,' he remarked but didn't get a chance to elaborate as his stomach gave a sudden lurch. He didn't have much time to react so he ended up throwing up all over the floor and himself. John paled. Not only from Sherlock's words but the fact that he had just thrown up all over himself. Pushing his emotions to the side he easily slipped into Doctor Watson mode.

'Jesus,' he breathed, sliding over to Sherlock and kneeling beside him. He didn't say anything more, just peeled Sherlock's clothes off and eased him into the tub, starting the warm water and plugging the drain. He left briefly to borrow a mop from Mrs Hudson, merely telling her Sherlock had made another mess. She didn't question it.

He got back to the bathroom and mopped up the mess, leaving the bucket and mop outside the door. He turned off the water and eyed Sherlock with the bedside manner he thought was missing, taking in everything except the scars on his back. Sherlock stared at John, a little bewildered.

'John,' he whispered, swallowing down and then instantly regretting it as all he could taste was vomit. John sat on the edge of the tub, reaching out to caress Sherlock's face. He stopped when he remembered that Sherlock couldn't. His hand dropped and he sighed. Now was not the time for that conversation.

'Just relax,' he said instead. 'Let the warm water relax you. Clean yourself up and then I'll put you to bed.'

'Can't you help me relax?' Sherlock questioned, bottom lip trembling. John's eyes were bright, swimming with tears he didn't want to shed. He wanted to, god did he want to, but he couldn't. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and shook his head.

'I don't doubt that you want me to, want my touch on your skin, but I can't, Sherlock. I can't,' he choked out.

'Why? I need you, John.' Sherlock reached out a hand to John's face. 'Why can't you understand that?'

'I understand it plenty,' John said, turning his cheek into Sherlock's palm. 'But my question is, do you want me?'

'I don't know,' Sherlock said truthfully. 'God, I think so but... but...' He breathed heavily. 'I'm confused.'

John placed his hand over Sherlock's, holding onto it tightly.

'I know you're confused,' he whispered. 'And this is why I want you to be sure. Absolutely sure. I want you to think about what you want, and I want you to be sure.'

'I know I need you. Isn't that enough? Please, John,' he pleaded gently.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand and nodded. He let go of Sherlock's hand and stood, stripping off his jumper and shoes before pulling off his jeans, pants, and socks.

'Budge up a bit,' he said, sliding behind Sherlock and lowering himself into the warm water. He pulled Sherlock back against his chest, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him close.

'Through all the lies there was one single truth.' Sherlock grasped John's wrist. 'You are gorgeous. So, I am sorry for being so awful to you.' He paused and turned his head to face John. 'You deserve so much more than me.'

'I refuse to believe that I could find anyone better than you,' John whispered. 'Through all the lies and arguments and experiments and massive rows, you are good for me and I am good for you. You are my best friend Sherlock, and I'll love you no matter what. Nothing could ever change that.'

'I hate this,' Sherlock muttered. 'I hate not knowing who you are. I hate that I am uncertain of my emotions when you are so certain of yours.' His entire chest shook. 'But most of all I hate myself.'

John pulled Sherlock close, burying his face in his hair.

'I wish I had the right words to say,' he whispered. 'I wish I could make everything alright. Get your memories back, show you exactly who I am and why you feel the way you do. And help you see just how amazing you are and that you don't–shouldn't–hate yourself.' He ran a hand through Sherlock's hair.

'I love you,' he said. 'And while you don't understand why I do, I love you. You're brilliant and beautiful and mysterious and I love you. I wish you could remember, then you would know why I'm causing your pulse to quicken and your breathing to become harsh and shallow, but I already explained that in the restaurant. You love me, and I wish with all my heart and soul that you could remember why.'

'I am scared, John. Truly and properly scared for the first time since my childhood.' He shifted against John, sliding further into the water.

'You make me feel... things.' His eyebrows scrunched together. 'Good things, and I suppose that's what's gotten me so frightened. Good things don't happen to me, ever. I'm a freak, an abomination, wrong, and I don't deserve to feel so safe and so good. So maybe none of this is actually real.'

'Sherlock, you are neither a freak nor an abomination,' John said. 'And I can assure you that this is not a dream. If it is I would hate to wake up. Because, despite our rows and arguments, I have fallen completely in love with you and I know that you were falling for me. Even though you can't remember I know you can still feel it. Those good things I make you feel are because your body remembers how good we made each other feel.

'And don't say good things never happen to you. If I am the only good thing to happen to you then I am very, very sorry. But I will continue to make you feel good and safe and loved until you believe it. I don't care how long it takes.' He rested his chin on Sherlock's head and sighed deeply.

'There are only so many of my lies that you'll be able to take,' Sherlock retorted, turning around.

'My life is out of control. I feel so helpless and so I lie to try and cover that fact.' He shook his head. 'One day John, maybe not today, or tomorrow, but some day in the future, I'm going to fall and my life will plunge into chaos. I don't want to drag you along with me when I do fall.'

'I don't care,' John said, shaking his head. 'I don't care if all you do is lie to me every single day for the rest of our lives. I'm going to be there for you no matter what. And if, not when, you do fall I'll be there to pick up the pieces and help put you together again.'

Sherlock rubbed his head. 'I need to sleep the whisky off,' he groaned loudly. 'I want to talk about this but I can't think straight.'

'It's better if we discuss this while you're sober anyway,' John nodded. 'Sit up a moment.' He stood out of the water and out onto the tile. He pulled the plug from the drain and helped Sherlock stand slowly. Once he was standing on the bathmat John grabbed a towel and dried Sherlock off before drying himself.

'Do you want me to put some pyjamas on you? Or do you want to go to bed naked?' John asked.

'Don't mind,' he sighed softly. 'Naked might be nice.'

'Alright then,' John smiled halfheartedly. He helped Sherlock down the hall to his room, laying him in his bed and tucking him in.

'I'm going to soak your clothes in the sink and then I'll join you, alright?' he whispered softly, carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock stretched himself under the covers like a cat. 'Hurry back,' he muttered, face burying into the pillow.

'Of course, love,' John smiled. He dashed to the bathroom and gathered Sherlock's clothes, being careful not to let the vomit covered parts touch him. He put them in the sink and ran hot water over them, planning on letting them soak overnight.

He quickly returned to Sherlock's room and closed the door behind him. His face was mashed into his pillow but he appeared to still be somewhat awake. John crawled under the covers behind him, gently turning Sherlock over so his head was on his chest. John held him close, feeling the hammering of his heartbeat against his side. He nuzzled his nose into Sherlock's hair and breathed in his scent, relaxing despite being so on edge.

'We'll talk in the morning, Sherlock,' he whispered. 'And I won't run this time. I promise.'

Sherlock pushed himself as close to John as possible, entwining their limbs and holding him tightly to him. He hummed.

'Night, John.'

'Goodnight, Sherlock,' John yawned. He buried his nose in Sherlock's hair and was lulled to sleep by Sherlock's gentle breathing.

… **::-::…**

In the night Sherlock awoke. He was aware that not much time had passed as his body and mind were still riddled with alcohol. He untangled himself from the deeply sleeping John and slipped away into the living room completely unnoticed.

His legs were a little wobbly and his mind was a little fuzzy but he needed this time to think because in the morning he was certain that he was going to have a terrible hangover. And although thinking with his muddled mind was probably a bad idea it was better than trying to think with a pounding headache.

He glanced around the room for something. He wasn't sure of what until he saw it. His violin.

He picked up the instrument with care and walked over to the window, holding it over his chest and staring out into the dull night.

The notes he began to play were sorrowful notes that screeched with an almost violent tone to them. They held his pain, washing it from his mind like salt cleaning open wounds.

John woke slowly, something pulling at his mind as he awoke. Something was off, not quite right. He realised that he was alone in bed, Sherlock was gone, and had been for quite some time if the coolness of the sheets beside him were anything to go by. He glanced at the clock, noting that it was nearly 4 am. He and Sherlock had gone to bed shortly before 10, so based on the temperature of the sheets and his own grogginess, John deduced that Sherlock had been gone for about 4 or 5 hours.

And then he heard it.

Melodramatic sounds, painful sounds, sorrowful sounds, screeching from down the hall. Sherlock was playing his violin. But wasn't it still at the manor house? Well, maybe one of them was. John wouldn't put it past Sherlock to own at least two.

He carefully crawled out of their bed and pulled one of Sherlock's dressing gowns from the wardrobe. It was the red tartan one, John's personal favourite second to the blue silk one. He padded out the door and into the kitchen, standing under the awning as he listened to Sherlock play. The man himself was still naked but John wasn't going to complain; he had a wonderful view of his ample bum, absolutely gorgeous under the moonlight streaming in through the window.

The music was melancholy bordering on depressing, but it was beautiful. The inner workings of a man whose mind was tortured, confused, and lost. John listened to it all, drinking it all in, tears slowly and silently falling down his cheeks. He kept quiet, not wanting to alert Sherlock to his presence and disturb him. The music became harsher, more tortured as it reached its crescendo. John sniffled as he listened to Sherlock pouring out his feelings in the only way he knew how. And it was beautiful. Sad, but beautiful.

Sherlock scraped the bow over the strings in a dramatic and almost heart stopping screech. He stiffened and turned around. John was there crying a river of tears.

'Go back to bed,' he hushed. 'You need your sleep.'

'So do you,' John croaked out. 'That was beautiful, Sherlock. Absolutely beautiful.' He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. 'I won't go back to bed unless you come with me. And if you're staying out here then so am I... I'm here to listen to you, Sherlock, verbally or musically. And I'm not going to run away.' He moved to his chair, holding onto the back of it, waiting for Sherlock to make a decision. Either one he would follow in a heartbeat, no complaints.

Sherlock nodded and gently placed his violin to one side. 'I should probably get some rest before the hangover sets in.'

'Agreed,' John half smiled. He held out a hand and clasped it around one of Sherlock's.

'Drink some water first,' John said, leading him to the sink and pulling a mug from the cupboard. 'If you get some fluids in you now your hangover shouldn't be so bad.'

Sherlock watched as John filled the mug with water.

'Thanks,' he smiled back at John, taking the mug from his hand. He lifted the mug to his lips and began to guzzle the cool liquid down.

'You're welcome,' John smiled softly. He watched Sherlock's Adam's apple bob up and down as he drank the water, mesmerised but not quite enough to be turned on.

'Would you like another?' he asked when Sherlock finished.

Sherlock held his mug out like an expectant child and simply nodded, casting a deep grin at John, forgetting his worries for a brief moment. John smiled, not quite a genuine one but close, and took the mug from Sherlock, filling it up before putting it back in his eager hands. Sherlock once again gulped down the water. He paused.

'I'm sorry I woke you,' he said softly.

'It's no problem,' John said just as softly. He took the mug and filled it once more. 'I haven't heard you play in a while. It was nice to hear the violin again. The music was quite emotional, and frighteningly beautiful.'

'It was self composed,' Sherlock stated, taking an uncertain step towards John.

'I thought so,' John mused. 'When I didn't recognise it I figured as much. It was confirmed when I heard the harsh and almost angry sounds.' He looked up at Sherlock and offered him a small smile. 'I'm sorry if I wasn't meant to hear that. But it really was quite beautiful.'

'I composed it for you actually.' Sherlock edged forwards so he was quite literally inches from John's face.

'Did you really?' John breathed, craning his neck to peer into Sherlock's eyes. 'Does that make me special?'

'Very special indeed,' he whispered, running a hand down John's arm. 'You see, I know how much it frightens you that I can't open up. I suppose this is my way of telling you my feelings.'

John shuddered at Sherlock's touch. 'Your violin has always been your emotional outlet. Whether you were composing or playing Bach or the like.' He swallowed thickly before he remembered he still had a mug of water in his hand. He moved it to his suddenly dry lips, drinking a large gulp to wet them and his throat.

'You seem a little anxious. Have I done something to upset you again?' Sherlock asked sadly.

'No, no you haven't upset me,' John said quickly. He set the mug on the counter, his hand shaking slightly. That shocked him. He hadn't experienced that intermittent tremor in quite some time. Why was it cropping up now?

'It's just... Well, you're naked and gorgeous and right in front of me and I really want to take you to bed, and not just to sleep. But...' He shook his head. 'No. That's best saved for the morning when you're sober. But we should still go to bed.'

Sherlock's brow knitted. 'You know I would always oblige in physical activity between us. It's a marvellous thing.'

'Yes, Sherlock, I know you would. And I find it quite marvellous as well. But you're inebriated and I would feel like I was taking advantage of you, no matter how much you told me you wanted it.' John sighed and grasped Sherlock's hand. 'Let's just go to bed, alright?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Yes mother,' he quipped.

'I would still like to meet her,' John said, leading Sherlock back to their bed. 'But after you've learned more about me preferably. And maybe I'll have learned some new things about you too.'

'She comes back from her trip soon. Maybe then?' Sherlock suggested.

'How soon is soon?' John asked, sitting Sherlock on their bed and stripping himself of his borrowed dressing gown.

'Tomorrow,' Sherlock mumbled sleepily.

'Tomorrow?!' John nearly screeched. He took in a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. 'I think maybe tomorrow would be too soon. She'll have just gotten back from a long trip and she'll probably want to rest. Not to mention you and I need to have a long discussion about me being blank to you, and we'll probably have a heart to heart as well. So, let's wait say, a week, and then we'll go visit her. But we'll visit. I promise.'

He crawled under the covers and pulled Sherlock close, resting his lover's head on his chest.

'She wants to see me. She's worried about me and Mycroft. It's fine if you don't want to come,' Sherlock replied with a tired sigh.

'I'm not leaving you alone with Mycroft. Lord knows what arguments you two will start,' John said jokingly. 'I'll come with you, explain your situation to her if I have to. But I will definitely come with you.' He placed a small kiss to the top of Sherlock's head.

'Thank you,' Sherlock purred softly into to the night.

'You're welcome,' John smiled sleepily before drifting off once more.

… **::-::…**

When Sherlock next awoke he really wished he hadn't. The world was too bright and his head felt like it was getting hit by a sledge hammer several times over. The water had done nothing to prevent the inevitable. John moaned as Sherlock shifted on his chest. He felt like he hadn't slept at all, but the clock told him he had slept another six hours. He groaned and opened his eyes, blinking as he adjusted to the sunlight streaming in through the window.

'Morning Sherlock,' he grumbled, rubbing a hand across his eyes. 'How're you feeling?'

Sherlock clamped his hands over his ears, groaned, and buried his face deep within the covers.

'Well, that answers that question,' John smirked. He climbed out of bed and closed the blind on the window before climbing back in with his hung-over Sherlock. 'Sorry the water didn't help,' he whispered softly.

'It's fine. I shouldn't have drunk so much,' Sherlock grunted.

'You drank half of my best whisky,' John pouted but smiled. 'You still feeling up for visiting your mother today?'

'I have to,' Sherlock hissed. 'If I don't she'll probably drag me to the hospital to visit Mycroft herself.'

'Now that's a sight I'd like to see,' John grinned. 'But not today. What time does she want us there?'

'Early as possible,' Sherlock moaned. 'Why, oh why?' He shuddered. John glanced at the clock. Almost twenty past ten.

'What do you say we shoot for being there around noon?' he proposed. 'That will give us time to eat and I can wash our clothes and you can take a shower.'

'I don't want to eat,' he grumbled, rubbing his stomach. 'I don't want to move.'

'Oh the pains of the dreadful hangover,' John smiled, petting Sherlock's hair gingerly. 'At least get in the shower. Let the hot water beat on your head, let it soak into your skin, gently wash your hair. It will feel fantastic. Trust me.'

'If you come with me, ok,' Sherlock agreed. He brought a hand to his head and winced. 'Mother is going to kill me.'

'Sherlock, you are a grown man. I highly doubt your mother will be upset that you have a hangover.' He smiled and moved from the bed. 'And of course I'll take a shower with you. You barely have to ask.'

'You haven't met my mother,' Sherlock snorted. 'She'll probably try to ground me.'

'I won't let her,' John remarked, grasping Sherlock's shoulders and gently tugging him up. 'And if she does I'll explain that I was in the army and can dish out a far better punishment than a grounding ever could. Manual labour.'

'Manual labour?' Sherlock smirked. 'You're such a dirty bastard.'

'I was talking about doing the dishes and the laundry. Where is your mind going you filthy man?' John smirked, hauling Sherlock out of bed.

'Damn you,' Sherlock moaned. 'You tricked me.'

'It's not my fault your mind is in the gutter,' John joked. He paused, thought it over, and laughed. 'Actually, I suppose it is. But never mind. How about this? If you do a good job with the dishes and the laundry I'll reward you with any form of sexual activity you wish.'

Sherlock nodded and tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. 'You really want me in that way? Even after I lied?'

'Yes, I do. I know I should be mad, but I've spent enough time being mad at you for things I can't control,' John sighed. 'So, starting today, I am going to stop pestering you about why you do the things you do and just go with it. Because you always have a purpose for everything you do, even if it isn't for the right reasons.'

He manoeuvred Sherlock out the door and covered his eyes against the bright light streaming in from the sitting room. When they reached the bathroom John left the door cracked but the light off.

'And besides,' he continued, turning on the water to the shower. 'What better way to learn me all over again than by getting to know me in the most intimate way and setting possible?'

'I'm sorry, John,' Sherlock muttered. 'I feel terrible about all of this. And I really do want to get to know you. You're amazing, really amazing. And sexy, terribly sexy.'

'Thanks,' John grinned. 'I find you amazing and sexy too. And I would love to get to know you better as well. We'll have a nice sit down at some point, drink some tea, eat some nibbles, and just talk.'

He helped Sherlock onto the shower and followed suit, letting the water cascade onto them.

'Sounds good.' Sherlock clung to John, shivering as the water trickled across his skin.

John reached out and turned the hot water up, shivering because Sherlock was. He held him close, hoping to transfer some of his natural body heat to the shivering man.

Sherlock hummed. 'This does feel good. You were right.'

'Always listen to your doctor,' John hummed in reply.

'And what does my doctor say about this current predicament?' Sherlock glanced downwards. 'I assume you have some good advice since you're in the same boat.'

'I have a few ideas, yes,' John moaned. He pulled Sherlock's face to his and kissed him, mashing lips and tongues and teeth together hungrily. Sherlock snarled and bit down on John's lip harshly, grinding his teeth into the soft flesh. John moaned and pulled himself closer, shoving his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, exploring.

'You're bad, Watson,' Sherlock muttered between his and John's lips, flicking his own tongue out.

'And you're my dirty detective,' John purred, flicking his tongue in greeting Sherlock's.

'Tell me more, captain. Tell me how I can be dirty to you today,' Sherlock hushed, running his fingers down John's ribs. John swallowed down his giggle, a growl ripping from his throat instead.

'Well my dirty, dirty boy, you can start by getting on your knees,' he grinned, shoving lightly on his shoulders. Sherlock grunted and blinked in surprise, clutching his head for one moment as his hangover mind hadn't appreciated him being shoved, no matter how lightly.

'And what now my dear Watson?' his voice croaked slightly as he got to his knees.

'I want you to use that mouth of yours,' John grinned. 'However, you can only use your mouth. No hands whatsoever. Not even to grab hold of me to balance yourself. Now, suck.' He positioned his prick in front of Sherlock's lips and shoved his hips forward slightly, impatient and expecting. Sherlock opened his mouth wide and allowed John to slowly slip into it. John groaned as the wet heat of Sherlock's mouth surrounded him, shuddering at how good it all felt. He thrust in and out slightly before letting Sherlock take over.

'Work on giving me pleasure without using your hands,' he instructed. 'Think of it as a puzzle and figure it out. But don't bring me to release just yet.'

Sherlock chuckled, hollowing out his cheeks and bobbing his head in time with the erratic beating of his heart.

'Jesus,' John moaned, tangling a hand in Sherlock's curls, the other reaching out to balance himself. 'Oh fuck, you have got one fucking talented mouth.'

Sherlock grunted, slapping John's hand away. If he wasn't allowed to use his hands neither was John.

'Naughty, naughty my little soldier,' John gasped. 'Oh, I get it. You feel that if you can't use your hands than neither should I. Well, that is where you're wrong.' He returned his hand to Sherlock's hair and held on tight.

'Right now, for this act, I am the one in charge. No fight for dominance, no shared subservient acts, just me,' John growled. 'And you will listen to your captain, private.'

Sherlock growled around John's member. He pulled back and grinned wildly. John wanted to be in control and that was fine. However Sherlock knew that it was his tongue that was the master, the controller, the dominant being. He teased him, letting his tongue slide over the surface but not quite touching him. John moaned and shivered, absolutely loving the not quite contact and the beautiful things Sherlock's tongue was doing.

'That's right, Sherlock, yes,' he moaned, rutting his hips against Sherlock's teasing tongue. 'Tease me until I go mad. Yes, oh god yes.'

Sherlock wrapped his tongue around John, breathing hot and heavy on his erection.

'Oh Jesus, oh fuck,' John ground out, rutting his hips faster. 'How is that even possible? Am I actually fucking your tongue? Oh fucking hell that feels so fucking good!'

Sherlock wrapped his tongue tighter and resumed his head bobbing, swallowing more and more of John's erection. John was now long past coherent speech. He whimpered and moaned and gasped as Sherlock's tongue worked its magic. His hand dropped from Sherlock's hair and grasped for purchase against the wall, his knees incredibly weak from the magical ministrations of Sherlock's tongue.

Sherlock pulled completely back. 'Don't fight it. Let yourself have the release,' he spoke in a voice ten times deeper than his usual one. He then lunged himself onto John. John whimpered at the loss of contact, nearly screaming when it returned with vigour. The sensation of not only having Sherlock's mouth around him but his tongue too was driving John mad with pleasure. One swipe of Sherlock's tongue later John was keening, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream, hands grasping Sherlock's hair to hold him still as he came down his throat. Sherlock drank all that John gave him and removed his mouth with a loud pop.

'Good boy. Clever boy. So glad you listened to my mouth.'

John sank down to the floor and sighed in pure bliss.

'With a voice that sounds like sex and a talented tongue and mouth, I would be a fool not to listen. It's a triple threat: voice, tongue, and mouth. I was utterly powerless under that influence.'

'Do you see now? You're not the one in charge,' growled Sherlock. 'I am.'

'Mmm. Yes, sir. Of course, sir. My apologies, sir,' John mumbled, still in his post-orgasmic haze.

'You're forgiven.' Sherlock clambered onto John's lap, grabbing one of his hands and placing it on his own straining erection.

'Thank you sir,' John moaned, looking down at Sherlock's erection in his hand. He slowly worked his hand up and down at first, squeezing and twisting as he felt Sherlock's legs lock around his waist and his body go rigid with desire.

'Is this all you want, sir?' he asked, twisting his hand around the head before plunging back down. 'Just my hand?'

'No,' Sherlock breathed down John's ear. 'I want all of you.'

'And you'll have me,' John breathed. 'May I make one small request, sir?'

'Go right ahead.' Sherlock nipped John's ear. 'I'm listening.'

'I want you,' John groaned. 'God, do I want you. But, I want you in your chair, me riding you, straddling you. You have no idea how long I've been fantasising about you taking me in that bloody chair. Would you please allow me to live that fantasy?'

'Get me some sunglasses and some pain meds and I'll happily go out there and take you like you've never been taken before.' Sherlock squeezed John's cheek and smirked. 'Think you can do that?'

'Yes, sir,' John nodded eagerly. He stood up a little too quickly, his head swooning from the blood rush. He steadied himself and exited the shower, drying himself off before dashing out to get what Sherlock requested.

He first dashed to the bedroom, grabbing the lube from the drawer and a pair of Sherlock's sunglasses from the drawer. John wasn't sure why Sherlock kept a drawer full of different types of glasses, maybe for disguise purposes, but he had discovered it about a month ago on accident. Ok, so he was snooping through Sherlock's things because he wanted to know more about the man with the mysterious cheekbones, but it was before they became intimate so John thought it wouldn't matter.

Dashing out to the sitting room he closed the blinds, blocking out a lot of light but he was sure it would still irritate Sherlock's sensitive eyes. Heading back to the bathroom he filled a cup with water and grabbed some Tylenol from the pantry. When he returned to Sherlock he was sitting under the spray of water, face tilted up so the spray was beating against his forehead in a steady rhythm.

'I brought what you asked for sir,' John said softly, not really wanting to disturb Sherlock if he was concentrating on trying to will his headache away. John wouldn't put it past him, the brilliant git. Sherlock cracked open an eye, made a noncommittal sound in the depths of his throat, and gestured for John to help him out of the shower's spray.

John set the supplies down on the counter and moved to help Sherlock up. He turned the water off as Sherlock stood, helping him out and drying him off gently. He towelled his hair as gingerly as he could without upsetting his love's head.

'Here, love,' he said quietly. 'Take these.' He put the pills into Sherlock's palm and held the cup of water out for him as well. Sherlock shoved the pills down his throat and drank the water as quickly as he could.

'Thank you,' he smiled appreciatively.

'You're quite welcome love,' John smiled, kissing him softly.

Sherlock pulled back with a happy sigh. 'Now to live out this fantasy of yours.' He picked up the sunglasses and slid them onto his face.

'You look damn sexy with those sunglasses on,' John purred, wrapping his arms around his lover's shoulders. 'I did close the blinds in the sitting room too, so maybe that will help.'

He started walking backwards from the room, leading Sherlock out to the sitting room, enticing him with sweet kisses and nips. Sherlock flipped their positions and delicately placed himself on his chair. His eyes were still sensitive but it hurt his head less than with the light shining through, and his meds should kick in soon to dull what pain was left. He dragged John onto his lap with his strong arms and drew him into a tender kiss. John held Sherlock's face gingerly in his hands, his thumbs skimming across his cheekbones. He kissed him softly, meshing their lips together in a steady rhythm. Sherlock, lips still meshed to John's, started to circle his finger experimentally around his counterpart's entrance. John groaned into Sherlock's mouth, arching into his touch.

'I think... I think I left the lube in the bathroom,' he said, rocking against Sherlock. He grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand to his mouth. 'Let me wet your fingers.' He swirled his tongue around the fingertips, looking at Sherlock through hooded eyes. Sherlock nodded his consent and shoved his fingers into John's welcoming mouth. John sucked on Sherlock's offered fingers, coating them with his saliva, swirling his tongue over and between the fingers.

'It won't take much to open me,' he said, releasing the thickly coated fingers. 'I'm still pretty open from our dressing room romp.'

Sherlock pressed his lips to the pulse point in John's neck and moved his fingers downwards, pushing them in without much difficulty.

'Oh god,' John moaned, pushing down on Sherlock's fingers. He tilted his neck so Sherlock would have better access, writing above him. 'I want you, I want you,' he chanted.

'All in good time,' Sherlock chortled, pushing his fingers in deeper and deeper.

'I'm sorry about this,' he apologised in advance before moving his lips to John's unblemished shoulder and sinking his teeth in deep until red blood was drawn and began to trickle into his mouth.

'Oh Christ!' John cried, his shoulder trembling as Sherlock bit down. 'Harder, Sherlock. Bite harder. Leave a scar, permanently mark me as yours.' John had no idea where the hell that came from but he was too consumed with lust to care. He rocked against Sherlock's fingers, pushing them deeper, needing to feel him deep inside. Sherlock sank his teeth deeper; pulling at the skin, creating a hollow hole in John's shoulder. More blood was drawn and soon enough the thick red liquid was coating John's tanned skin on his shoulder and was cascading down his arm. He licked at the wound with the tip of his tongue, savoring the tangy iron taste of John's blood. He removed his fingers and gazed into John's eyes. The greenish brown pools held no fear or pain, but adoration and lust.

'I am sorry,' he hushed gently, eyeing the wound and the blood pumping from it.

'I'll clean and dress it later,' John rushed out. 'Can you fuck me now? Please?' He wiggled down on Sherlock's cock, licking his palm and slicking Sherlock's prick with his spit. Sherlock didn't hesitate. He pushed himself inside and started to rock slowly. He tilted backwards and lifted his hips so that John was perched above him, sat fully on his member. John threw his head back and cried out, sinking down on Sherlock's cock until he was buried balls deep in his arse. He writhed frantically above him, adjusting to his size again. He lifted up slightly before impaling himself down on his lover's cock, crying in ecstasy. Sherlock thrust upwards, hitting John's prostate with a war cry. He snarled and bared his teeth. The sight of John, despite being darkened by his sunglasses, was beautiful and entrancing.

'Oh fuck me!' John cried as Sherlock hit his prostate. 'Harder! Harder please!'

And so Sherlock did just that. His thrusts became harder, faster, and so precise that with every other beat he was targeting John's prostate. John was coming apart, his entire being being ripped to shreds as Sherlock fucked him hard and fast and deep.

'God yes! Yes! Oh fuck!' He clutched Sherlock's shoulders tightly, his nails digging into the flesh and leaving angry little red marks. 'That's fucking perfect you gorgeous fucking perfect human being!'

Sherlock was too busy putting his efforts into making love to John to make a reply but he just about managed to make a hungry growling sound. One last thrust ought to do it if any of his experiment's results were anything to go by. John came screaming, his head thrown back, his back arched, impaling himself on Sherlock's cock until he was buried balls deep. Sherlock hadn't even touched him and John was cumming so damn hard he was seeing spots. Sherlock squeezed John's cock as he came and continued to thrust harshly in and out. His lips went to the drying scar and he once more sank his teeth into his flesh. John thrashed on Sherlock's cock, screaming at the searing pain in his shoulder that was translated to pleasure in is lust-addled mind. His vision was going blurry at the edges and he smiled as he realised he just might pass out from the massive amount of pleasure. Sherlock pulled out, kissing the wound on John's shoulder. He looked quite out of it so he decided to run his knuckles down his lover's ribs, causing bouts of laughter to escape his lips.

'You okay?' he asked in concern. John giggled and leaned against Sherlock's shoulder. As he came down from his high he started to feel the pain in his shoulder. He groaned and hissed as he stretched it experimentally.

'My shoulder could be better,' he grimaced. 'It felt absolutely fantastic at the time, don't worry about it. I just need to clean it and put a dressing on it.' He pressed his forehead to Sherlock's and sighed.

'I feel sated and thoroughly fucked and–' He paused, unsure if he wanted to say his next words.

'Loved?' Sherlock replied. 'It's fine if that was the word you wanted to use.' He kissed the tip of John's nose. He shifted slightly, adjusting his sated cock against John's stomach. Glancing at John's shoulder, he frowned.

'You've lost a lot of blood.'

'That's probably why I feel so tired,' John yawned, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder. 'And yeah, I do feel loved.'

'Please don't pass out on me,' Sherlock said, stroking the small of John's back.

'What would you have done if you had fucked me so damn well I had?' John giggled, the blood loss making him feel fuzzy.

'Oh god.' Sherlock clambered to his feet, hauling John into his arms and carrying him like a baby all the way over to the medical cupboard, pulling out the materials to clean and dress the wound. He sat John on the kitchen work surface and stroked his now extremely pale face.

'I'm not good with people who faint. Don't you dare faint, John. Just tell me how to dress this wound.'

John's head lolled against Sherlock's shoulder. He was dizzy and his head hurt and he just wanted to sleep.

'You gotta… You gotta clean it first,' John mumbled. 'Soap. Warm water. No hot… No hot water. Warm. Can I go to bed?'

'No,' Sherlock scolded. 'I don't think that's a good idea.'

He leant over the sink and turned on the tap until it turned lukewarm. He then began to clean away the dried blood and purify the wound.

'What now?' he asked sharply, swallowing hard as John's head rolled to the side once more.

'Dis… Disin…' He groaned and lolled his head against his chest. 'The… The stuff that cleans it of the bad germs and stuff.'

Sherlock pulled what he thought was the right thing out and began to dab at the wound.

'Sorry,' he apologised as John hissed.

'Stings,' John slurred.

'That's good. It's cleaning the wound,' Sherlock reassured John. He moved to find a suitable bandage, not bothering to ask John if there were any more stages he needed to go through. But that was fine as he probably wouldn't have gotten a straight answer anyway. He bandaged the wound and picked up John once again.

'Come on. Please be ok.' He rocked him gently in his arms.

'Sleep?' John whispered. 'Please?'

'Ok,' Sherlock reluctantly agreed, unsure if he should allow John to sleep. He carried him to their bed and pulled the covers over him.

'Night love,' he whispered.

John was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Sherlock glanced at the clock and sighed. They'd have to leave in half an hour. If John was still tired and queasy he'd have to go to the hospital to visit his mother and brother by himself. That was something he really didn't want to have to do by himself and he wasn't keen on leaving John in such a state either.

John's dreams were fuzzy and foggy and he didn't sleep well at all. In the back of his mind he knew there was somewhere he needed to be. Somewhere he needed to go and visit someone. And he had to go with Sherlock and meet someone. He wanted to wake up, he wanted to go to where he knew he needed to be, but his brain simply wouldn't allow it. He slept on, distressed and worried about the importance of his meeting.

Sherlock crawled onto John and awkwardly began placing feather light kisses upon his exposed skin.

'John,' he mumbled. 'Wake up now.' He was surprised to see that that had worked and John's eyes began to open.

John groaned and turned his face into the pillow. His head still hurt and his mouth was dry.

'Water,' he croaked.

Sherlock fetched a glass of water and returned. Clambering back onto John he turned him around and sat him up, holding the glass up to his lips, and pouring the liquid down his throat.

'You're really scaring me,' Sherlock said tenderly. 'Not many things can scare me, John. I assume you know how special that makes you. Even–' He took a deep breath, uncertain of whether he should say anything or not. After all John wasn't exactly in a state where getting worked up was a wise idea. 'Even if I'm still experimenting on what 'us' is, and whether 'us' works. So far we've made a brilliant team if you were wondering what the results are.'

He placed the water aside and looked at John for a glimmer of recognition but all he saw was a misty haze. John wasn't going to go anywhere anytime soon. He looked just about ready to fall asleep again.

'Listen, I'm going to visit my mother and brother now. I'll be back as soon as possible. I'm sure you can meet her another time. Sleep, get some rest.'

_God dammit. I did this! I bit into John's flesh and bled him like a lamb being slowly purged of its blood. Now he's weak and tired, and hurt. And it's all my fault._

The cool water sliding down his throat was heavenly. Once his throat had been properly hydrated John nuzzled against Sherlock, his head lolling despite his best efforts to keep it upright. He could hear Sherlock talking, could hear the worried tone to his voice, but his head was too fuzzy to take any of it in. He grunted and pressed himself closer to the body of warmth, curling against it.

'Dun worry,' he mumbled sleepily. 'Iz awl k. Love. You.' He pressed closer to the warmth and fell back asleep.

'John,' Sherlock said gingerly, gently shaking his shoulder. When he got no reply or response from him his heart did a strange backwards flip. He cursed under his breath, looped his arms around John and dragged him from underneath the covers and into the safety of his arms.

'I'm going to take you to see a proper doctor, ok?' He swallowed nervously. How much blood had John lost? He'd been too panicked to note it.

John's memory was fuzzy and in pieces. He remembered being in bed, then somehow in the back of a cab, and then everything was bright and smelling of disinfectant. Where was Sherlock? He wanted to know what the hell was going on. Where was he? Before he could voice his worries he felt a needle being jabbed in his arm, cool liquid flowing through his veins, and his eyes closed once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, John is going to be fine. Next chapter will be posted on Monday at some point. Happy Fourth of July to my fellow Americans, though I am currently wearing a Union Jack t-shirt and drinking tea. My brother called me a turncoat. I shall rebel! Ha :) See you all Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	21. Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating Monday or yesterday. My days were pretty busy and I didn't have time to edit or post this. But it's here now, so I hope you can forgive me.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Sherlock's mum, Mycroft  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: meeting the parents (scary!), voice kink, lewd acts in hospital, and Moriarty makes another threat to our boys. Prepare your feels. This one's a doozy.

Violet Holmes was a kindly woman but quite shy when it came to people she didn't know. She was pale like Sherlock but her curly locks were a reddish colour, and unlike both her boys she was always smiling. She did not share the same beliefs as her sons on sentimentality and emotions but she understands perfectly why feelings and emotions scare them witless.

Their father had beaten them witless as children, and it had been as though he had knocked every emotion and feeling out of them, leaving them bare and numb. He had beaten her too but at least she had known better. Both Mycroft and Sherlock had grown up with it and it was perfectly well known that what happens to the boy creates the man. She hadn't been able to help her boys then but as soon as she had heard of all the goings on back home she knew that she could try and help them now.

It would seem that a lot had happened since she'd been away. Both Mycroft and Sherlock had fallen in love with nice, charming men. They were finally starting to move on in their lives and she couldn't be happier. Which meant that as she looked on at the sight of her younger son hunched over perhaps one of the few lucky people he allowed into his life, and with her older son shot in the chest and hospitalised only a few doors away, her heart was breaking.

**...::-::...**

It was bright. Why was it so damn bright? His head hurt, his mouth was dry, his shoulder throbbed. Wait... That wasn't his shoulder that had been shot. What had happened... Oh. Now he remembered. The biting, the fucking, the blood loss. Shit.

He cracked his eyes open and blinked against the brightness of the lights. He searched for Sherlock, knowing he wouldn't want to leave his side. He found him, leaning over his bedside, a worried and extremely scared look in his eyes.

'Sherlock,' John croaked.

'Hey.' Sherlock found a big, insane grin splitting his features. 'How are you feeling now? They got some more blood into your system so you should feel a bit better at least.' He glanced back at his mother who was waiting in the doorway. 'And if you're up to it there's someone who wants to meet you.'

'My body feels better yeah,' John grinned sheepishly. 'Personally I feel like an idiot. Well, sort of. My shoulder hurts, my mouth is dry, and my head is better but I still have a small headache.' He glanced to the door and saw the smiling, ginger haired woman outside.

'Is that your mother?' he asked, smiling back at her politely.

'Yes,' Sherlock replied with a small nod. 'Are you ready to meet her? I don't want to push you.' He smirked softly. 'And you really are an idiot, John.'

John huffed a laugh and rolled his shoulders. He winced at the pressure in them both, but both for different reasons.

'I would be honoured to meet your mother,' he grinned. 'Just let me make myself presentable.' He sat up in bed and organised his covers, smiling gently down at Sherlock. Sherlock gestured for his mother to enter the room.

'Mother, it's my pleasure to introduce you to John Watson.' He moved aside, allowing her to enter.

Violet Holmes smiled at John. 'It's a pleasure indeed. How's the shoulder?' she asked sweetly. 'Sherlock's explained to me what happened. These criminal sorts are a strange sort. Biting you and leaving you to slowly bleed to death. It must have been terrifying.'

John frowned but Sherlock just gave him a look as if to say 'just go with it.'

'Yes. It was... terrifying, to say the least,' John said, eyeing Sherlock but smirking. 'I'm just glad that Sherlock found me in time.'

He turned back to Sherlock's mother and smiled politely. 'And it's wonderful to meet you ma'am. I only wish it had been under better circumstances.'

'Please, call me Violet. Ma'am sounds too formal.'

Violet Holmes' eyes narrowed and she hummed. 'I see that my son has taught you well to lie and deceive, John.' Her eyes twinkled in amusement. 'Not well enough I'm afraid.'

She turned to her son who was looking more and more nervous and edgy by the second. 'I'm certain I don't want to deduce the full details of how John got his injury but I'm not stupid, and I most certainly wasn't born yesterday. I can tell that it wasn't a criminal who bit him. Just as I can tell that you drank half a bottle of whisky last night and are still suffering from a hangover.' She lightly batted her youngest son on the head in a half-hearted scolding.

'Mother,' Sherlock winced and shuddered. John blushed and burst out laughing. He had to hold an arm around himself as he was laughing so hard his stomach started to hurt.

'I always wondered where the Holmes boys got their powers of deduction,' he said as soon as he could breathe. 'Violet, you are now one of my favourite people in the world. I think we will get along very well.'

'And you will be mine, John,' Violet laughed. She indeed liked the man. He was kind and friendly, and obviously was just what Sherlock needed.

'Of course,' she continued, 'that is if you continue to love him as I know he loves you.'

Sherlock looked a little startled at that but he remained mute, hovering awkwardly in the background.

'Until the end of my days, Violet,' John said. He looked over to Sherlock. 'I promise.'

'Good to hear,' Violet beamed. 'Now I'm sorry to leave so soon but I promised Mycroft some cake.'

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. 'Feeding him up mother? Stuffing him for next Christmas? He'd be much plumper than the usual turkey we have.'

For that he earned another thwack across the back of his head, slightly harder this time. 'Don't talk about your brother like that Sherlock Holmes.'

He groaned and clutched his head in his hands. 'Yes mother,' he mumbled.

'We'll talk soon, John.' Violet waved her goodbye leaving Sherlock pouting to himself.

'I look forward to it Violet!' John called after her. He turned to Sherlock with a wide grin. 'I like her.'

Sherlock huffed. 'Of course you would.' He crossed his arms across his chest and pouted harder.

John tutted. 'Don't pout love. Come here.' He patted the spot next to him on the bed.

Sherlock cautiously placed himself besides John. 'Are you certain you're ok? You... worried me for a while.'

John snuggled close, resting his head on Sherlock's chest. 'I'm a lot better than I was, that's for sure,' he sighed. 'Thanks for taking me here. I don't want to think about what might have happened if you hadn't.'

'It was my fault that you had major blood loss in the first place,' Sherlock sighed unhappily. 'It was the least I could have done.'

'But I also allowed you to bite me as well. I even asked for more,' John pointed out. 'So it's both our faults. And you were the one to patch me up first as well. So, thank you.'

'Yes, you,' Sherlock poked John's chest, 'asking for me to hurt you. In conclusion this is all your fault,' he grinned.

John mock pouted before smiling. 'I think we can both agree that I am the utter nutter in this situation?'

'Yes we can. I apologised for biting you and you wanted more. Who was I to say no? A soldier must always follow his captain's orders.' Sherlock ran a finger along John's lips. 'Your pout is quite a sight, John.'

John jutted out his lower lip further, giving Sherlock puppy dog eyes. Sherlock coiled his fingers around John's wrist and began to rub methodical circles on his hands. He leant his head against John's and closed his eyes.

'It would seem no matter what we do we both end up in the hospital one way or another.'

'So it seems,' John mused. 'We don't exactly have the safest job, nor the safest relationship either. Platonic or not, we're a dangerous combination. One of the first texts you sent me said "Could be dangerous," but I showed up anyway. Because I need a little danger in my life. The mundane life bores me, sets me on edge. But this,' he punctuated by placing a hand over Sherlock's heart, 'this is what I truly love. You and everything that comes with you. Even the danger.'

'That's what I'm worried about,' Sherlock mused tiredly. 'I love us, love being with you, love how you make me feel and how I effect you, but am I in love with you?' He opened his eyes, instantly falling into the deep hazel orbs belonging to John.

'How can I possibly even know that?' he questioned. 'Because without my memories all I have to go on is the now, and maybe that scares me more than I am willing to admit. Because it's the memories that make us who we are, but even without them I still feel this insane link between us. It's indescribable, inexplicable, and the oddest thing I have ever experienced.' His brow furrowed.

'So how can I tell if I'm in love with you? What does it feel like, John? How can I tell? I care for you, that I know. I'm scared of losing you to the constant battle we face each day, that I am certain of too.'

John swallowed. How could he describe what love feels like? The typical definition wouldn't do, neither would the dictionary definition. Sherlock had probably looked it up at some point and it wouldn't have cleared anything up. If anything the detective would have just been more confused. John sighed.

'I don't know if this will help as you do this anyway, memories or not,' he began. 'To me, when you're in love, the other person is constantly on your mind. You think about them constantly, when you're around them not only do you feel on top of the world but you feel like nothing bad could ever happen so long as you two are together. Every little thing that person says or does is magical, they are the most interesting person in the world.

'When you're around them you can feel your heart beating faster and hear your pulse in your ears. Your hands get clammy, your breathing escalates, your pupils dilate when you look at them. You feel euphoric, you feel nervous, you're happy and excited and all smiles. And when something happens to that person, good or bad, you'll always be there for support. You two are so close that you feel like you can read each other's thoughts, that sometimes they know you better than you do, and you're the best of friends. And when it's just the two of you, even if there are other people around, you feel like you and them are the only two people in the room and no one else matters.'

John looked up at Sherlock, his heart pounding in his chest. 'I don't know if that helped, seeing as you and I have almost always acted like that around each other. But that's what it feels like when I'm around you.'

Sherlock allowed John's words to process in his mind palace. Each word down to the very last letter was placed in the room labelled 'love.' He hummed to himself happily as the ominous door in his mind with a large question mark in it was stuffed to the brim with the new information.

'You're constantly on my mind,' he started. 'You make me feel completely indestructible when we are together. You are most certainly interesting in your actions and words. And,' he pulled John's hand back onto his speeding heart. 'You make my heart beat so fast I'm scared it's going to give out on me.' He took a deep, sweeping breath. 'My breathing has escalated. I presume by the looks you sometimes give me my eyes are dilating. I have never felt more nervous to disappoint someone in my life, and neither have I experienced such happiness and joy and excitement as to what is going to happen next in our relationship and lives together.

'You are certainly a good friend,' Sherlock continued. 'My only friend. The only person to truly accept me as I am it would seem.' He leaned in closer and nuzzled John's nose. 'I do believe that somehow, despite my memory loss, and doubts, and lies, and experimenting, I have fallen in love with you.'

Tears pricked in John's eyes as he listened to Sherlock's words. He hung on every word, every syllable, and realised he felt the same way. Granted, he had already known he loved Sherlock, but his lover's words just confirmed how much he loved him.

'I love you too, Sherlock,' he smiled through his tears. 'I have never been so afraid to lose someone, never been so eager to see someone next to me in bed in the morning, never been so nervous about getting a heart attack because every time I see you my heart starts pounding erratically and I have difficulty breathing. I think it's safe to say that I love you so goddamn much it hurts.'

'The feeling is quite mutual,' Sherlock agreed. 'It pains me to love you this much, because I fear that something is going to happen to take it away from me.'

'Me too. God, I'm so scared that I'm going to lose you somehow,' John admitted. He cupped Sherlock's cheek in his hand and stared into his bright blue eyes. 'But I'm also not because you're here with me now, and just the fact that you let me into your heart tells me that neither of us will be going anywhere soon.'

'I wish I could hold your faith in that,' Sherlock nibbled at his lower lip. 'I just hate not having any control on what our fate holds.'

'You just need to have a little faith, love,' John said. 'Not necessarily a religious faith mind you since I know you don't believe in any of that. But faith in me, faith in yourself, faith in us. I firmly believe that we will endure through anything, and while it may be hard I believe in us.'

His thumb stroked Sherlock's cheek soothingly. 'I love you with such a burning passion and I have faith in us.'

'You're so strong, emotionally and physically.' Sherlock clambered onto John's lap and leaned in to usher, 'That's one of the things that I think makes me love you so.'

'You're mad and brilliant and infuriating,' John said, leaning up slightly. 'You keep me on my toes and I'm never bored and you make my life exciting. Those are but a few on the list of why I love you. And new things get added to that list every single day.'

'I've noted that the mere sound of my voice makes your heart beat frantically.' Sherlock kissed John on the lips briefly. 'Am I correct in my analysis?'

'It does a lot more than that,' John breathed, his lips following Sherlock's until his shoulder protested and he was forced to lean back.

'Oh?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow in amusement. 'I believe I can feel that.' He wriggled on John's lap. 'My voice effects you immensely so, doesn't it?'

'Mmm. Yes, it does,' John moaned. 'When you were instructing me how to wank yesterday it took all my self control not to cum on the spot. Your voice is like sex, Sherlock. So very, very erotic. You probably don't remember, but sometimes before we became us I would ask you mundane questions just to listen to you talk. And then I would take a shower or go to my room and wank right after.'

John rocked gently underneath Sherlock and moaned. 'One time I asked you to say filthy things to me during sex too. And while the things you said weren't particularly filthy, your deep baritone was and I came very quickly.'

'Hmm. I can believe that.' Sherlock rocked harder. 'I wonder if my voice alone could make you cum?' He thought about that for a long moment before rolling off of John.

'Shall we put it to the test? No hands, no touching, just my voice. This way we won't get caught in the act by the nurses or my mother. So? What do you think? Is it possible?'

'I would love to but seeing as you've already rutted against me the results would be inconclusive,' John pointed out. 'However, I am too lost in the prospect and my lust to actually care.' He settled down in the sheets and closed his eyes.

'Go ahead,' he breathed softly.

'Oh, where should I start? Should I start by how I love the feel of you inside of me?' He tilted his head back and licked his lips. 'God do I love that feeling. I didn't think I would. How wrong could I have been?'

John moaned and wriggled in his seat. 'Tell me how I feel inside you,' he whispered.

'Hot, large, and throbbing,' Sherlock moaned back in response. 'It's a perfect feeling.'

'And you're tight and hot around me,' John moaned, his head leaning back against his pillow. 'Now please, more. Tell me more.'

'How about the fact that I have found another great use for my mouth other than making deductions?' Sherlock purred.

'Tell me,' John smiled.

'I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. Your prick in my mouth, tongue gently swirling around it, cheeks clinging against it.' Sherlock chuckled. 'And you said I don't speak dirty.'

'Oh god,' John gasped, writhing, desperate to touch himself. 'More. Sherlock, more. As the song says, talk dirty to me.'

'Shall I discuss my fantasies? The ones of us together?' Sherlock questioned, his voice silky smooth.

'Yes. Go right ahead,' John grinned. 'You've only ever told me one. Where I fuck you so hard you can't walk for a week. Which we've sort of done, but I'd be more than welcome to do it again if you don't remember.'

'Ooh, yes please. In which you could cater to me afterwards as I would not be able to stand.' Sherlock grinned widely. 'Maybe you could help me live out the one where you are gagged and bound, thrashing about on the floor in front of a fire, wanting to scream my name but not being able to. You'll be covered in sweat for two reasons: One, I'll be making hard and passionate love to you, and two, the flame of the fire is so close the heat is almost uncomfortable.' Sherlock breathed out deeply. 'That is my main one currently.'

John imagined the scene. He had experimented with gags and some mild bondage before, once with Sherlock, but before then he had never been the one bound. And it had exhilarated him. He wanted more. And being bound so near to the fire was just the right amount of danger for him. He moaned and threw his head back, his hands fisting in the sheets, his hips rutting helplessly against air.

'God, yes,' he groaned. 'Yes, yes. I... I want to. God, I want to. More. Please. Don't stop.'

'Well, as you may know, I am a major fan of Doctor who. I have a fantasy of you role playing as The Doctor and as me role playing as your faithful companion.' He groaned. 'Imagine the possibilities.'

John did. Oh boy, did John imagine the possibilities. He whimpered as he felt his prick become unbearably hot. He hands clenched the sheets so tight his knuckles turned white.

'God, Sherlock,' he gasped, his hips pumping wildly. 'Keep talking. Fantasy or not, I need to hear you. Don't stop talking. Please. I think... I think this might work. Hot. Close. Fuck!'

'Shhh, John. We don't want to get caught, do we?' Sherlock said with a twinkle in his eyes.

'I have another fantasy. One where I sing to you whilst making love to you. My favourite song being from  _The Hobbit_. It was one of my favourite books to read as a child, and it was perhaps the first fictional book I ever delved into. Shall I sing it to you now, John?'

Sherlock singing? That would probably be the most erotic thing John would ever listen to. It sent more blood down south just imagining it.

'Yes, Sherlock. God yes. Let me hear you sing.'

Sherlock began to sing. His voice rumbled from deep within his chest, coiled around his Adam's apple, and slid out of his perfect and plump lips.

'Far over the misty mountains cold. To dungeons deep, and caverns old. We must away, at break of day. To find our long forgotten gold. The pines were roaring on the height. The winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread. The trees like torches blazed with light.'

John had never felt more aroused in his life. Sherlock's voice was absolutely perfect as he sang, every word seeming to have been caressed with his hot tongue as they spilled from his mouth. John's mouth fell open, jealous that the words had touched Sherlock's tongue so he was attempting to drink them down. He could feel them caressing him, travelling all along his body until they settled around his prick. His back arched and his breath came in gasps.

'Close,' he managed to say. 'More. Sing.'

'The bells were ringing in the dale. And men looked up with faces pale. The dragon's ire more fierce than fire. Laid low their towers and houses frail.' Sherlock tapped his fingers along his thigh to the steady rhythm of the song as he began to sing more beautiful words. 'The mountain smoked beneath the moon. The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom. They fled their hall to dying – fall beneath his feet, beneath the moon.'

John moaned and groaned and thrashed in the sheets. He was rock hard, achingly so, but he feared Sherlock's voice wouldn't be enough to bring him over the edge. He needed friction badly. He squeezed his legs together and whimpered. It wasn't much, but it would do. He listened to Sherlock continue his song, squeezing his legs in a steady rhythm until he keened, cumming with a choked whimper. It wasn't very satisfying, but at least the ache in his prick was gone. Sherlock broke off from his song into a loud bout of laughter.

'Oh John.' He held a hand over his mouth, trying to hold back his outrageously loud giggles. 'If you could have seen your face. It was very amusing indeed.'

John still had his eyes closed, panting as he gathered his wits about him. God, he needed to fuck or be fucked so bad. He needed a satisfying orgasm because the one he'd had had left him frustrated.

'You need to be more vocal when we have sex,' he said, finally opening his eyes, blinking against the bright light. 'What was so funny about my face?'

'You were frustrated with yourself. That much is clear,' Sherlock grinned. 'You wanted more than my voice, didn't you?'

'I don't know what I wanted more. You mouth, your arse, or your prick,' John groaned. 'And that orgasm wasn't very satisfying. So be warned that as soon as we're somewhere private I'm going to shag you into next week.'

'I'd like to see you try,' Sherlock quipped. 'I believe I'd be walking within the hour.'

'I didn't literally mean... It's an expression, Sherlock,' John giggled. 'It means that I'm going to shag you long and hard until we both cum screaming.'

Sherlock blushed and swallowed. 'Of course there's that too.'

John smirked at Sherlock's blush. 'As soon as I'm discharged, Sherlock. As soon as I'm discharged.' He settled against his sheets before a thought popped into his mind.

'Hey, how much blood had I lost anyway?'

Sherlock's blush was quickly drained as his face paled and his features contorted.

'Enough for it to be dangerous to your life.'

'Ah.' John grimaced and nodded. 'Sorry I asked. How long until they'll let me leave? I assume they wanted to keep me here for observation.'

'I think you can go home after tonight. You seem far better. It's good to see a little bit of colour in those cheeks of yours.' He gently swept a finger over John's right cheek.

'You know it was quite interesting. Whilst you were in the cab on my lap you were mumbling some quite intriguing things.'

'Oh?' John blushed, feeling the warmth pool in his cheeks. 'And what did I say?'

'You – er,' Sherlock frowned and scratched his cheek awkwardly. 'You were going on about how you want to bring up children, with me.'

John blushed and swallowed. 'I was, huh?' He huffed out an awkward laugh. 'Sorry you had to hear that. It was... something that popped into my head one day and I couldn't let it go. But don't worry about it. A child is too much responsibility for us right now, and too dangerous with Moriarty's threat looming over our heads. I say we stick with the cat for now, alright?'

Sherlock nodded in understanding. 'I wouldn't object. I just thought you ought to know that. I'm not terribly good with children, but then I have very little experience with them. And,' he mused, 'our lives are dangerous now, but I am hoping they won't always be so. Don't push away the idea completely. Once we've sorted out our lives, our relationship, and what we both want, I'm sure we could work children into the mix.' He kissed the very tip of John's ear.

'I hope our lives won't be filled with danger forever,' John sighed. He reached out and held Sherlock's hand. 'I would love to be able to settle down with you, have an exciting but not dangerous life, raise a couple of kids, have some pets, the typical boring married life. And I can't wait to share that life with you.'

'Don't say that,' Sherlock scolded. 'Our lives will never be boring. Not whilst we have each other.'

'I didn't say boring would be a bad thing,' John smiled. 'Boring could be good. It would be different and a whole new experience. But yes, as long as I have you I'll never be bored.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand.

'I love you.'

'I love you more,' Sherlock said stubbornly with a cheesy grin.

'Oh you do, do you?' John grinned cheekily. 'Why don't you prove that my dear?'

Sherlock gripped John's face in his hands and smothered his lips all over his lover's before pulling back. 'There's more of that waiting for you when we get home.'

When Sherlock broke their kiss John's eyes were hazy. He smiled goofily and giggled.

'I can't wait to see what else I'll be getting once we're home.'

'Anything you request and I'll do it,' he promised. 'Though no biting, ok?'

'Agreed. No biting,' John nodded. 'So, how about we fulfil one of your fantasies? It's the least I could do after you so graciously fulfilled one of mine, especially with your hangover. So, do you want to try the fireplace one? Or something a little simpler?'

'A simpler one? And miss the chance of seeing you tied up and gagged whilst being reduced to a puddle of sweat? I think not. I shall pin you down in front of a fire before this week is out.' Sherlock pushed his hand through John's hair. 'And we both need our hair cut at some point too. Not that I particularly dislike your long mop.'

'I kinda like my longer hair too. And yours is great to get a grip on now.' He threaded his fingers in Sherlock's hair and tugged. 'But maybe it wouldn't hurt to get a trim. That way my hair will still be longer and you can still run your fingers through it. I've noticed you like to do that.'

Sherlock hummed in agreement. He loved the feel of the coarse hair passing through the spaces between his fingers.

'I do,' he admitted. 'A lot in fact. It relaxes me, and helps me sort out my thoughts when they are muddled.'

'Petting your hair does the same for me,' John smiled, running his fingers through Sherlock's curls. 'It calms me like nothing else.'

'You're probably the only person I've ever allowed to touch my hair. Even as a child when my mother tried to brush my locks I would scream and throw a fit,' Sherlock told John honestly

'Did it hurt when she tried to brush it? Or did you just not like people touching your hair?' John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. 'I hated human touch from a very early age. Even before my father began to dish out his cruel beatings.'

'Oh,' John nodded. 'And all that with your father probably just made it worse, huh?'

'Yes. Left me terrified of my own shadow,' Sherlock whispered in a barely audible voice, but he knew John had heard him.

'Oh, love,' John whispered, pulling him in for a soft embrace. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that you went through that. I wish I could have been there to stop it. But I'm here now, and I'm going to take care of you and love you like you always should have been.'

'You know John, I do recollect something about the day we met.' Sherlock looked a little perplexed. He wasn't sure if he should tell John about the detail he had recalled.

'You do?' John asked, intrigued. 'What is it?'

Sherlock shook his head, his expression somber, eyes dark, blackened by his past. 'Doesn't matter. I'd really rather not delve into it. I believe it was before you and I met that day anyway. It was silly, ridiculous, and completely illogical of me.'

'I'd still like to hear it sometime,' John said. 'If it's something, anything that you remember about me then I would like to know what it is. Especially if it's about the day we met. It's a pretty important day. But only when you're ready. I don't want to push you.'

'I would not want to burden you.' Sherlock glanced away from John. 'It isn't a particularly nice memory.'

'Good or bad, I think anything you have to say is important,' John said, cupping Sherlock's cheek in his palm. 'But, once again, if you don't want to talk about it I won't push you. So, let's change the subject. Would you be up for visiting your mum and Mycroft?'

At the sound of his brother's name Sherlock froze. 'I was so hard on him. I never really apologised. I really should. Not because of the reasons you are probably thinking of though.'

He turned his head into John's chest. 'I should apologise because we are the same. I have been where Mycroft's been. I can remember with such clarity now, John.' He closed his eyes and listened to the deep, soothing breaths John was taking.

'I wanted out. I wanted out so badly. I was a coward though. I wasn't going to end it myself. I was going to wait for an escape to be handed to me on a platter, and if it was I was going to take it.' His own chest shuddered.

'I've only just remembered but that's no excuse. I should still apologise.'

'Oh, Sherlock,' John sighed, holding him close against his chest. He began petting Sherlock's hair, knowing it was soothing for the both of them. 'I'm so sorry. It truly is a miracle we found each other when we did. I don't want to think... No, I already know what would have happened if we had never met. And I don't want to think about it.' He placed a small kiss on the top of Sherlock's head.

'But we found each other, we saved each other, and we grew to love each other. And that is a miracle in itself.'

Sherlock nuzzled closer into John's chest. 'I don't believe in miracles,' he stated tiredly.

'Then what do you believe in?' John asked softly.

'I'm not sure I believe in much these days,' Sherlock replied sadly.

'Oh, baby,' John sighed sadly. 'I'm so sorry you feel that way. If it makes you feel any better, I believe in you.'

Sherlock looked perplexed. 'Baby?' he repeated.

'Um... Yeah,' John stammered, his cheeks burning red. 'Term of endearment. Since you're younger than me... I'm just gonna shut up now.'

'No, I kind of like it.' Sherlock clambered back on top of John, stretching out so he was lying fully across him. 'Tell me more about me being your baby.'

'I, um, well,' John stammered. 'You... You're my baby because... Heh. Despite what you may think, you are far more innocent than me. You curl into my chest in bed like a child would, almost like you are now.' He pet Sherlock's hair and smiled.

'You constantly seek my approval or guidance,' he continued. 'Much like a child, you use me as your moral compass. And, whenever I compliment you or tell you that you're amazing or fantastic or brilliant you puff out your chest and strut around like a male peacock. It's quite a sight.

'When you get all pouty and sulk on the sofa all I want to do is pull you into my lap and hold you until you calm down. I never could before, never sure what was ok or not around you, but I feel like I can now.

'I realise that was more so a list of how you're a child than my baby, but those are my reasons. I love how childlike and innocent you are, how you still have such a childlike fascination for specific subjects, and how, now that there's an us, you seek out my touch and approval and compliments a lot more now. And that is very good.'

'And what does that make you?' Sherlock manoeuvred himself so his head was leaning on John's shoulder. 'My old man. Yes that's what you are. The sensible old man in our relationship.'

John groaned. 'I'm only thirty six. That hardly makes me old,' he pouted. 'Still, at least you didn't call me your daddy.' He shuddered.

'Why would I call you after someone I hate?' Sherlock questioned, frowning. 'I was merely stating that you are the eldest and the most sensible in our relationship. And you are turning grey,' he teased gently.

John rolled his eyes up to glance at the tips of his hair, more visible now since he hadn't gotten it cut.

'Thirty six and I'm turning grey,' he pouted.

'Stop pouting. It's a very sexy thing that you've got going on.' Sherlock grabbed John's hand and brought it to his crotch. 'See. I like it,' he grinned.

John blushed and smiled. 'I could feel that growing against my thigh,' he grinned, squeezing slightly. 'I'm glad you like it. Any particular reason why?'

'You're an older man. Something about that exhilarates me.' Sherlock bucked upwards. 'And oh god that grey hair ... hmmm.'

'Mmm,' John hummed, palming Sherlock through his trousers. 'Tell me. Tell me how much you like being with an older man with greying hair.'

'Like it? I bloody love it! Your age has really made you quite beautiful.' He bucked again. 'It's fantastic!'

John grinned and pulled down Sherlock's zipper, slowly sticking his hand inside and grabbing his lover's throbbing erection.

'What do you love most about my age, baby?' he asked, stroking lazily. 'Is it my experience? My greying hair? The wrinkles on my forehead?'

'All of those,' Sherlock grunted, shivering under John's touch. John stroked Sherlock in earnest, not wanting to get caught but also wanting Sherlock to feel satisfied.

'Do you like how my mouth feels around you? Wet and warm and teasing? How you can look down into my face and see new wrinkles forming from a far less innocent act than scowling? You'll be the reason those wrinkles are around my mouth baby. From me sucking this beautiful cock of yours.' He squeezed tightly before continuing.

'I bet you want my mouth right now. Want my tongue on you. Teasing you. Making you all slick and wet and warm. Or would you prefer my arse? Tight and hot, surrounding your cock in my warmth. Which would you prefer, baby? Or are you too close to cumming to really care?'

'Close.' Sherlock froze, trying to hold himself back from cumming so soon. 'Don't care. So close.'

'It's ok,' John said softly. He leaned close to Sherlock's ear and whispered, 'Cum for me baby.'

Sherlock's body relaxed and with a barely stifled cry he started to spill out into John's hand.

'That's it baby, yes,' John whispered, biting Sherlock's earlobe. Sherlock grunted as he came to a standstill and he picked John's hand up, lapping any evidence of his cum away. John groaned at the sight of Sherlock licking away his own cum. He wasn't going to waste such a perfect opportunity though. He leant forward and stuck his own tongue out, joining Sherlock in cleaning up the evidence. Sherlock flicked his tongue against John's three times before pulling away.

'Doesn't take much to push me over the edge.'

'So I've noticed,' John smirked, licking his hand again just to be sure. He yawned and smiled apologetically. 'I hope you don't mind but I think I'm gonna kip out for a little while. You can go visit your mum and brother if you want, or you can stay here. I won't mind either.' He shifted against the pillow, making himself comfortable, closing his eyes and sighing.

'I'm not going to leave you, John,' Sherlock said, enveloping John in more of his body.

'Alright love,' John smiled, nice and warm from Sherlock's body. 'I love you.'

Sherlock closed his eyes. 'Love you too.'

However, behind his eyelids all he could see was John slowly bleeding to death whilst he chowed down on John's good shoulder. God, the blood was awful, thick and pumping, and never ending .

Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

'Oh, John,' he sighed heavily.

'Mmm?' John grunted, half awake.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock whispered.

'Iz... It's ok,' John mumbled, burrowing closer. 'Now we know the limit. Bites are good, but no blood.'

'I can't sleep, John,' Sherlock whimpered in a very childlike manner.

'Because you see me bleeding in the flat?' John asked, waking up slightly.

'Yes,' Sherlock stated bluntly.

'Oh, baby,' John sighed, holding him close. He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair again, hoping it might help calm him down.

'I'm sorry that that's all you can see, but you can also see that I'm alright now. I know what it feels like, to constantly see something so horrible and terrifying behind your eyes. Something that you did, haunting you until you haven't slept for days. But I worked through it by thinking of the good things. Please, love, try not to focus on the bad. Remember how good it felt, not how terrible it looked. And I know you're going to beat yourself up over this no matter what I say, but please try not to dwell on it. I'm better now because you reacted quickly enough to save me.'

'I know, I know,' Sherlock said with a heavy sigh. 'I enjoyed it, a lot. It was incredible. I loved the taste of your blood on my tongue. That scares me because I'm quite certain if I hadn't noticed how pale you'd gotten I would've simply continued biting into your wound. I hate myself for liking it. I hate myself,' he growled. 'I hate myself,' he reiterated.

'Shh baby, shh,' John shushed. 'So, you discovered you had a blood kink. I apparently have a pain kink, but only when you're the one hurting me. It's alright. We'll work through this. We can figure something out. Because I really enjoyed you biting into my shoulder, and, if I'm being truly honest, I wouldn't mind if you did it again. But my rational side is telling me I need to heal properly before anything of that sort happens again.'

He snuggled closer to Sherlock. 'Please don't hate yourself,' he said softly. 'I don't hate you for what happened, nor do I regret it happening. I truly enjoyed it, I did. But now we know how far to go. Please baby, don't hate yourself.'

'Okay, I'll try not to,' Sherlock murmured. 'I'm sure I'll get over it. Now get some sleep. Everyone knows that old men get grumpy when they don't get enough hours of sleep.'

John laughed and nodded.

'You don't have to stay if you don't want to,' he said, settling back against the sheets. 'Go visit your mum. I know you haven't seen her in a while. Go. Talk. Visit. I'll be fine. Even if you only go for five minutes, I'll be fine.'

'We'll go see her together when you're awake,' Sherlock said in a no-argument-about-it tone. 'I really don't want to leave you.'

'Understood, and deal,' John nodded. His eyes fluttered shut and his breathing slowed. He mumbled something incoherently before he drifted off to sleep. Sherlock let himself fall into a restless but slightly less haunted sleep than he'd been heading for before.

John slept dreamlessly, but he was restless. He didn't like sleeping in hospitals, they unnerved him. And he and Sherlock had spent a lot of time in hospitals lately. Twice because of Moriarty, once due to their own actions. John didn't want his subconscious dwelling on it. He forced the thoughts away and managed to sleep for a couple hours before he woke with a sharp pain in his shoulder. He looked over and saw Sherlock's head had somehow migrated to his bitten shoulder and he was nuzzling it in his sleep.

'Sherlock,' John grunted, trying to shift his shoulder. 'Sherlock, love, wake up. Sher, you're on my bad shoulder. Sher?' When Sherlock didn't respond John reached over with his other hand and shook Sherlock's shoulder roughly. Sherlock had been pulled into a deep slumber despite the fight he had had with sleep. He could hear a voice, feel a pulling at his shoulder, but none of that was quite breaking through his fatigued mind.

_It would seem our favorite detective is quite a sleeping beauty. I wonder what could possibly be wrong? Oh wait! Did you think Seb gave you the full cure to Sherlock's illness? Whoops. Seb was never one for having good communication skills. His body is cured, yes. His mind on the other hand ... He may be feeling quite tired. That's memory loss for you. It's quite a draining process. Good luck with waking him. –JM_

'Oh for fuck's sake,' John groaned. His shoulder was still trapped under Sherlock's head and now Sherlock's phone was going off. John rummaged in Sherlock's pockets until he found his Blackberry. He opened up the new BBM and felt his blood drain from his face.

'Sherlock,' John panicked, shaking him harder. 'Sherlock, wake up. Wake up goddammit!' He cried out and nearly threw the phone across the room in frustration.

The shaking got more persistent, the voice louder. The curious side of Sherlock wanted to wake up to see what all the commotion was about but the stronger side of him just pulled him further under the fog.

'Son of a bitch!' John screamed. He wrenched his shoulder from under Sherlock's head and cried out as searing pain shot through his body. He climbed out of the bed and ran from the room in search of Mycroft. After losing so much blood it was probably a bad idea to be running but John didn't care. He found Mycroft's room and burst in without knocking.

'Mycroft!' he gasped, catching his breath. The man in question looked up incredulously at John, taking in his hospital gown and his haggard appearance.

'Thank god your mother isn't here,' John continued before Mycroft could get a word in. 'There's something desperately wrong with Sherlock. He won't wake up. And he got this almost as soon as I tried to rouse him.' He handed Mycroft Sherlock's Blackberry, already open to the message.

'How does he know everything?' John asked, knowing full well Mycroft wouldn't have an answer. 'How does he know every single little detail about our lives? And what are we going to do about the other half of the antidote to Sherlock's illness?'

Mycroft's heart skipped a beat as he read the text. Not again. This was all his fault. He knew that it was, and yet he couldn't bring himself to tell John. He cursed Moriarty silently under his breath before struggling out from his hospital bed. He was no longer attached to a drip but the hospital had kept him under surveillance as he was still very weak, and although he'd never admit it, shaken up by the whole trauma he'd been through.

'I don't know,' he stated, taking a deep breath. 'Get a nurse or a doctor. We have to focus on Sherlock firstly.' He began to hobble out of his room.

If it had been under better circumstances he would have joked about Sherlock's hangover and John's bitten shoulder. As it happened there was nothing to laugh about in this situation at all. John followed Mycroft, trotting behind him.

'Are you sure you should be up and around?' he asked in concern. 'I mean, you did get shot in the chest barely two days ago. And the last I saw, you looked like shit.' They made it back to John's room, Sherlock sprawled across the bed just as John left him. He whimpered and moved to Sherlock's side, moving him away from the edge so he wouldn't fall.

'Get a doctor, John,' Mycroft ordered. 'I'm fine. It's my brother you should be worried about,' he sighed. 'Now, John!'

John sprinted from the room, running down the hall until he ran into a nurse. She was completely baffled but John's urgency to find a doctor spurred her on. John followed her to the doctor and explained the situation, the doctor and nurse running after him as he lead them to his room.

The two swarmed over Sherlock's unconscious body, gently moving Mycroft away as they took Sherlock's vitals only to tell John what he already knew.

Sherlock was in a coma and there was no guarantee he'd be waking up soon.

Sherlock was slipping further and further into the darkness, but for some reason he didn't care. He was tired, really tired, impossibly so. It wouldn't matter if he slept for a while longer, would it? John wouldn't mind. They were both in desperate need to regain both of their strengths.

**…::-::…**

John stood in the corner of his former room, looking on at Sherlock sleeping peacefully in his bed. Mycroft was back in his room recuperating, but John had the terrible honour of looking on as Sherlock slept on. It had almost been a day now. John had only left to get clothes the other day, having been cleared from his blood loss. But now he was back in the same room, Sherlock having moved into it as it seemed the logical solution. And while it seemed like Sherlock wouldn't wake up John held on to the belief that he would. Sherlock's mind was strong, he would work his way out of whatever had a hold on him. John knew he would.

'Please wake up soon,' John pleaded. 'Please, Sherlock. I don't want to lose you. Not like this.'

Violet Holmes silently entered the room and sighed sadly as she watched her younger son taking his turn in the hospital bed whilst his bespoken partner was taking his turn to stare intensely into space. She gently placed her hand on John's shoulder.

'It'll be ok dear. He's pulled through far worse.' John didn't seem so sure. John turned to Violet, tears in his eyes.

'I have seen your son perform some astounding feats, Violet,' he said solemnly. 'But it was always his body that was under attack, never his mind. I know he's brilliant but his mind has never been under such a massive attack before. I'm scared he won't be the same when he wakes up. If he wakes up. I only wish I knew what was going on inside his head.' Violet squeezed John's shoulder and nodded.

'I think we have to stay strong and believe that he will pull through this as whole as he can. My son is strong willed. He's not going to lose grip on reality so easily.'

'I'd like to think that he's coping in there,' John sighed. 'I know he's strong. I see his strength every day. But this one is different. It's so incredibly, incredibly different.'

'What do you mean dear?' Violet asked softly. John blanched. She didn't know, did she? Should she know?

'He... He hasn't been himself lately,' he said evasively. 'Apparently I've been talking in my sleep. About marriage and kids, and I think I might have scared him. Even just a little bit. But I don't think that's why his mind is under attack. Well, I know what's going on, but I don't want to endanger you.'

Violet tusked. 'Don't you dance around me, John. I may be old but I'm not as fragile as I look. Now you tell me what's going on with my two boys right now or so help me.' John sighed and hung his head.

'There's a man, an awful man, who has an unhealthy obsession with Sherlock,' he began. 'We've met him three times so far, and twice our lives were in danger. This thing that's wrong with Sherlock, it's some sort of drug induced amnesia. He woke up one morning and literally threw me out of bed because he couldn't remember who I was. He remembered his entire childhood, his life at the manor house, but everything after that was gone. He never did tell me where the memories stopped, but they were all mostly about life at home.' His eyes flicked over to Violet and he sighed.

'I know about your husband,' he admitted. 'I know what he did to you and your boys, and I just want to say I'm sorry you all had to go through that. But Sherlock, he always thought he was the only one. He made that pretty clear to me but Mycroft told me otherwise. And Mycroft went after the man responsible for putting Sherlock in the hospital and got himself shot... by your husband.'

Violet paled. 'My husband's alive?' She shook her head. 'You must be mistaken.'

'I'm not. I'm so sorry, but I'm not,' John apologised. 'Mycroft told me he had your husband incarcerated, but he broke out and now he's working with the man who poisoned Sherlock. If it even is poison. Mycroft was shot by him, your husband.'

Violet gripped onto the chair John was sitting on and closed her eyes. 'Oh. my poor boys. My poor darlings,' she said sadly in a small voice, her usual smile quickly vanishing.

'I'm sorry Violet,' John said, dropping his head. 'I hate to be the one to tell you. I'm so sorry.'

'It's okay. I would have found out one way or another,' Violet replied. 'Mycroft, I should go and check on him. The poor boy's distraught beyond belief. Even his nice gentleman friend can't seem to calm him. At least I know why now.'

'Yes. Go be with Mycroft. He could use his mother right about now,' John nodded. 'I'll stay here with Sherlock. And Violet?' The woman turned to look at him from the door. 'I am truly sorry. About everything.'

Violet nodded sadly before taking her leave.

**…::-::…**

Silence.

Sherlock's ears were filled with a deadly void.

Then suddenly they weren't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am apologising in advance for the next chapter. It's very emotional and quite long (over 50 typed pages, single spaced). It'll hopefully be posted on an actual Monday. So until then, I hope you all have a pleasant week. Prepare your feels for the next chapter. Our Sherlock creates his own world to cope with his coma. And it's everything he's ever dreamed of. Literally.
> 
> I'm gonna go now before I dig myself into a ditch and am drowned in your tears. Sorry. Just prepare yourselves for the next chapter. It's very high on the emotional scale.
> 
> See you Monday.
> 
> TSA + IB


	22. Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I'll apologise for the feels you shall ensue during Sherlock's coma dream. But there's a lot of good smut too. Just prepare your feels. I don't want to give too much away, so just go ahead and read.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft
> 
> Me: John, Greg
> 
> Shared: various family members
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: smut, feels, angst, some mental issues, and lots of feels

_He could hear cheers of joy, clapping, and yells of 'Kiss him, Sherlock!'_

_He opened his eyes with surprising ease. He no longer felt tired but brilliantly refreshed. The hospital was gone now. It had been replaced by a grand hall and in front of him stood a grinning John, to the side a collection of people, all of whom he recognised. There was Greg, his brother, Mrs Hudson (whom he partly remembered. He still had yet to meet her again), his mother and Molly Hooper (he remembered her, but barely), and a vast amount of his large extended family._

_The yells for him to kiss John grew louder and without really questioning what was going on, why both he and John were wearing tuxes, or why they were standing in a hall surrounded by the people they knew, he pulled him in for a soft and perfect kiss. As Sherlock pulled back from the kiss he frowned._

_'What's going on, John?' he asked in confusion._

_'What are you talking about, Sherlock?' John asked, perplexed. 'It's our wedding. Have you been drinking?'_

_'No,' Sherlock whispered under his breath. He couldn't remember drinking at least._

_'Wedding?' he asked in the same hushed whisper. 'We haven't even proposed to each other yet.'_

_'What do you mean? I proposed in Angelo's months ago,' John explained, raising an eyebrow in confusion. 'It was perfect. We had our normal table, wine, you actually ate, and then I proposed and you actually started crying. And are you sure you haven't been drinking? Or is your memory acting up again? Because I thought we took care of that when we killed... him.'_

_Sherlock's heart pounded like mad. 'You mean ... Moriarty? The man that caused us all the trouble and the heartache? He's dead?' He didn't know whether to cry or yell in joy._

_'Yes, he's dead now, baby,' John smiled, his eyes haunted. 'I shot the monster right between the eyes and I would do it again. But I don't want to think about him on such a special day. Shall we go home Mr Holmes-Watson and celebrate our marriage properly?'_

_No less than a second after Sherlock had replied with a 'yes' he found himself flat on his back with John's naked form pressed to his. What had just happened? He would, of course, have asked John but his lover was far too busy placing kisses on every inch of his skin, and Sherlock was far too busy enjoying it._

_'I've never been so happy, baby,' John purred, placing kisses all down Sherlock's body. 'Everything is perfect. The wedding was beautiful. And now, it's your time to take control.' John moved off Sherlock and lay on his back, sprawling spread eagle on the mattress._

_'Go ahead, baby,' he said seductively. 'Take control of me. Take all of me.'_

_Sherlock licked his lips, trying to push away the feeling of something being very wrong indeed away._

_'Turn over,' he ordered gently but firmly. John followed Sherlock's order, turning over onto his belly._

_'What do you have in store tonight, sir?' he asked, wriggling his bum teasingly. Sherlock clambered onto John._

_'Hmmm, sir? I'm surprised you're allowing me to take charge. You seem to like the constant battle we have over who's going to be the sub.'_

_'Sir, your memory is acting up,' John giggled awkwardly. 'I gave you all the control on the night of our engagement. My gift to you for the rest of our lives. Now, how do you want me?'_

_'It would appear my memory is playing up,' he mumbled, still uncertain of what was going on. Still, he'd been given a glorious opportunity and he wasn't going to turn it away._

_'Silly man. Agreeing to that,' Sherlock tutted, inserting one slicked up finger into John's entrance. John moaned and pressed himself down onto Sherlock's finger._

_'Oh, I don't regret that decision at all, sir,' he groaned. 'You always take such good care of me. And your cock always feels so good up my arse. Oh sir, yes! More! Please!' Sherlock pushed a second finger inside with a small grunt._

_'I want you to be vocal, John.'_

_'Yes sir! Yes!' John cried. He rocked back on Sherlock's fingers, his arse in the air. 'Fuck sir, don't stop! God it feels so good sir!'_

_'That's it, John,' Sherlock purred, pushing his digits in further. 'Louder.'_

_'Yes sir! Yes!' John screamed, rocking frantically on Sherlock's fingers. 'Fuck me sir! Please! Oh god, please!'_

_'I make the orders around here,' Sherlock hissed, popping a third finger in and curling his fingers._

_'Yes sir! Sorry sir!' John apologised, screaming in ecstasy when Sherlock's fingers found his prostate. 'Oh fuck! It all feels so good sir! I love it!'_

_'Beg for me, Jonathan,' Sherlock growled. 'How much do you want me?'_

_'Oh sir, I want you,' John whimpered, his legs shaking and face pressed into a pillow. 'I want you so much. So much it hurts. I ache for you, sir. Every minute you aren't buried balls deep in my arse is a minute wasted. Please, sir. Please fuck me. Please. I'm begging you. Please. I need you so bad, sir. Please.' Sherlock hummed his approval and readied himself against John, removing his fingers. However as he did so he realised that something was off and as he looked down he realised exactly what it was._

_He was significantly larger. His eyes bugged in his skull. Even without his erection he was larger and thicker by a vast amount. The perfect size – at least the size he had always wanted to be. Funny how everything felt and looked perfect._

_'Sir. Sir, please,' John begged, wriggling his arse against the head of Sherlock's prick. 'God, I need you so much. Please, please.'_

_Sherlock pushed himself in but he was so large that it took a couple of attempts to work himself all the way in. He blew out his cheeks from the sheer effort it had taken and moaned heavily. John cried out as Sherlock entered him, his large and perfect cock stretching him further._

_'Oh yes! Yes, sir, yes!' he screamed, rocking back on his husband's cock. 'Oh sir, you feel perfect. Always so perfect.'_

_Sherlock wriggled backwards before thrusting forwards. He instantly hit John's prostate. He frowned at that. It hardly ever happened that fast. He usually had to find the right angle. Another perfect thing. John screamed in pleasure, his hands fisting in the sheets._

_'More vocal, John. I want to hear about every little thing you can feel,' Sherlock ordered, thrusting frantically in and out, hitting John's prostate every time._

_'Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!' John screamed, his body rocking against the bed as Sherlock thrust into him. 'Oh sir, it all feels so bloody magnificent! I can feel your cock pulsing in my tight arse, can feel the throes of passion flowing through my veins as you hit my prostate every single perfect time. Oh sir, everything is so goddamn perfect! Oh, oh fuck. Sir, sir I... I think I'm gonna cum!'_

_'Not yet,' cooed Sherlock teasingly. 'Hang on in there.' His thrusts began to increase in intensity. John screamed as he forced himself to hold on. It was only made more difficult as Sherlock fucked him harder, continuing to hit his prostate every single time._

_'I... I'll try, sir,' he panted, pressing his face into the sheets. 'Oh fuck!'_

_'Ok. Go ahead,' Sherlock smiled as without hesitation John began to cum. John screamed into the mattress, but his cries were barely muffled. He came in hard, thick spurts across the sheets, his arse clenching tightly around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock grit his teeth together as he also began to cum long and hard in John's arse, still thrusting in and out._

_'Oh yes! Yes, baby, yes!' John cried, the game over. 'That's it baby! Cum for me!' Sherlock finally came to a standstill, collapsing onto John with a loud smack._

_'Oh, baby,' John purred, curling against his lover. 'Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Oh, I love you.'_

_Perfect. How was it that everything was suddenly perfect?_

_'I preferred it when you called me "love," dear,' Sherlock said with a huff, pulling out of John and rolling to one side. He instantly cupped himself, inspecting his new grand size. How was it even possible that this was his member?_

_'Oh. Alright... love,' John said, pausing before using the different word. He turned over and pouted slightly. 'I thought you liked it when I called you baby?' He eyed Sherlock inspecting himself._

_'Everything alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?' he asked in concern._

_'I do, but if it's a choice between "love" and "baby" I prefer the former,' Sherlock replied, grunting. He continued to cup himself, squeezing and prodding his cock like a curious child._

_'You didn't hurt me,' he murmured, focusing on how heavy his member felt in his hands._

_'Then what's wrong?' John asked, stilling Sherlock's hands. 'You're acting like you've never seen your own cock before.'_

_Sherlock stared at John, deadly serious. 'Have I always been this ... large?'_

_'Yes, love, you have,' John stated, mildly concerned. 'Are you sure you're alright? You haven't gotten into drugs again, have you?'_

_Sherlock glared at John. 'I can't believe you'd even think that!' he exclaimed. 'I just can't remember being so... big.'_

_'I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry,' John apologised. 'But I had to ask. You've been acting weird today. First you can't remember it's our wedding day, then you don't remember how or when we got engaged, and now you can't remember the size of your own prick. Which I find especially strange seeing as you've had it since before you were born.'_

_Sherlock shrugged. 'I've been feeling a bit odd, that's all.' His hands moved to cup himself once more. He ran a finger up his length and whistled. 'I... I can't even describe what I'm feeling right now.'_

_'Well, it was a pretty stressful day,' John said, cupping Sherlock's face in his hands. 'Maybe you should get some sleep. You were quite jittery before the wedding, and now you're... I don't know what. But maybe some sleep will help.' He looked down at Sherlock's hands and batted them away from examining his member._

_'Your cock is fine, love,' he laughed. 'I love it. It's absolutely perfect. And I love you. Now, Mr Holmes-Watson, will you join your husband in bed?'_

_Sherlock sighed and nodded. 'Perfectly large,' he muttered, budging closer to John. 'I am a little tired,' he admitted._

_'Me too,' John smiled. He nuzzled along Sherlock's jaw. 'It would seem you've fucked me into exhaustion once again. Oh, but it was wonderful. I can't wait to do it again.'_

_He settled them down in the sheets, burrowing into Sherlock's chest. 'Sleep, love. And we'll see how you're feeling in the morning.'_

_Sherlock awoke, snuggling against the warm body he was pressed into. He smiled and began placing kisses along the neck of his lover. John hummed and pressed himself closer to Sherlock's kisses._

_'Mornin', love,' he smiled. 'Did you sleep well?'_

_'Brilliantly, thank you.' Sherlock clambered on top of John, his kisses becoming more urgent and heated._

_'Ugh, Sherlock stop,' John grunted. 'You'll wake the kids.' Sherlock froze and paused in his kissing. He smiled and shook his head._

_'We've discussed this, John. Remember? We're not having children till our lives are in the right place. And since we've only just got married I don't think that's now.' And with that he began kissing John once more, grinding his body hard and roughly against him._

_'Sherlock! Get off!' John said forcefully. He pushed Sherlock off him and sat up, staring at his husband incredulously._

_'What are you on about?' he asked, confusion and concern in his voice. 'We bought this house specifically for the purpose of raising children. Our lives are exactly where they need to be. And it's–' he paused to look at the clock. '–six in the morning. The kids don't need to get up for school for another hour. Not that that means–'_

_'DADDY!' a voice cried from below, wailing._

_'–Ben won't wake up anyway,' John sighed. He clambered out of bed and pulled on his pyjama trousers and one of Sherlock's t-shirts. 'Get yourself sorted, love. I'll get the kids up and ready.' John left and padded downstairs, heading into Felicity and Ben's shared room._

_'Hi-ya, Champ,' John smiled, sitting on the crying Benedict's bed. 'What dream did you have today?'_

_'Daddy, when can I get my own room?' eight-year-old Felicity asked. 'If baby Benny's gonna be cryin' all the time I wanna have my own room so I can sleep. I am a princess ya know. And princesses need their sleep.'_

_'I know sweetie,' John said, hugging Ben close. 'Father and I are working on it. Promise. Now, Ben, what did you dream about this time?'_

_'A bad thpider wath gonna eat me!' the five-year-old wailed. 'An' he wath big and hairy and he had eight eyth! But you killed him, Daddy. Thankth.'_

_'No problem, Champ,' John smiled. 'Well, since you two are up, how about I make us pancakes for breakfast?'_

_'Yay pancakes!' Felicity shouted, climbing out of her princess bed and racing to the kitchen. 'I wanna help!'_

_'Of course, Princess,' John laughed, sitting Ben in his seat so he could watch. 'Get out the bowl and mix and I'll get the milk and eggs.'_

_Sherlock blinked. What on Earth was going on now? Children? Ben? A new house?_

_He bolted upright and glanced around the room he was in. This wasn't his room at 221B. How hadn't he noticed before?_

_He sighed and ran a hand through his thick curls. He glanced downwards at his straining erection and sighed again. First things first, he'd have to sort that out since John hadn't. Since when did John not want to help him out in such situations?_

_He levered himself from the bed and idly wandered out in search for a bathroom in his new, totally alien environment._

_'Ok, now carefully crack the egg into the bowl,' John instructed Felicity._

_'I know how to do it Daddy,' she mock scolded, holding the bowl steady as she cracked it over the edge._

_'Great job, Princess,' John smiled. 'Not a drop wasted.'_

_'Toldja I could do it,' she beamed._

_'You most certainly did,' he grinned, touching a finger to her nose. She giggled and started to stir the batter together._

_'Fafer, why you don't have no clofes on?' Benedict asked._

_'What?' John asked, looking up. 'I'm dressed Benny. What are you–?' He turned to look where Ben was looking and nearly screeched._

_'Sherlock! What are you doing?' he demanded, trying to cover Felicity's eyes. 'Put some trousers on!'_

_'Father's naked!' Felicity laughed._

_'Nakie! Nakie!' Ben chanted, banging his hands against the counter._

_Sherlock stared at the sight before him. John was cooking with two small children. His brow knit together in confusion._

_'I was looking for the bathroom,' he gulped, his voice croaky and unsure._

_'Keep stirring,' John instructed. 'And Benny, stop that.' The kids listened; John didn't even have to make a threat. He stalked over to Sherlock and grasped him above the elbow, leading him out of the room and back upstairs._

_'What is going on with you today?' he hissed. 'Sex in the morning? Roaming naked around the house? Looking for a bathroom? The loo is attached to our room, Sherlock. You know that. You also know that we don't have sex in the morning because the kids' room is right downstairs and we don't want to traumatise them. And nudity is not permitted unless you're under the age of four. Our exceptions are in the shower and our own nightly activities.'_

_John looked up at Sherlock, searching his eyes for something. He wasn't sure what it was, but his doctorly side said it was for any illegal substances._

_'Are you feeling alright, love?'_

_'Alright?' Sherlock laughed sarcastically. 'Not really, no.' He tugged his arm free and began to stalk away from John and back upstairs to the bedroom he'd awoken in._

_'Sherlock!' John called after him, following him up the stairs and back to their bedroom. 'Sherlock, can we talk about this? I want to know what's going on in that genius brain. Please?'_

_'What is there to talk about?' Sherlock questioned. 'I only woke up in a house I don't bloody recognise, get refused my morning fuck, scolded for wearing nothing when you know full well I prefer being nude in the morning, and I apparently have children.' He shook his head. 'See? Nothing to talk about.'_

_'No, there's plenty to talk about,' John scowled. 'Like why the hell you can't remember any of this. We moved here almost ten years ago, Felicity, my daughter followed soon after. She'll be nine next month. Ben is five, your son, and he's exactly like you in every way. Right down to the birthday. And I explained to you the sex and nudity issues already. So my concern is this: why can't you remember all that?'_

_'I don't know!' Sherlock shouted. 'The last thing I can remember is fucking you to oblivion and then getting told off for inspecting my perfect cock!'_

_John blanched. 'Sherlock... That was our wedding night. That was... almost fifteen years ago. What's going on?'_

_'Daddy! We need to pour the pancakes now!' Felicity shouted up the stairs. 'And you hafta do it cuz I'm not allowed by hot things.'_

_'Be right down, Princess!' John called back. He turned back to Sherlock, both their eyes wet with tears too afraid to shed._

_'We'll figure this out, love,' John promised. He moved forward and cupped Sherlock's face in his hands. 'We'll figure out what this is, I swear. But I have to make breakfast. Don't want to have to take our little princess to the A &E again.' He pulled Sherlock in for a quick kiss, melding their lips together. 'I love you.'_

_'I love you too,' Sherlock whispered softly before retreating to the bedroom's bathroom._

_'Oh, Sherlock,' John whispered, wiping his eyes. 'What's going on?'_

_He went back downstairs and smiled at the kids. 'So, who wants pancakes?' he asked, slapping his hands together._

_'Me me me!' Ben said, raising his hand high in the air._

_'Princesses first Baby Benny,' Felicity said. 'You know the rules.'_

_'Hey, we gotta cook 'em first,' John said. 'So, while I do that, why don't you take your brother back to your room and get dressed?'_

_'OK, Daddy,' Felicity smiled. She helped Ben from his chair and lead him back to their room, hand in hand. John smiled. Sometimes he wondered how in the world he had been blessed with such a wonderfully perfect life. But he didn't dwell on it for long. Something almost always came up when he did._

_He cooked the pancakes and served them on the kids' respective plates. Ariel for Felicity, Flynn for Ben._

_'Ok kids! Come and get it!' John hollered. Felicity came round the corner wearing a pretty sundress and sandals, her hair pulled back in sloppy pigtails. She sat in her chair and drizzled syrup all over her pancakes._

_'And where's your brother?' John asked, eyeing her suspiciously._

_'Buried under my dresses,' she answered nonchalantly. John groaned and went to their room, picking Ben out from under the pile of clothes and pulling some trousers and a shirt on him. The shoes he always saved for last as Ben was sure to pitch a fit. He plopped him back in his chair and handed him his pancakes, which he greedily ate without using silverware. At least he didn't have syrup on them that time. John shuddered at the memory. Never again._

_'Alright, I'm going to get dressed. Felicity, look after your brother. No syrup for him,' he warned._

_'Of course, Daddy,' she smiled innocently._

_John smiled and rolled his eyes, heading back upstairs. He put on one of his jumpers and his favourite jeans, pulling on his slip-on shoes. Laces were getting harder, and John figured he was beginning to get arthritis._

_'Sherlock? I'm taking the kids to school,' he said. 'And I'll be dropping by Tesco's after for dinner supplies. I love you.'_

_He headed back downstairs to miraculously find his children clean and ready to go._

_'Alright, into the van,' he said, ushering them outside to the car. He buckled them into their car seats before climbing behind the wheel, taking Felicity to her school before dropping Ben off at preschool. At Tesco's he got chicken and vegetables, planning on a simple yet favourite meal of Sherlock's since he was having such a stressful day._

_When he got back home the house was quiet. Eerily so. John put away the groceries and called out Sherlock's name. No answer. He headed upstairs and called again. Still no answer but he could hear the shower running._

_Is he still in there? he asked himself. The answer was yes. And the poor man looked like he had been crying. 'Oh, 'Lock.'_

_Sherlock lay flat on his back with the hot shower spraying water over his body. Tear marks stained his cheeks._

_He had been crying for many reasons. He'd lost his memories again and was hopelessly lost. John seemed angry at him because he couldn't remember. He'd also looked at his reflection and had seen his aged body. His reflection was only a confirmation of what John had already told him. 15 years had passed by since their wedding night. His hair was now peppered with grey and white, his eyes surrounded by laugh lines, and he had finally for once in his life gained a fleshy gut. The final reason for his tears was because he couldn't get up. He had tried, he really had, but whenever he tried to get up to leave the shower a sharp pain traveled up his spine and his back muscles spasmed. He heard the door open after what had probably been hours and the soft call of his name._

_He turned to the man who'd called him. 'John.' He tried to smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes._

_'Oh love,' John sighed. 'Your back gave out again, didn't it?' He peeled off his clothes and climbed in the shower with his husband._

_'This is going to hurt,' he warned, grasping Sherlock by the shoulders and yanking him up into a sitting position. The cry of pain that erupted from Sherlock's lips made John flinch, but he knew it was necessary. He moved behind Sherlock and began massaging his back muscles, helping them relax. Finally, he placed his palm in the center of Sherlock's back and pushed, hard. He felt and heard Sherlock's spine pop back into place and sighed, pulling him close._

_'I'm sorry I got mad this morning,' he said softly. 'It's not my fault or yours that your mind is starting to betray you. I'm sorry I scolded you so harshly, but if you're going to be naked would you please stay upstairs? The kids don't need to see that.'_

_Sherlock nodded solemnly. 'It wouldn't be the first time my mind betrayed me. Who knows how many years I've missed. Whatever Moriarty gave me all those years ago hasn't worn off, has it?' His entire body shook as he took a deep breath._

_'I'm sorry about this morning. I don't remember the children, or this house, and I was a little... dazed. I would promise you that it won't happen again but I can't.' His face crumpled. 'I don't know why I keep on forgetting things or how to stop it._

_'What I do know is that I woke up, was refused my morning fuck, have a life that is a mystery to me, have children when I'm still in the mindset of not being ready for such things, got scolded for being myself, that it took twenty minutes to wank when it should have only taken five. I've gotten old, I've gotten flabby, and I apparently have an ongoing back problem.' Tears shone in his eyes and he turned his face to John's chest._

_'Oh, love,' John sighed, holding him close. 'I hope it's not Moriarty's drug. I hope it isn't a side effect of it either. I know this doesn't sound any better, but I hope it's Alzheimer's. That at least we'd be able to deal with. And we will deal with this, whatever it is._

_'And I'm sorry I couldn't help you wank. The kids are gone and we have the house to ourselves if you want to try again. But with your back maybe I should ride you, so you can lay down. I'm up for it if you are.'_

_'I don't care what it is either,' Sherlock whispered, lips trembling. 'I just want my life back. I don't want to be senile and on the unhealthy side of fat. I want to be young and able to fit in tight fitting button downs.'_

_He groaned in frustration and gazed into John's eyes. 'I want you to fuck me, please. Long and hard and recklessly like I remember you doing.' Sherlock watched as John blushed. 'Don't tell me we don't shag like that now. Please don't.'_

_'We, um... We haven't shagged like that in a while,' John admitted. 'Not since Ben turned three at least. And, as long as I'm being honest, we haven't made love in a couple months. The kids have kept me busy and you and your bees...' John cut off, petting Sherlock's salt and pepper hair._

_'We'll work through this, and I'll do whatever you want me to, sir.'_

_'Can we correct that this instant? I want you to make love to me, John. Then you can talk more about my bees.' Sherlock tried to move but had a great difficulty of doing so._

_'God, my back,' he winced._

_'Sure, love,' John smiled. He eased Sherlock up, both of them grunting and groaning. John turned off the shower and lead Sherlock to bed, not bothering to dry them off. Their writhing in the sheets would do a good enough job._

_He planted Sherlock gently on his back on their bed, crawling over him and kissing him heatedly. He moaned into Sherlock's mouth and trailed a hand down Sherlock's torso, grabbing his half-hard prick and stroking languidly. Sherlock growled, bucking into John's hands, feeling his half hard erection quivering and growing._

_'That's fantastic, John,' he praised._

_'Thank you, sir,' he smiled. 'I've had a lot of practice.' He moved down Sherlock's slick body and immediately sucked the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue as he sucked. Sherlock bit his lip and grunted. He thrust as hard as his bad back would allow him. He hoped it conveyed to John that it felt like years, not months, of a sex dry spell to him. John sucked more of his husband's cock into his mouth, swirling a wet finger around Sherlock's entrance. Sherlock panted and nodded eagerly._

_'Yes! Yes!' he practically screamed. John hummed around Sherlock's cock and eagerly stuck his finger inside, thrusting it in and out frantically. Oh he'd missed this. God, he wanted to be buried balls deep in his husband so bad. He shoved a second finger in quickly, pumping and scissoring to prepare Sherlock as fast as possible._

_'Get in now!' Sherlock exclaimed, wriggling down on the fingers shoved in his entrance._

_'Yes. God yes,' John moaned as he released Sherlock's cock. He licked his palm and slicked his prick before pushing in, trembling at the feeling of Sherlock's tight heat around him._

_'Oh god, you feel so good,' he moaned, pushing in until he was buried to the hilt. 'How do you feel?'_

_'Like I haven't been fucked in years. Correct that, now.' Sherlock clenched his arse cheeks and groaned, his face melting with pleasure._

_John moaned and rested his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder, slowly pulling out before easing back in. He moved slowly at first, letting Sherlock stretch around him. As soon as he could move in and out with ease he grasped Sherlock's hips tightly and thrust with reckless abandon, nearly crying at how good it all felt._

_As John began to make love to him, Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to contain the array of emotions swelling in his chest. On one hand every nerve in his body was exploding and his head was spinning with the pleasure threatening to consume him. On the other hand he just wanted the whole world to go back to way it was before, and just the fact that he knew that to be utterly impossible was distressing him to no end. He knew that what he and John were doing was just a distraction from the bigger picture. He just wanted his life back._

_He leaned his head against John's and a stray sob escaped his lips, accompanied by a low moan._

_'Shh, love. Shh,' John shushed, kissing Sherlock softly. 'It's alright. I've got you. I've got you.' He moved faster and harder, kissing down Sherlock's neck and chest. Those words and John's tender kisses should have offered comfort to Sherlock but they didn't. Instead the sobs began spilling from his mouth faster and louder, and those hot tears pricking at his eyes began to fall._

_'Shh, baby,' John soothed, stopping his hips to wrap Sherlock in a tender hug. 'Shh, it's going to be ok. We're going to figure out what this is, we're going to get you help. Please don't cry, baby. Shh, shh.'_

_Sherlock snorted. 'I'm hardly a baby compared to you now, aren't I?' Another sob ripped from his throat._

_'I know, I know,' John sighed. 'I just... I still like to call you that every now and again. Felicity doesn't let me anymore now that she's a princess, and I try not to call Ben a baby since Felicity does it enough. So, I guess all my leftover "babies" go to you.' He carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair._

_'Now what's wrong, love?' he whispered. 'Why're you crying?'_

_'Because look at me, John,' Sherlock snivelled. 'I'm pathetic.'_

_'You're not pathetic,' John corrected. 'You're just ageing, and I still think you're as beautiful as the day I met you. Can you remember that at least? The day we met?'_

_Sherlock shook his head. 'Those blanks were never filled. I never could, still can't.'_

_He blinked through his tears. 'Do you honestly still think of me as beautiful?'_

_'Of course I do, love,' John smiled, petting Sherlock's hair. 'You will always be beautiful to me. Always. Even when you're old and wrinkled and grey I will still think you're beautiful.'_

_'Is it just me being a vain bastard?' Sherlock laughed bitterly._

_'No, I think you're confused and lost and want things to go back the way they were,' John said softly. 'Which I understand. Sometimes I find myself wishing we could go back to our wedding night. Before the kids, before the house, back when everything was serene and perfect. I miss it. I miss being able to fuck you on every surface of the flat without care. But life moves on, and we followed it. And it brought us this grand house and two beautiful children. So don't cry over the past, love. I know it's hard but we're going to figure this out.'_

_He realised that he was still inside his husband, still hard but not achingly so. He wriggled slightly and his prick perked up, Sherlock moaning softly._

_'I hope so.' Sherlock closed his eyes again, letting John slowly pick up where he had left off. 'I don't know what I'll do if my memories don't return.'_

_'We'll figure something out,' John promised. His hips picked up speed and he grit his teeth at how absolutely fantastic it all felt._

_'Oh god,' he moaned, thrusting faster. 'Oh fuck, it's so good.'_

_Sherlock lay there, moaning and groaning despite the fact that his mind was a million miles away. His absent mind floated to a distant place and he felt completely detached from his body. He probably wasn't giving as much as he was getting from John but he knew that John would let him off, if only this once, under these foggy times he was trudging his way through._

_'Oh, Sherlock. Sherlock, yes!' John moaned. 'Oh fuck! Oh, it's been too long. I've missed this. I've missed you. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.' His thrusts sped up and became harsher. He was close, so fucking close._

_Sherlock could feel his body covered in a sheen of sweat, practically hear his heart pounding in his chest, and his body was tensing. He was near the edge and he heard the two distant cries of both his and John's voices mingling in the air. And then suddenly everything stopped and soft lips were kissing him sweetly, trying to coax him from his stupor._

_'Focus, love. Focus,' John crooned. 'Cum for me.' He grasped Sherlock's prick and stroked fast, his thrusts hard as he was brought dangerously close to falling from the edge._

_Sherlock could hear another two yells and he could tell that he and John were both cumming in unison. His back arched out of instinct and he hissed, his back still paining him immensely and threatening to pop back out of place once more._

_'Yes! Sherlock, yes!' John screamed, pumping into Sherlock until he could no more. He pulled out and collapsed beside his husband, panting and giggling._

_'Oh, Sherlock, that was beautiful,' he smiled. 'Oh, it was absolutely wonderful.'_

_Sherlock simply nodded, his mind gently floating back down into his skull. He found himself wishing that he'd paid more attention as it would probably be his last chance to be with John like this in a while. His breath shuddered and he growled, realising that he was probably going to start crying again._

_'If you're going to cry don't fight it,' John murmured, idly drawing soothing circles on Sherlock's chest. 'I don't mind if you cry. I won't judge you.'_

_Sherlock's composure crumbled as John gave him permission to let his tears flow freely. He wrapped his arms tightly around John, clinging to him like a new born babe as inhuman sounds trickled from his mouth. John held on to him, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead as he cried. What was going on in that big brain of his to make him cry so hard? John didn't want to think about it. He just hugged him closer, burying his nose in his hair. Sherlock felt his body relax and heard his sobs stop but could still feel the tears cascading over his cheekbones. He buried himself into John's shoulder and inhaled deeply._

_'Sorry,' he grit out._

_'It's fine, love. No need to apologise,' John shushed. 'Now, what are the tears about this time?'_

_'I don't know,' Sherlock admitted. 'They just bubbled to my surface.' He sighed. 'All I've done today is cry.' He frowned._

_'I suppose it's a mixture of emotional and physical pain.' He shifted under John and hissed. 'Back's still playing havoc on me. Does it usually do this to me?'_

_'You've been having back issues for a couple years,' John explained. 'I blame it on the last time we tried to make love in the shower and you slipped. You landed on your back really hard, and I was so scared, but it wasn't broken. Just sprained and prone to act up every now and again._

_'And everyone is allowed completely emotional days every now and again,' he continued, stroking Sherlock's hair soothingly. 'My last one was a couple weeks ago. The kids were acting up, you were tending to your bees, I had to have Greg and Mycroft drop the kids off at school... So I sat in the shower and cried for at least an hour.'_

_Sherlock instantly perked up. 'My brother and that detective fellow are still together?' he asked curiously. 'How's Mycroft? Is he ok? He is okay isn't he?' Sherlock bit his lip. 'You'd tell me if he wasn't, wouldn't you?'_

_The last time he could remember seeing Mycroft was in the hospital with a severe gunshot wound, depression, and suicidal tendencies. It wasn't a pleasant image and he'd do anything to shake it away and replace it with another one._

_'Yes, they're still together,' John smiled. 'Got married not long after we did. And Mycroft is better, albeit a bit... larger round the middle. You always find a reason to tease him about it. Speaking of which, it's a Tuesday. He and Greg always take the kids out for ice cream on Tuesdays. So they won't be back until five.'_

_Sherlock laughed. 'That'll be all the cake he eats under stress. Then again, I see he's not the only one who has gained weight,' Sherlock pouted. 'What on Earth have you been feeding me?'_

_Then, sobering up, his smile was washed away. 'I've forgotten their wedding. I suppose I have a lot to learn about what has occurred since our own wedding night, haven't I?' He paused._

_'Did you just say we're alone till five?' He beamed, his mood changing again. 'Oh the possibilities.'_

_'I've been feeding you what you've always needed: food,' John smirked. 'The healthy kind, not crisps and sweets. And it's a healthy weight, Sherlock. Quit poking at your belly.'_

_He smirked at all the options Sherlock's broad statement provided his mind. 'Yes. Just you and me until five. Five whole hours to ourselves. What shall we do first?'_

_'We shag,' Sherlock grinned cheekily. 'And then we shag some more. And once we're done shagging I could go for some "food" as you call it. And then if there's time can we fit in one more shag?' He giggled._

_'Sorry. It's like my cock's been asleep for fifteen years.'_

_'Sounds like a perfect day,' John grinned. 'So, how do you want me, sir?'_

_'Sat on me like a good little soldier,' Sherlock replied._

_'Do you want to be the one to open me up, sir? Or shall I?' John asked, moving to sit on Sherlock's hips._

_'May I do the honour?' he asked gingerly._

_'Go right ahead sir,' John purred, trailing his fingers down Sherlock's chest. Sherlock prodded John's entrance cautiously with one of his long fingers. John closed his eyes and hummed, leaning into Sherlock's touch. Sherlock pushed one finger as deep as it would go_

_'Oh John.' He pulled John to his lips and kissed him for a long time. John melded his lips to Sherlock's, kissing him passionately for the first time in months. He rocked back on Sherlock's finger, moaning into his husband's mouth._

_'I've missed this, sir,' he whispered against Sherlock's lips. 'I've missed having you take me, claim me. Don't be afraid to be a little rough when you do.' He brought his lips to Sherlock's again, claiming his mouth. Sherlock kissed John rough and clumsily before pulling back to simply stare at his lover._

_'I've missed this full stop,' Sherlock retorted. 'Thought you didn't want me at all this morning. Kind of scared me if I'm being honest.' He pushed another finger in and stretched John open._

_'I apologise for that misunderstanding, sir,' John groaned, pushing back on Sherlock's fingers. 'I always want you, but our lives have just been so busy we haven't had time. And morning sex can't happen so long as the kids sleep directly below us.'_

_Sherlock inserted a third finger. 'What about the silencer?' he questioned._

_'The what?' John asked, rocking back on Sherlock's fingers with a moan._

_'The silencer,' Sherlock replied. 'Remember, all those years ago when we made love in the changing rooms, that little metal device? It creates a force field and keeps all of the sound within it. We could always get a baby monitor too. That way if the children need you you'll know.' Sherlock scissored John and watched as his lover's head flung back and his moans grew louder._

_'I'll get my morning love making session, and you'll be able to protect your children's "innocence."'_

_'Oh, right,' John said. 'Mycroft confiscated that shortly before Felicity came along. Said he didn't want us, meaning you, to use it to silence our child's cries. Sorry, but we don't have that handy little device anymore. And I think Myc and Greg use it at the Yard and Myc's office.' John moaned as Sherlock stretched him further, rocking back on his fingers._

_'And they aren't just_

_**my**  children,' he continued. 'They're yours too. Granted, Felicity is my biological daughter and Ben is your biological son, but we raised them as brother and sister. They're ours, love.' He gasped and shuddered when Sherlock found his prostate._

_'Forget the kids,' he moaned, rocking faster. 'This is our time. Can you fuck me now? Please? It's been so long since I've had anything up my arse. I need you, now.' Sherlock removed his fingers and slicked up his cock._

_'I'm going to kill him,' he huffed, lifting John up and gently sliding him down onto his member. He began moving his hips. 'We'll talk about the children later,' he grunted._

_'You might have to use your legs a little, John. It'll save my lower back muscles.' He thrust upwards, hitting John's prostate as perfectly as he'd done on their wedding night._

_'Mmm, yes sir,' John moaned, rocking back on his husband's prick. He lifted up slightly before pushing back down, moaning loudly. He picked up a steady rhythm, rocking and impaling himself on his husband's cock, crying out as he hit his prostate with perfect precision every time. Sherlock wrapped one arm around John's waist and used the other to pull John's lips to his own. He kissed him with a fiery passion, trying to coax him over the edge. John's hips moved faster, kissing Sherlock heatedly, his tongue delving into his mouth. He whimpered when he felt Sherlock's greet his, his hips moving faster and stuttering as he came closer to his release._

_One tongue flick and impalement later John was cumming across Sherlock's stomach and chest, his head thrown back in a silent scream. Sherlock continued to kiss John as he came sharply into him. His lips continued to attack his husband's even as he came to a standstill. John clutched Sherlock's face in his hands, snogging him like they were a couple of teenagers in the back of a car._

_Sherlock was the one to break the kiss. He grinned at John like a lunatic and moved his fingers over John's ribs, remembering how ticklish he was there. Giggles spurted from John's lips and he squirmed in Sherlock's lap. Sherlock pulled himself out of John before continuing to tickle John with no mercy._

_'Let me hear that wonderful laugh of yours, John.' John clamped his lips shut but the laughter burst forth anyway. He giggled and squealed and full on laughed as Sherlock tickled him. His hands reached for Sherlock's, but they were too fast, constantly moving to a new location. His laughter continued, filling the room with the joyous sound._

_Sherlock stilled his hands, letting up on his torture. 'I love you,' he smiled, chuckling happily._

_'I love you, too,' John panted. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock tenderly, curling his fingers in his hair._

_'No, I mean, I really love you,' Sherlock whispered. 'I don't think I ever say that enough._

_'I have a feeling that we've been drifting apart. Even without my memories I have deduced that.' He paused. 'Am I correct? Have we been... drifting?' John glanced away, swallowing thickly._

_'Not that much,' he admitted. 'I mean, since the kids came things have been a little tense. You aren't as involved in their lives as I'd like you to be. I mean, Mycroft spends more time with them than you do for god's sake. You spend more time tending to your bees than you do with your family.' He looked back at Sherlock, his eyes watery._

_'I don't want us to drift apart, Sherlock. I want you to be involved in our children's lives. They only have one childhood, and you're missing it. Felicity is going to be nine soon, and Ben is five and a half. They're both at very impressionable ages and I don't want their only memories to be of me with you sort of lingering distantly in the background. They only ever call for me when they're in pain or scared. They never call for Father, just Daddy. I know they love you, they're sort of obligated to at their ages, but sooner or later they're going to realise you think they aren't important enough to pay attention to and they're going to resent you. And I don't want that to happen.'_

_'I told you a long time ago that I'm not good with children.' Sherlock chewed on his lower lip anxiously, and took a deep breath. 'I sound like a terrible parent. Still, better than my father I suppose. Maybe that's what scares me. Getting close to our children might mean that I hurt them. They're such fragile things.' He shook his head. 'I'm terrified of turning out like him. Perhaps that's why I kept my distance in the past. And especially now. Who knows what's going on with my mind?' He shifted beneath John. 'What if I'm no longer... stable? What will I forget next?'_

_'You will never be your father, Sherlock,' John assured him. 'Your father was a monster who beat and abused his family. You are a part of your children's lives, and I know how scared you are of hurting them, but I know you won't. Because you're too scared of turning into your father. Which I personally believe is the reason you distance yourself and tend to your bees more so than us.' John tenderly held Sherlock's face in his hands and offered him a small smile._

_'I don't think you are unstable. I think you're lost and scared, and you want to know why you can't remember. I want to know too. So, first thing tomorrow, we'll both drop the kids off at school and go see a proper doctor. One who's paid to look into people's heads.'_

_'A shrink?' Sherlock wrinkled up his nose in distaste. 'You want me to see a shrink?'_

_'I didn't say that,' John said. 'I don't think you're crazy, so you don't need to see a shrink. Isn't there a specialist in the medical field who can diagnose patients with memory issues?' John paused and thought about it._

_'Oh. I suppose there isn't. But I still think you don't need a psychiatrist. I just want someone to maybe take a scan of your brain to see if there's anything going on in there that would be causing this.'_

_Sherlock swallowed. 'You don't think I have something seriously wrong with me, do you?'_

_'I don't know what to think,' John said softly. 'But I certainly hope not.'_

_'Alzheimer's, you said. Is it a possibility I've got that?' Sherlock asked in a terrified voice._

_'That or dementia,' John nodded solemnly. 'Possibly both. But if we caught it early enough there's medication you can take to slow the process. Give you more time before you forget... almost everything.'_

_Sherlock's eyes widened. 'Everything?' he repeated._

_'You would... basically revert into a child,' John said solemnly. 'You wouldn't remember me, or our children, you would probably think your brother was your father since he looks so much like him and would be scared to death of him. You would be angry and confused and... unstable.'_

_Sherlock closed his eyes. 'What then? What do we do then? You'll leave me I presume. I'll be a danger to the children.'_

_'I am never going to leave you, Sherlock,' John assured him. 'And by the time you reached that stage the children would be out of the house anyway. Either at Uni or in flats of their own. And if you have Alzheimer's and it comes to that I'll get you the proper care. If you have to move into a home I'll move in with you. Because I will never leave you. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, together forever. I promise.'_

_'You'd follow me anywhere,' he smiled._

_'We'll go to the doctor's tomorrow. Whatever the news is I promise to stop my bee keeping. If there is going to be a time where I can't remember the children I don't want them to resent me.'_

_'If you wouldn't kill me in the afterlife I'd probably follow you to the grave,' John smiled softly._

_'Don't say that. I really would kill you again if you followed me to my grave,' Sherlock said, quite upset at the idea of John's death._

_'Which is why I'll stay alive for you,' John said. 'Because I know you wouldn't want me to off myself to be with you again.' He nuzzled his head between Sherlock's neck and shoulder. 'I love you, and I'll always be there for you, even if you can't remember me. I was there for you the first time, and I'll be there for you again.'_

_'What did I do to deserve you?' Sherlock asked. 'How could a man like me end up with a man like you?'_

_'Karma?' John suggested. 'You had enough bad in your life, so all the good culminated in me? Or just a bloody miracle.'_

_Sherlock nodded and snuggled against John. 'I'll go for the latter. It's a miracle that you wanted to be with me.'_

_'And it's a miracle you let me,' John sighed, pressing his nose closer to the hollow of Sherlock's throat. He hummed in content._

_'No, that's no miracle, John. You're a good man, better than me, far better. And the way you make me feel is fantastic. And then there's your uncanny ability to forgive me when I am a terrible human being.' Sherlock inhaled John's scent and placed a sloppy kiss upon John's head._

_John smiled against Sherlock's neck. 'Well, when you put it that way,' he trailed off, placing a soft kiss against Sherlock's throat. 'But I still consider it a miracle because you were so closed off and cold. The way you let me creep into your heart the way you did was... I don't know what it was. But I sure am glad that you did.'_

_'I only stayed that cold to protect myself from loss,' Sherlock replied, frowning. 'I have so much to lose right now.'_

_'Yes, but you'll always have me,' John whispered. 'Promise.'_

_'Don't make promises you can't keep. You're older than me. It is logical that you'll be the first to bite the dust so to speak,' Sherlock's voice trembled._

_'And who says I won't come back as a ghost or angel to watch over you until you follow me?' John retorted._

_'Because you know my beliefs on both the supernatural and religion,' Sherlock said with a sad smile._

_'But you know I would be the one to challenge that in the afterlife,' John grinned. 'You know I would.'_

_'If anybody were to challenge me it would most certainly be you,' Sherlock agreed. John hummed and settled on Sherlock's shoulder, his eyes closing as he became comfortable. Sherlock ran a hand over John's back and his fingertips swirled in delicate patterns._

_'Do you remember this? The silent messages via Gallifreyan?'_

_'Yes, but only the ones we used most often,' John hummed. 'Like terms of endearment or words of love. The only complicated thing I remember how to write is our names. Oh, and the word eternity.'_

_Sherlock laughed. 'Oh yes. That one I remember clearly too.' Sherlock drew the round circles spelling his and John's names and eternity._

_'I bet you don't know this one.' He drew another pattern. This one was even more complex than the previous._

_'Can't say that I do,' John said, feeling the pattern form on his back. 'What's it mean?'_

_'Family,' Sherlock stated. 'It is a promise that I will try harder to be there for you and your –_

_**our**  – children.' John sat up and smiled down at him. He drew circles on Sherlock's chest, a thank you. Sherlock and John lay in content silence, both drawing Gallifreyan patterns on each other's skin._

_It came as a big surprise when Sherlock felt his belly vibrate and heard a horribly loud growl emit from it. He frowned and huffed. He couldn't remember feeling this hungry before. It would seem his stomach was used to constant food not the occasional meal as it once had been. When had he last eaten? His stomach growled and vibrated once more. He closed his eyes and sighed._

_'Oh, right,' John laughed. 'You haven't eaten anything yet today. Probably not since dinner last night. How about I make us lunch, then we can pick up where we left off?'_

_Sherlock smiled, opening his eyes. 'I like that idea a lot.'_

_'I thought you might,' John smiled. He rolled off Sherlock and pulled on a pair of pyjama trousers. 'Do you want me to make lunch and bring it to you so we can eat it in bed? Or do you want to try going downstairs?'_

_Sherlock lifted himself up and hissed, flailing back onto the bed. 'I believe that's our answer,' he grit out._

_'Alright then. You stay here and try to relax your back. Maybe I'll give you a massage later,' John mused. 'And are sandwiches ok for lunch? I don't want to go overboard since I've got a big dinner planned.'_

_'Sandwiches are great. As for that massage...' He wriggled his eyebrows and purred._

_'I'm looking forward to that bit,' John grinned. He bent down and pecked Sherlock on the lips. 'Anything specific you want on your sandwich? Or do you just want what I'll be having?'_

_Sherlock hummed and thought about it. 'Chocolate spread?' he asked hopefully._

_'Not sure we have that, but I'll check. Be back soon, love.' He trotted out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen. It was still a mess from the pancakes that morning. John sighed and quickly cleaned it up, making room for dinner later. He grabbed the bread, lunch meat, and cheese from the fridge, searching the pantry for the chocolate spread. He found it, surprisingly. He didn't remember buying it. He frowned but shrugged, dismissing it._

_He set about making their lunch, putting turkey, cheddar cheese, and mayo on his. Chocolate spread, chicken, and Swiss went on Sherlock's. he put the food away and put their sandwiches on a little tray, pulling out two small bags of crisps from the pack he used for the kids' lunches sometimes. He ambled back upstairs to find Sherlock had propped himself up with a bunch of pillows._

_'Lunch,' John smiled, sitting cross-legged next to his husband. He handed Sherlock his sandwich and a bag of crisps. 'Just try not to get crumbs in the sheets. They'll be bothersome when I fuck you again.'_

_'I'm not a child, Jonathan,' he huffed, taking a large bite of his sandwich and groaning at how fantastic it tasted. This man knew him too well._

_'Eh. See? You actually enjoy eating now, all due to my fabulous cooking,' John smiled, taking a large bite of his own sandwich. 'Hence your healthy weight.'_

_'You mean my newly acquired stomach?' Sherlock asked through large bites. 'It's not a healthy weight. Not for me.'_

_'And looking like a skeleton was?' John retorted. 'Trust me, as a medical man this is far healthier for your height and age.'_

_'Oh, a man should never argue with his doctor,' Sherlock grinned, chomping down on the last of his sandwich._

_'No, he really shouldn't,' John said through a mouthful of sandwich. 'Now eat your crisps.' Sherlock ripped the packet of crisps open and began to savour the salt and vinegar taste in his mouth._

_'God, food is good!' he exclaimed._

_'If I didn't know any better I'd say you can't remember the last time you ate,' John said, popping the final bite of his sandwich in his mouth. He opened his packet of crisps and chewed on one with a satisfying crunch._

_'I can't,' Sherlock replied bluntly. 'I really can't remember eating, or anything for that matter.'_

_John frowned. 'That's... a matter for concern,' he said slowly. He looked down at his crisps, suddenly not wanting them anymore. He passed them to Sherlock. 'Here. I think you need these more than I do.'_

_Sherlock shook his head. 'You need to eat, John.' He tossed the crisp packet back at him._

_'I did,' he said, looking at the crisp packet like it had personally wronged him. 'I ate my sandwich. And I really didn't need these. I had enough at breakfast.'_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Would it wipe your frown away if I ate them?'_

_'It might, yeah,' John sighed._

_'I'm not exactly wasting away, John,' he sighed, reaching for the packet of crisps. 'But alright. I'll eat them along with my own.'_

_'It's not that,' John sighed again. 'It's that you can't remember eating, so I just want to be sure you eat enough now.'_

_'I thought you said we had dinner together last night? Didn't I eat much then? Because if I ate a lot then you know it's just my memory playing up on me. There's nothing to worry about... at least eating wise anyway.' Sherlock began to gorge himself on both sets of crisps._

_'We had spaghetti, which was a mistake,' John shuddered, laughing slightly. 'Ben had it everywhere. He was a complete mess. It took a while to clean him up, and then I had to clean the kitchen afterwards too.'_

_Sherlock sniggered. 'If he's anything like me he'll be leaving messes in his wake for a long time to come.'_

_John groaned but smiled. 'I'm actually looking forward to that,' he grinned. 'He is definitely his father's son. I see so much of you in him, and not just the pale skin and curly dark hair. He's got your personality, to an extent. He's smart for his age, he notices things, and he always quiets down when you play your violin. He's a little you, and it just makes me smile that there's so much of you in him.'_

_'We should get him lessons if he enjoys my violin playing so much,' Sherlock mused. 'And of course I could help him develop his deducing skills.'_

_He suddenly paled. 'Oh god!' he exclaimed. 'If he's like me I am not looking forward to the teenage years.'_

_'What happened in your teenage years?' John asked, raising an eyebrow._

_'Imagine the me you must have first encountered,' Sherlock sighed. 'Add anger, moodiness, extreme quiet spells, secretiveness, rebelliousness, and a habit of mixing with the wrong crowd.'_

_'Was that when the drugs started for you?' John asked softly._

_Sherlock nodded. 'I wouldn't wish that on any child, let alone my own flesh and blood.'_

_'We won't let Ben go down that road,' John stated. 'We'll be there for him, unlike your father. You had a poor childhood, Ben won't. I won't allow it.'_

_'It doesn't matter what type of childhood you come from when it comes to drugs.' Sherlock glanced away from John, finishing off the crisps._

_'It's the crowd he is sure to get mixed up in. He's smart. Children are vicious. They don't like smart. He is an easy picking for bullies. He'll get angry and distant until he reaches his teenage years. And when he gets called freak one too many times he'll cross the line and join them, picking up his drug habit soon after.'_

_John's lower lip trembled. He couldn't stand the image of his Benny taking that road, becoming that. He was smart, but were children really that vicious? Yes, yes they were. He used to bully the smart kids once, a very long time ago. But he never found pride in doing it, it pained him to see them in pain, so he stopped. And he didn't want Ben to go through that too, but he didn't want to ask him to stop being smart so he would have an easier life. A choked sob escaped John's lips and he shut his eyes._

_'I don't want my baby boy to go through that,' he choked out. 'No, never. But, I don't want him to dumb himself down to fit in either. That would be so much worse, him not being able to show how smart he is. What do we do?'_

_'We let him know smart is good and that it gets better.' Sherlock placed his plate and rubbish to the side and opened his arms wide, gesturing for John to come and hug him as he himself couldn't move to do so._

_'We teach him the violin. It will help calm his thoughts. It just helps with everything. At least, it helped me. I can't really explain why but it does.' He paused._

_'And I know the signs of drug abuse. Mycroft will recognise them too. He had to deal with mine for a long time. We can help him.'_

_'Don't talk like the drugs have already happened,' John sniffled, laying down on Sherlock's chest in a weak hug. 'He's only five for god's sake. 'Although I like the violin lessons. Think you could teach him? You two could bond that way, some father-son time.'_

_'Sorry. I just don't want him to be in as much pain as I was as a teenager,' Sherlock said apologetically, hugging John tighter._

_'Of course I'll teach him. It would be an honour to pass on what skills I have to him.'_

_'Good. You two can start when he has the attention span to listen. Maybe play him something first and ask if he wants to try.' John nuzzled into Sherlock's chest and sighed. 'Thanks, love. I'm glad you're trying to be invested in our children's lives. Oh, speaking of which, you might not remember but Felicity somehow roped you into a tea party before dinner tonight. She made me write it on the calendar.'_

_Sherlock tried to hold back a smile but couldn't. 'Sounds like she has me wrapped around her finger.'_

_'We don't call her a princess for nothing,' John smiled. 'She's got a hold on us both, a very tight grip. And Benny, he's our little genius.'_

_Sherlock laughed in disbelief. 'I can't believe this, any of this. Children?' He shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips._

_'Precious miracles,' John smiled. He pressed himself closer to Sherlock and hummed. 'Shall I give you your massage now, sir?'_

_'I thought you'd never ask,' Sherlock smirked._

_John sat up and grinned. 'Can you turn onto your stomach? Or do you need help?' he asked sweetly._

_Sherlock sighed heavily. 'I need your help.'_

_John frowned slightly but quickly turned it back into a smile. He slid down Sherlock's body and grasped his waist, turning him over as Sherlock turned his torso around. Sherlock made a pained grunting sound as he twisted awkwardly into position._

_John gazed upon his husband's back, noticing how pale and creamy it was. The scars had faded almost completely, like they were never there. It made John smile slightly to see such a horrid part of Sherlock's past nearly erased. He ran his hands from Sherlock's shoulders to the dip just above his arse, feeling for any knots. He found a couple in the middle of his back and worked in small circles to relax them._

_As Sherlock relaxed John reached into the side table drawer and pulled out the barely used tube of lube and the massage oil. He drizzled the oil in the small of Sherlock's back and his hands set to work massaging his husband's sore muscles._

_'Oh,' Sherlock groaned into the mattress. 'Oh god, oh fuck, oh my, John.'_

_He felt John's fingers working a magic spell on his muscles. That sensation was making him more vocal than he'd ever been, even during sex. John hummed, his hands continuing to turn Sherlock's muscles into a pliant mess._

_'Do you feel good, sir?' he practically purred, leaning on his hands to press harder on the muscles._

_Sherlock nodded. 'This is fantastic! Oh god, John. I love you so much right now.' John flushed at the praise, puffing up slightly like a peacock._

_'I love you too,' he purred, leaning down to nip at the base of Sherlock's neck, hands still pressed to the small of his back._

_'I like it when you're vocal, sir,' he said against Sherlock's neck. 'Keep talking, please.'_

_'Mmm. Your fingers are brilliant. I love you. Oh fuck.' He started to arch into John's touch._

_John rut his hips slowly against Sherlock's bum, his clothed erection sliding between his cheeks._

_'I know how you feel, sir,' he whispered seductively. 'Oh fuck, indeed.'_

_Sherlock screamed against the covers. 'Yes! Please, just please.'_

_'You're very loud today, sir,' John mused. 'I like it.' He sat on his haunches and grabbed the lube, slicking his fingers before swirling them around Sherlock's already open entrance._

_'Just to make things more comfortable,' he explained, sliding two fingers inside easily. Sherlock screamed again, whimpering and vibrating manically as John filled him._

_'So eager, sir,' John purred. 'I won't keep you waiting then.' He pulled his trousers off with his free hand, keeping his other inside Sherlock._

_'On your knees, sir. Legs spread,' he instructed, moving his fingers teasingly. Sherlock tilted his bum upwards and pushed himself up to his knees, his back slightly better now._

_'Good job, sir,' John praised, running his free hand down Sherlock's cheek and squeezing. He removed his fingers and slicked up his cock, positioning the head at Sherlock's hole. 'Are you ready for me?'_

_Sherlock exhaled shakily. 'Yes, ready and waiting.'_

_John eased himself inside, letting Sherlock feel everything as he entered. Sherlock grunted and began rocking against John._

_'Pound yourself into me, John,' he pleaded._

_'Yes sir,' John readily agreed. He pulled out and slammed back in with a slap. He moaned and did it again, thrusting quick and hard, pounding Sherlock into the mattress._

_Sherlock couldn't fight the urge to scream once more. 'Oh, fuck me!'_

_'Yes! Yes!' John cried, wrapping an arm around Sherlock's waist to hold him steady as he fucked him harder._

_'I love you!' Sherlock hollered, nearly over the edge. John's scream was his reply, moving faster to bring Sherlock over the edge before he did. His free hand grasped Sherlock's cock and stroked quickly, wanting to feel him pulse in his hand. Sherlock felt his stomach do a flip and his heart speed up._

_'Oh yes!' he groaned in a husky voice. John's breath hitched and his hips slammed firmly against Sherlock's._

_'Gonna... Gonna cum, sir,' he groaned, thrusting harder and wanking Sherlock faster._

_'Cum, now!' Sherlock roared, determined to only cum if John did. John buried himself fully in Sherlock's arse and screamed as he came deep inside, shuddering at the force of his third orgasm in nearly two hours. Sherlock trembled with the force rocketing through him and felt John drag him over the edge. John continued to move his hips as Sherlock came, hoping to prolong their orgasms as long as possible. He whimpered as he moved, continuing to cum, his cock extra sensitive._

_Their joint orgasm seemed to last for hours. When they did stop coming at last Sherlock collapsed, bringing John down on top of him with a loud smack. John's body was shaking from the force of his orgasm. He landed on Sherlock with a harsh slap when they finally collapsed. John took in deep, shaky breaths to bring himself down from his post-orgasmic haze._

_'Oh, fuck,' he breathed. 'Fuck.'_

_'Someone was a little sexually frustrated,' Sherlock giggled against the mattress._

_'Two months of nothing would definitely sexually frustrate me,' John panted, his limbs still too weak to move. 'But fuck that was incredible.'_

_'As always, John, as always.' Sherlock huffed a laugh. 'We make quite the team.'_

_'Yeah, we certainly do.' John hummed and nuzzled his cheek against Sherlock's shoulder blade. 'I love you.'_

_'The feeling is completely mutual,' Sherlock groaned. 'But could you please remove yourself from my arse? You're making me hard again and we've already had three orgasms. I don't know whether I could go for another one.'_

_'Yeah, yeah, sorry,' John groaned, pulling out and flopping on his back next to Sherlock. 'My stamina isn't what it used to be, but maybe we could go again once more before the kids come home?'_

_Sherlock turned his face to grin at John. 'Four times? Blimey, John! Two months sex free and then four orgasms in one go?'_

_'Hey, I deserve those orgasms!' John retorted._

_'I never said you didn't. I'm just thinking about how dead beat you'll be after a fourth one.' Sherlock dragged himself onto John. 'After all, we're not teenagers.'_

_'I know, but I want to feel that exhaustion,' John smiled softly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist. 'I haven't in quite some time. And I want that feeling again.'_

_'It's not my fault Mycroft took the silencer,' Sherlock cursed. 'If it were up to me I would fuck you every day._

_'How dare he think I would use it against our children!' he exclaimed angrily. 'I'm not cruel for god's sake!'_

_'We can demand he give it back when he and Greg drop off the kids,' John smirked. 'What's a good threat we can use? You must have a fair amount stored up after the years.'_

_Sherlock twitched above John in fury. 'I'm sure you wouldn't approve of anything I want to say to him.'_

_'With that attitude I probably wouldn't, no,' John frowned. 'Could you build another one perhaps? What stopped you from doing it before?'_

_'How should I know? I can't remember anything.' Sherlock continued to shake in anger. 'I hate him, you know? He's always doubted me. Always seen the worst in me. And after all those years crying in the dark alone did he really think I would allow that to happen to my own bloody children!'_

_'Shh, love, shh,' John whispered, rubbing soothing circles on Sherlock's shoulders. 'He had selfish and stupid reasons for taking it away, and we'll get it back. He probably carries it on him all the time, like we used to after the dressing room.' He held Sherlock's face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs across his cheeks._

_'Fat git's too lazy to make one himself!' Sherlock exclaimed with a snarl._

_'Sherlock, calm down,' John said firmly, clutching his face tighter. 'It's okay. It will be ok. I'll get it back, I will. I promise. And then you can have your morning fuck every day, we can go out to_

_dinner and fuck in the bathroom stall for all I care.'_

_Despite John's words Sherlock couldn't bring himself to calm down. He closed his eyes, nostrils flaring in anger as his breathing quickened._

_'I don't care about the fucking. I don't. I really don't. It's just the fact that he had the audacity to make such an opinion of me.'Despite everything, my brother's opinion does matter to me a lot. I would have taken it to heart and believed it to be true. That I was going to be a cruel father. I still do. So do not tell me to calm down!'_

_John glared up at Sherlock._

_'I went through this already when he took it away,' he ground out. 'So I'm going to tell you what I told you then. Mycroft did not take it away because he thought you would be a bad father; he took it so you would grow accustomed to hearing the baby cry in the middle of the night, adapting to the new situation. He wanted you to be invested in your child's life, learn what to do that would calm her down, entertain her, be everything your father wasn't. He wanted you to learn and adapt and be a proper father so that you wouldn't become yours._

_'And now that Felicity is almost nine and Benny is five, I think we've reached the point where they aren't always going to be randomly waking up in the middle of the night needing to be fed or burped or changed. Benny wakes up before seven a.m. like clockwork, always having some sort of bizarre dream that he has to tell me about. But he's been doing it less frequently, I think because of your violin playing. So we'll be able to use the silencer in the mornings before they wake up to get ready for school. So please, try to calm down. Please.'_

_Sherlock nodded. 'I'm sorry,' he sniffed. 'God I'm selfish. A selfish bastard.' A single teardrop slid down his cheek._

_'No, you're not,' John sighed, wiping away the lone tear from Sherlock's cheek. 'We'll get it back from him now that our sex life seems to be picking back up. He'll listen to me when I explain why we need it back. Even after all these years you two are still in a petty sibling rivalry.' He laughed softly, finding their relationship still funny after so long._

_'It's not petty! Far from it.' Sherlock retorted sharply._

_'Hey, calm down,' John glared. 'What's with the attitude?'_

_'I suppose he just brings out the worst in me. I'm sorry,' Sherlock exhaled._

_'He's a massive git,' John conceded. 'Especially for almost insinuating you would be a poor father. I think he feels the same way about himself, because he and Greg don't have kids. But he's so good to ours I wonder sometimes if he would be a different man if he had his own.'_

_Sherlock scoffed but nodded. 'He would. When I was a child he was a different man indeed.'_

_'Oh?' John asked curiously. 'What was he like, if you don't mind telling me?'_

_'He held me when I cried, shouted at my school bullies. He was kind, and gentle, and almost loving in a non-sentimental way. Of course, the latter would be different for his children,' Sherlock smiled fondly._

_'He sounds like he was a wonderful big brother,' John smiled softly. 'I'm glad he was there for you.' He turned to glance at the clock. He smirked when he saw it was only four._

_'We have an hour left, Sherlock,' he said, turning to look at him with lustful eyes. 'What do you say to one more round?'_

_'I was just about to suggest a round of angry sex. Might not work since you're not angry though.' Sherlock slid down John's body._

_'Then make me angry,' he growled, craning his neck to watch Sherlock's movements._

_Sherlock grinned. 'Oh, I will,' he promised, now hovering his mouth over John's erection but not touching it, just simply breathing hot and heavy onto it._

_John quivered in anticipation, his cock perking up and reaching for Sherlock's mouth._

_'Planning on sexually frustrating me?' he asked breathlessly. Sherlock closed his mouth, not answering. Dipping his fingers in lube he danced them around John's entrance. John groaned and watched Sherlock intently._

_'I'm already sexually frustrated,' he stated, panting. 'So how are you going to make me angry? Am I going to have to beg?' Sherlock shook his head._

_'Beg for what John?' he asked innocently._

_'For you to **touch**  me,' John ground out, subtly moving his hips closer to Sherlock's fingers. Sherlock moved his hands to wrap around John's cock._

_'Better?' he questioned. John moaned and smiled, his head falling back against the pillows._

_'Much,' he sighed. Sherlock squeezed his hands round John's cock hard._

_'I suggest you get almighty pissed off with me before I give you my cock.' John grinned up at the ceiling._

_'Then make me angry,' he retorted. 'By whatever means necessary.' Sherlock lunged forward and began kissing John viciously, sucking his lips into his mouth. His hands moved from John's cock to slap his arse forcefully._

_'Gah!' John yelped, his arse stinging. He groaned and clasped Sherlock's head in his hands, kissing him sloppily as Sherlock was trying to basically eat his lips. Sherlock growled and slapped John's arse cheeks harder. He grabbed hold of John's chin and began to suck in John's lips more forcefully. John hissed at the sting of flesh slapping flesh. Well, he hissed as best he could with his lips being sucked into Sherlock's mouth. He rocked his hips, egging Sherlock on. His eyes rolled back in his head when Sherlock slapped him harder, moaning at the harsh contact. Sherlock pulled his lips away and began nipping at John's neck._

_'Cock?' he asked, his voice low and gravelly. He slapped John's arse extra hard now._

_'God yes,' John breathed, his arse arching away from Sherlock's hands. 'Fuck me.' Sherlock placed himself in position and without hesitation pushed himself inside. He sat there for a moment, eyes closed, imagining himself growing to the point of it being agonising for John._

_Then John yelped in pain._

_John moaned and grit his teeth, his head arching back into the pillows. Oh, Sherlock always felt fucking fantastic up his arse. Goddamn perfect even. His brow knitted in discomfort as he felt he was being stretched further, but Sherlock was balls deep in his arse. How was that possible? He felt too tight, Sherlock was too big, it hurt and it was quite uncomfortable. He yelped in pain, trying to ease the stretching and tearing feeling in his arse._

_Sherlock snapped his eyes open and pulled himself almost all the way out, glancing at John in shock before turning his eyes to his cock. He gasped as he saw how massively engorged he was._

_'Good god,' he mumbled. 'Are you okay to continue?' he asked John gently._

_'Yes, yes,' he panted, leaning up on his elbows. 'God, it looks like you took the Viagra drug again. It wasn't in the chocolate spread again, was it? No, I don't care. Just fuck me good and hard before the kids get home. Please, Sherlock. Please.' Sherlock grabbed John and pulled him so he was sat flush against him. He wriggled himself back in with a great amount of difficulty._

_'I haven't ingested any drug, John,' he said with a frown but began to make hard love to the man despite his confusion. His cock throbbed in protest of being squeezed into such a tight spot and he groaned loudly as pleasure and pain began to blur together._

_'Gah! Fuck!' John spat, bracing his feet on the bed and meeting Sherlock thrust for thrust as best he could. 'Faster!' he demanded. 'Harder!' Sherlock forced himself to pound harder and faster. His cock throbbed harder and he threw back his head, hardly able to comprehend what was going on with his body._

_'That's it, Sherlock. Yes!' John cried, his hands fisting the sheets tightly. 'Yes, yes! Fuck me! Oh, god!' It was hard and fast and hot and tight and John had never felt so much pleasure before in his life. He pushed back on Sherlock's cock hard with each thrust, drawing moans from both their lips._

_'Close, close. Oh, god. Fuck me!' he cried, his back almost arching off the bed. Sherlock, though exhausted beyond belief, began to make love furiously fast and hard to John. He grunted and groaned as he pushed John closer and closer. John's eyes snapped open suddenly, his hands grasping Sherlock's hips tightly._

_'Sherlock, look at me,' he demanded. 'I want to see you. All of you. I want to see the emotions in your eyes, the ones you still have trouble expressing with your face.' Sherlock flickered his eyes open and fixed a penetrating look on John. 'I love you' was written in them plain and clear. John tried to put all the love and devotion and adoration he had for Sherlock in his eyes. As he stared into Sherlock's he saw love, then lust, and so much more. His breath hitched as Sherlock pounded into him, one hand going from his hip to his bicep and squeezing hard. He whimpered, the noise growing in volume and intensity as he neared his fourth release in five hours. He desperately needed to be touched though, and he hoped the desperation in his eyes told Sherlock exactly what he wanted him to do._

_Sherlock grabbed John's cock. 'Is this what you want, Jonathan?' he whispered, his voice deep and dangerous. His thrusts became erratic as he drove John to his fourth release, wanking him all the while._

_'Yes, yes, yes, yes!' John chanted, his voice becoming louder as he toppled over the edge. He pulsed in Sherlock's hand, cumming hard over his stomach and Sherlock's chest. His eyes fluttered closed and he threw his head back against the pillows, screaming in ecstasy. Sherlock felt himself explode within John, shooting his seed deep within his lover. He was panting like a deranged animal rather than a human being and he collapsed in a nearly unconscious state whilst still completely emerged within John. John lay still, collecting his ragged breath as he came down from his high. Jesus Christ. Even after three previous orgasms the fourth was still quite powerful. Maybe he wasn't so old after all. He still couldn't speak, so he drew the word 'fantastic' in Gallifreyan on Sherlock's bicep. Sherlock smiled sleepily and lazily wrote back to John, 'Obviously.' He still lay there short of breath and unable to move and his nose twitched and wrinkled up as a surprisingly loud snore like sound escaped it. John giggled drunkenly, still riding the post-orgasm high._

_'What... What was that?' he asked between breaths. Sherlock snuggled John and made the same noise again, melding into his warmth, half asleep. John nudged his shoulder, jostling Sherlock so he wouldn't fall asleep._

_'Hey. Hey, 'Lock,' he said. 'Hey, you can't fall asleep yet. We should take a shower, get dressed and presentable before the kids come home. Plus, we'd never hear the end of it if Mycroft found out just how many times we did the deed in five hours.'_

_'Make me,' Sherlock said through another snore. He was still fully seated within John and gave a little wiggle backwards before gently driving forwards. He laughed internally as he heard John's heart pick up once more. Even after four releases John was becoming aroused. John moaned and wriggled back on his husband's cock. Oh sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that felt good. He moved his hips again and whimpered. Jesus, where had the stamina of a teenager come from all of a sudden? John didn't care. He just knew he wanted it, needed it desperately. And the time constraint made it all the more exciting. He gripped Sherlock's shoulders and flipped their positions, Sherlock landing on his back with a soft chuckle._

_'You want me to wake you up?' John smirked, moving his hips over Sherlock's. 'I'll bloody well wake you up.'_

_'Will you now, dear?' Sherlock questioned, bucking upwards beneath John, a sly grin plastering his features._

_'It's working, isn't it?' John grinned, rocking on Sherlock's cock slowly and torturously. As he felt them both harden rather quickly he moved faster, up and down, back and forth, teasing them both. He let out a high pitched whimper as he neared his fifth release in just as many hours._

_'Yes, yes!' John cried despite his best intentions. He moved quickly, impaling himself on Sherlock's cock, his legs shuddering from the exertion and pleasure. 'So close, love. So close! Don't stop! Don't stop! Don't stop!'_

_Sherlock cracked one eye open. 'If only you could see your nearly cumming face, John.' He gasped for breath, bucking again, harder and more insistently. 'Oh god!' He froze and tensed as he felt a heart stopping orgasm almost knock the wind out of him and he came for the fifth time, almost painfully this time around. John shuddered as he felt Sherlock cum deep inside him, moving faster to bring himself over the edge. He came almost painfully with a sharp cry, sitting fully on Sherlock's cock as his own spurted cum across Sherlock's torso. He moved his hips subtly as he came, drawing out his pleasure as long as possible. When he finally stopped cumming he fell backwards over Sherlock's legs, his husband's prick still up his arse._

_Sherlock laughed and slowly pulled himself out of John. He glanced at the clock and his breath hitched. 'We have ten minutes to get ourselves looking like we haven't just fucked five times over.'_

_John was out of bed like a shot, urging Sherlock to do the same._

_'Come on, up, up,' he instructed. 'Even if we just rinse ourselves off in the shower it's better than nothing.'_

_Sherlock hopped off the bed and struggled to his feet, walking on wobbly legs to the bathroom. John lead the way to the shower, turning the water on and stepping inside. The water was cold. Perfect. He scrubbed at his face and torso, turning around to let the cold water cascade down his back and tingly arse. He felt Sherlock climb in behind him, the water stopping as it fell down Sherlock's body. He hummed and pressed himself against Sherlock's torso._

_'I'm going to pick out your clothes,' he hummed softly, his head resting under Sherlock's chin. 'Can you clean yourself quickly and meet me on the stairs after you're dressed?' Sherlock placed a brief kiss on the base of John's head and nodded._

_'I'll be with you in a jiffy,' he promised softly._

_'See you soon,' John hummed, stepping out of the shower and drying himself off. He padded out to the bedroom and hastily pulled on a t-shirt and his cream jumper, pants and blue jeans following soon after. He set out Sherlock's dress trousers and purple shirt on the bed and smiled. So many memories flooded into his mind. He took a deep breath and sighed, moving to the stairs to keep a lookout for the kids and Mycroft. Sherlock scrubbed at his skin frantically, trying to rid himself of the smell of sex and sweat. He sighed softly as the water cleansed his skin. Turning around he switched off the water and ambled out of the shower. He shook himself like a dog, sending tiny droplets everywhere before hurrying into the bedroom._

_He was quick to get dressed and walk out to the landing. He smiled at John and skipped down the stairs, missing every two steps and almost tripping up several times. John laughed at the sight, following Sherlock downstairs and to the kitchen. He rifled through the fridge and pulled out the chicken and vegetables he had bought for dinner. He set them out on the island and smiled over at Sherlock. A car suddenly pulled into the driveway and John grinned. Perfect timing. He pecked Sherlock on the lips and laughed._

_'Love you,' he whispered._

_'I love you too,' Sherlock grinned despite his apprehension to meet his and John's children properly. The door opened and slammed against the wall, Felicity bounding inside with Benny close behind._

_'Daddy! Daddy!' Felicity giggled. 'Uncle Mikey got me two ice creams today!'_

_'Me too!' Benny said, ambling in and removing his shoes as fast as possible._

_'He bought you two?' John mock scolded, his hands resting on his hips. 'Well I'll just have to have a little discussion with your uncle now, won't I?'_

_Sherlock glanced at the ground sadly. The children hadn't even acknowledged him. He didn't blame them but it still hurt. John glanced up at Sherlock and his heart constricted. He could see the hurt on his face and his lower lip trembled slightly. He crouched down to Felicity's level and took hold of her hands._

_'Princess, Father has had a sad day. Why don't you have your tea party early and cheer him up?'_

_'Ok Daddy,' she smiled. She let go of John's hands and went to grasp one of Sherlock's in both of hers. 'Come on Father! The tea's not gonna make itself. And we can't keep Beary waiting.' She pulled on his hand and gestured to her room, a wide smile on her face. Sherlock blinked in surprise as two tiny hands clutched his. He grinned like an idiot at Felicity. His heart started to tingle with warmth. The same kind of warmth John made him feel. She was definitely John's daughter._

_'Lead the way, Princess,' he replied gently. Felicity smiled and lead her father to her room, sitting him on her princess bed. She set up the tea table and sat her stuffed animals in the chairs, her favourite bear sitting at the head of the table. She pulled her father off her bed and sat him on the floor at the table. She sat herself on his lap and poured the imaginary tea, handing him a cup before she poured for her animals._

_John scooped Benny into his arms and walked to the door, holding it open as Mycroft and Greg ambled inside._

_'Hello, boys,' John smiled. 'And how was the ice cream trip today? Other than buying my kids two, that is.' He scowled slightly and laughed, ushering them inside to the kitchen and closing the door. He put Benny in his seat and moved to wash the chicken for dinner._

_'You're beautiful,' Sherlock smiled, wrapping one arm around Felicity whilst using the other to sip at the imaginary tea. The whole parenting thing came remarkably easy to him._

_'Thanks, Father.' She gave him a toothy grin._

_He laughed. 'So do we have anything to eat at this tea party, princess?' he asked._

_'I could ask Daddy for some cookies,' she said with a small laugh._

_'Yes. Tell you what, I will go get some. Be back in a minute.' He lifted Felicity off his lap and onto the floor._

_'You always say that,' Felicity frowned._

_'I mean it this time,' Sherlock stated sorrowfully before heading out to get some cookies._

_Before you say anything Mycroft,' John interrupted the smug looking man. 'Yes, the dry spell is over. **And**  I want the silencer back.' The elder Holmes smirked cheekily at him._

_'That, my dear John, is not going to happen.'_

_'Oh? And why's that? Because you still think Sherlock will use it to silence his children? Such a strong vote of confidence you have in your younger brother. Or is it because you and Greg are enjoying it a bit too much?' He glanced over at Greg who blushed and turned away._

_'I want it back,' John growled._

_'No, and not for any of those reasons. Mostly,' Mycroft frowned. 'You aren't getting it back because I heard from your darling little Felicity that Sherlock walked into the kitchen stark naked this morning. Now why should I reward him for such bad behaviour?'_

_'Nakie!' Ben smiled. John shushed him and turned back to Mycroft. But before he could say anything Sherlock walked back into the kitchen, a scowl on his face._

_'That was a misunderstanding, brother,' Sherlock grit out as politely as he could, quite aware that little ears were in hearing distance._

_'How on earth could traipsing around the house naked be a misunderstanding?' Mycroft asked._

_'Nakie!' Ben said again, giggling. John shushed him but he continued to giggle._

_'I don't have to explain myself to you.' Sherlock's jaw locked. He turned to John. 'Can Felicity and I have some cookies?' he asked._

_'Of course,' John nodded, searching through the cupboards until he found a packet of Oreos. He handed them to Sherlock but not before he saw Mycroft slap Sherlock upside the head._

_'What were you thinking?' the elder Holmes hissed. 'You could have ruined your children's innocence! What kind of a father are you?'_

_Sherlock's head spun as Mycroft roughly hit him across the head. He flinched away from the hit and trembled as Mycroft hissed the harsh words down his ear. In that moment all he could see was his father, not his brother. His eyes filled with tears and his legs felt like jelly beneath him. He wanted to say so many nasty things in that moment. He wanted to poke fun at Mycroft's belly straining beneath his three piece suit. He wanted to yell, to push Mycroft away and scream that it wasn't his fault. Instead his lower lip trembled helplessly and his throat closed up. He clutched the packet of Oreos in his hand tightly and hurried away back to Felicity's room. He sat down next the nine year old and passed her the packet._

_'Here you go, Princess,' he choked._

_Felicity looked troubled and almost instantly wrapped her arms around Sherlock, hugging him tightly. 'What's wrong, Father? Why are you sad?'_

_'I had an argument with your uncle,' Sherlock replied, beginning to sob. It hadn't been an argument because there was nothing to argue about. What kind of father was he indeed? A bloody terrible one was the answer._

_'Don't cry, Father.' Felicity reached up with a tiny finger and wiped some of his falling tears away._

_John was fuming. He glared at Mycroft, his entire body shaking. There were so many foul words he wanted to say but with Benny still in the room he held his tongue._

_'Greg, take Benny to the living room,' he said as politely as he could manage. 'Myc and I need to have a chat.' Greg nodded, grabbing Ben out of his chair and started talking to him as he left for the living room. As soon as they were out of earshot John turned sharply to Mycroft and socked him across the jaw without warning._

_'What the bloody hell is wrong with you?' he demanded. 'Do you have any idea how much you've hurt him?'_

_'All I did was hit him across the head,' Mycroft groaned, wiping blood off his chin._

_'No, you told him he was a bad father,' John growled. 'Do you not know how he lives in constant fear of turning into your father? Do you know how much it hurts to be around children and worry about saying or doing the wrong thing and having them resent you forever? And on top of that Sherlock's memory has been acting up again. My personal opinion is dementia. Because the last thing he could remember was our wedding night. So you don't know a damn thing about what's going on in Sherlock's head and how much he hangs on your every word. Even after everything he still believes every word you say about him, and if you say he's a bad father he's going to believe it.'_

_Mycroft was speechless. His brother was having memory problems? He forgot everything between his wedding and today? He couldn't remember his children? The house? His and Greg's wedding?_

_'John, I–'_

_'Save it,' John interrupted. 'Don't tell me, tell your brother. Or if you're too proud to do it then bugger off.'_

_Mycroft stood and wiped his jaw again, his eyes full of sorrow. 'I realise you think lowly of me but I would never leave my brother in such inner turmoil.' He looked down at John and hung his head. 'I'll go talk to him. Where did he go?'_

_'Felicity's room,' John glowered. 'They had a tea party today. Be nice. Don't let her overhear.'_

_'Of course,' Mycroft nodded solemnly, heading off to Felicity's room._

_Felicity and Sherlock were still hugging each other tightly. Tears still dripped from his eyes but his sobs were silent now._

_He heard the door open and footsteps close in. His brother's footsteps to be exact. He raised his head and glared at Mycroft. Felicity turned to the elder Holmes and fixed a similar glare upon him._

_'Why did you make Father so sad?' she asked, frowning._

_Mycroft would have laughed at the sight of her little scowl, so much like Sherlock's, but the current situation did not call for laughter._

_'I apologise, Felicity,' he began. 'I did not mean to make your father sad. But I came to apologise to him, and I was wondering if you would be a good girl and go and talk with Uncle Greg while your father and I talk?'_

_The little girl continued to glare at him but nodded curtly. She hugged Sherlock close again, her small fingers playing with his hair._

_'It will be alright, Father,' she whispered softly. 'I'll be back soon and I'll give you another hug and then you won't be sad anymore and we can have more tea.'_

_Sherlock's entire body shook as Felicity left and his brother took a step towards him. He curled his knees to his chest and turned his face away from Mycroft, terrified of being hit once more, and preparing himself for more harsh words._

_'Oh, Sherlock,' Mycroft sighed, taking a seat on Felicity's bed. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't realise...' He paused, studying Sherlock's protective form. Mycroft's heart broke. John had been right, about everything. His breath caught in his throat at the thought._

_'I'm so sorry,' he said again, his voice strained. 'I didn't realise, didn't notice, I'm so sorry. John, he told me what happened, what's happening to you. If I had known I wouldn't have said those words, or hit you the way I did. I'm so sorry. I don't think you're a bad father, you're wonderful. Just the fact that you're sitting here in your daughter's room participating in an imaginary tea party is proof of that. Please forgive me for my harsh words and actions.'_

_Sherlock shook his head, 'Save it Mycroft.' His breath came out in short, sharp, spurts. 'I'm only here because John told me I am a distant figure in their lives. You see the children more than me for fuck's sake!' he exclaimed. 'I paraded around naked in front of them! I can't remember them. You were right. What sort of father am I?'_

_'You were the one who agreed to the tea party,' Mycroft pointed out. 'Felicity was telling me all about it, how you had looked down at her and smiled and said, "Yes, of course. Anything for my little princess." That doesn't sound like a distant father to me._

_'And just because you can't remember them doesn't make you a bad father,' he continued. 'I don't believe you would purposefully delete them from your mind palace. You are not that cruel, especially towards your own flesh and blood, the few people you allowed into your heart. You didn't delete John. He had been taken from you but you brought him back. I'm confident you can do the same with your children.'_

_Sherlock chewed on his lip anxiously. 'There's something different this time, Mycroft. With John it was Moriarty who wiped my memories clean. With my children my mind is crumbling by itself.'_

_He closed his eyes. 'I saw him, you know?' he said, trying to steer the subject away from his memory loss. 'When you hit me. I saw him.'_

_'You saw...' Mycroft froze. No. 'Oh. Oh Sherlock I'm so sorry. I didn't... I'm sorry.'_

_'Didn't what, Mycroft? Didn't think? Thought you could hit me because you wanted to punish me? Just like him,' Sherlock snarled._

_'I seem to be doing that a lot recently. Not thinking,' Mycroft sighed morosely. 'I haven't exactly been myself either, as you can probably tell. Irritable, mood swings, the constant eating. And now add not thinking to the list. I apologise for hurting you, for being an idiot, and I hope... Well, I know you won't forgive me, but do you think we might be able to leave on better terms?'_

_Sherlock glanced at Mycroft worriedly, his bitterness washing away for the time being. 'What's wrong, Mycroft? Keep it short and to the point and don't bother lying to me. You're not ... going back to your ways are you?' he swallowed thickly._

_'No, nothing like that,' Mycroft assured him. 'I just... I think... I think it's bipolar syndrome. Father had it and it seems he's passed it on to me.'_

_Sherlock sat up, immediately alert. 'I see we're both fucked up at the moment.' His brow knitted together. 'Dear brother, you need to get yourself some help.' He reached up and placed a hand over the elder Holmes' hands. 'You're not okay." Sherlock snorted. 'And neither am I._

_'And to think I accused you of being like him.' He sighed heavily. 'I'm going to say something I don't usually say. I was wrong.'_

_Mycroft looked down at Sherlock's hands on his, trying to hold back his emotions._

_'I'm scared,' he admitted. 'Not for myself but for Gregory and your children. What if I fly off the handle around them? I don't want to hurt them. And if I get help then Gregory will surely know and... What if he leaves me? I couldn't bear to lose him. He's too important.'_

_Sherlock stood to his feet, sitting next to his brother, pulling him into a hug. 'He loves you. He would understand. I'm in a similar position. I'm going to the doctor's tomorrow.' He tapped his skull. 'Because I have something wrong with my mind. You should come too,' he suggested. 'And tell Greg. I'll be there right by your side when you do._

_'Jesus, John has corrupted me. Look how soft I've become.' Sherlock squeezed Mycroft._

_Mycroft nodded, hugging his little brother tightly._

_'I'll go with you, of course,' he agreed. 'And... when I'm ready to tell Gregory I will. I just want a proper diagnosis first. I don't want to be going off a hunch.'_

_He smiled fondly. 'Soft suits you brother. You are a far better man than I ever could have imagined you'd become. I'm proud of you.'_

_Sherlock chuckled. 'Never thought I'd live to hear those words from you. I'm not sure I deserve them however.'_

_He eased backwards and smiled. 'In the meantime ease up on all the pies and cake, Mycroft. If you feel the need to stuff yourself silly try something healthier. Grapes maybe? I also need to ask a few favours of you. If that is quite alright.'_

_Mycroft blushed and glanced down at his stomach._

_'The cake helps, it really does,' he sighed. 'But I know I need to ease off.' He glanced up at Sherlock. 'What kind of favours do you need?'_

_'I firstly need my violin that I had as a child. I promised John I'd teach Ben how to play. Can you fetch it for me, please?' Sherlock requested._

_'And secondly I need you to promise me something.' Sherlock began to shake again. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes once more._

_'Of course,' Mycroft smiled. 'He never stops talking about your playing.' His brows knit in concern when Sherlock paused though. 'What else do you need?'_

_'I need you to stop me if I become a danger to them. John and the children. I fear I am slowly losing my mind, and with it I will either lash out or...' He shrugged. 'I don't know anymore, Mycroft. I am so angry and confused at the moment._

_'My mind is deteriorating and I know in my heart this is only the start. I don't care what it takes to keep them safe. Lock me up if you feel it necessary. Can you do that? Keep my family safe?'_

_Mycroft visibly paled and swallowed._

_'Are you... I won't kill you. If it comes to that I flat out refuse. But, if I need to, I will do whatever I deem necessary to keep your family safe. But I refuse to kill you.'_

_'I wouldn't blame you if you go down that road. My mind is all I have, Mycroft. If it deteriorates completely I don't know what I'll do. Is it really worth clinging onto me when you know I'll be in utter misery? Have you really become so sentimental?' Sherlock locked eyes with his brother._

_'Promise me that you'll make the right decision. Promise. Promise now Mycroft because there may come a day when I look at you and I don't know who you are.'_

_'I won't be the one to kill you. I refuse,' Mycroft stated, shaking his head. 'But I don't doubt that John would assist you. But I will promise to protect your family should your mind deteriorate to the point you are a danger to them and yourself._

_'And call me stupidly sentimental all you want, but you are my baby brother and I couldn't bear to see you in any sort of pain. You are the only family I have left, Sherlock. And I will protect you until the end of my days.'_

_Sherlock felt a pang strike his heart. 'Only family? Oh god, mother.' He tried to stop his tears but they were quick to run down his cheeks. He found himself clutching to Mycroft once more. Except this time he was the one in need of comforting._

_'I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry,' Mycroft sniffled. He held onto his brother tightly, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks._

_Sherlock shook against his brother, sobs ripping through him. 'It's not fair!' he yelled into Mycroft's chest._

_'No, it's not,' Mycroft agreed. He hugged his brother closer, rubbing soothing circles on his back._

_Sherlock's breathing became so erratic it was almost nonexistent. He felt light headed and his chest was constricting. He couldn't make sense of what was happening. Was this what a panic attack felt like?_

_'Can't breathe,' he choked, his voice barely a whisper._

_Mycroft paled and held his brother out at arm's length. 'Sherlock, Sherlock focus. Breathe. Come on, just breathe. Do you want me to get John? Please, just breathe.'_

_Breathe, yes, breathe. How do you breathe? He tried using his lungs but he found them rendered useless. His eyes widened in fright. 'My?' he gasped, turning bright red from lack of air._

_'John!' Mycroft shouted at the top of his lungs. The man in question could be heard barreling down the hall before he slammed open the door. His eyes were wide as he looked at Mycroft and a red faced Sherlock._

_John moved Mycroft out of the way, setting Sherlock down on Felicity's bed. He propped his legs up with a pillow before moving back to his head, tipping his head back to let air into his windpipe easier. He then plugged Sherlock's nose and opened his mouth, breathing a lungful of air into him. Sherlock spluttered in protest as John forced air into his lungs. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. He pushed John away._

_'I'm fine now,' he coughed loudly, trying to regain as much oxygen as possible._

_'You sure?' John asked. He held him tenderly by the shoulders, looking into his face for confirmation._

_'Certain of it,' Sherlock nodded, letting his eyes wander over to his deadly pale brother. 'Sorry if I scared you.'_

_Mycroft swallowed and nodded. 'Sorry for accusing you of being a bad father.' He stood awkwardly in the corner, shuffling his feet. 'You, um, should probably get back to spending time with Felicity. I know she was really looking forward to it. Sorry for interrupting.' He left hastily._

_John looked to Sherlock, sighing deeply. 'You alright? And not just from the panic attack. What caused that anyway?'_

_'It's not relevant,' Sherlock shrugged it off, frowning. 'Mycroft, go to him. He needs a friend right now.'_

_'He has Greg,' John pointed out. 'But you should continue your tea party. I'll make dinner. Please don't let this mull around in your head for too long. Be here, in the present, with your daughter.'_

_Felicity came back into the room then, a smile on her face. 'Are you all better now, Father?' she asked. 'Or do you want a hug so you won't be sad anymore?'_

_'I could really do with a hug, Princess,' Sherlock said before turning to John briefly. 'Greg is too close to the situation. Please go to my brother. You'll find him in our bathroom stuffing his face I believe.'_

_Felicity bounded into Sherlock's arms, hugging him tight and burrowing her nose in his neck. 'Love you,' she said._

_John let them be, closing the door so they could have some privacy. Mycroft hiding in the loo? he asked himself. He shook his head and went to investigate. The downstairs bathroom was clear, but the one in their bedroom was locked. He knocked gently, not wanting to scare him._

_'Myc? You alright?' he asked._

_'Oh, Felicity,' Sherlock sighed and hugged his daughter to him. 'How about we get started on those biscuits?'_

_Felicity nodded into his chest. 'Okay Father,' she replied._

_John knocked on the bathroom door again._

_'Myc? Are you ok?'_

_'Go away, John.'_

_'No, Myc. I want to know what's going on. Now, put the cookies away and talk to me.' He heard Mycroft harrumph and the crinkle of plastic. The door opened slightly._

_'What do you want to know?' Mycroft asked softly._

_'Well, for starters, what caused Sherlock's panic attack?'_

_'I told him he was the only family I had left, inadvertently telling him that our mother had passed.'_

_'Oh,' John breathed. 'I never thought to mention that. I'm sorry.'_

_'It's alright,' Mycroft sighed._

_'Ok, well, what's going on with you? You seem off.'_

_'Bipolar disorder,' Mycroft answered bluntly. 'I think.'_

_'Oh. Oh, Myc. I'm sorry. So, you haven't been properly diagnosed?'_

_'Not yet, no. But my father had it and there's a very good probability I got it from him.'_

_'Oh. I wish I had more to say other than I'm sorry, but I am sorry. Does Greg know?'_

_'No. Not yet. I... I want Sherlock to be there when I do. He said he would be there when I did. But I'm not ready yet. I want a proper diagnosis first.'_

_'Ok. I understand. Why don't you come out of my bathroom, go to Greg, go home, make love, sleep? Do whatever you would normally do. Do what makes you happy. Ok?' Mycroft nodded, stepping out of the bathroom and out into the hall. When he got downstairs he peered into Felicity's room._

_She and Sherlock were having a very adamant conversation about fairies. Mycroft smiled at the adorable sight. He found Gregory in the living room, Ben sitting in his lap as they watched telly. The sight made him pause. Why had he and Greg never had children? The man was a wonderful father, and he had been very upfront about spending time with his own son from his previous marriage. But why had they never had one of their own? He honestly couldn't think of a legitimate excuse._

_'Gregory, we'll be going home soon. Say your goodbyes, ok?' Greg nodded, whispering something in Ben's ear that made him giggle loudly. He hugged the boy and brought him to Mycroft, who kissed his cheeks before he was handed back to John._

_'Thank you,' he whispered to him. 'You are a great friend indeed, John.'_

_'You are quite welcome, Myc,' John smiled. 'Thanks for watching over my kids. Just, next time, don't buy them two servings. Their teeth and bellies really don't need the extra sugar.'_

_'Of course,' the elder Holmes smiled. 'Goodbye, John. Ben.' He waved to the little boy as he and Greg left, leaving John in the kitchen with a toddler on his hip._

_'So, Benny, you wanna help Daddy make dinner?'_

_'No,' he smiled._

_'No?' John asked playfully._

_'No. I wanna watch,' the boy giggled._

_'Well then, you can watch,' John smiled, plopping the boy in his booster seat and pulling him closer to the island so he could watch his daddy prepare supper._

_'Which vegetable would be better? Green beans or carrots?' he asked, laughing as Benny's nose wrinkled up in distaste just like Sherlock's did._

_'No veggies,' the boy pouted. 'They're icky.'_

_'So fairy land is destroyed?' Felicity pouted sadly._

_'I'm afraid so,' Sherlock told her. 'But don't worry, the fairies are quite happy. Always having parties and eating roast meals.'_

_Felicity giggled, chewing on an Oreo. 'You're silly, Father.'_

_'Am I now?' he smirked, raising an eyebrow._

_'Yes you are,' she nodded._

_Sherlock smiled fondly. 'Good. Never be serious, Felicity. At least never be knowingly serious.'_

_'Doctor Who!' she squealed._

_'Yes dear. Doctor Who. I see you're a fully bred Whovian,' he beamed from ear to ear._

_She nodded. 'Shhh, don't tell Daddy. He thinks I'm too young to watch it but you sometimes let me whilst he's out shopping.'_

_Sherlock chuckled. 'Well it can be rather scary.'_

_'I'm not a baby!' she huffed._

_'No. No, you're not. You're a princess,' he assured her._

_'Yay!' She clapped her tiny hands together. 'Is it makeup time?' she asked._

_'Makeup time?' he retorted in confusion._

_'Yes, Father,' she grinned, mischief spreading across her features. And then she got the lipstick, blush, and eye shadow out._

_'Veggies are icky, huh?' John smiled, grabbing a bag of mixed frozen vegetables from the freezer. Ben nodded, making a 'bleagh' sound at the vegetables in John's hand. 'Hmm... Well, if you won't eat the vegetables I'll peel you an apple. You like those at least.'_

_'Affles!' Benny smiled, his little legs kicking against his seat. 'You gonna make chick-chick now?'_

_'Yep. Daddy's gonna make chick-chick now,' John smiled, pulling the chicken from it's packet and setting it on the pan on the stove to cook. He grabbed an apple from the fruit basket and began peeling it, then chopping it into bite sized pieces for Benny to eat. He gave him a small handful to keep him occupied while he cooked the chicken and the vegetables._

_'What do you say if we watch some Doctor Who now?' Sherlock whispered softly once Felicity was done violating his face._

_'But Daddy is still here. He'll get mad at you,' she said in an almost whisper back._

_'That's a risk I'm willing to take, Princess.' He swooped her into his arms and she let out a small giggle. 'To the living room to see the most wonderful thing in the universe. Just our little secret, ok?'_

_'Ok, Father,' she nodded, pressing a finger to her lips._

_John was chopping the chicken into bits when he heard the telly turn on. He listened, hearing the tenth Doctor and the ever wonderful Donna Noble arguing about pockets and wedding dresses. He smiled, remembering how wonderful that show was. God, he missed it._

_'Santa's a robot,' he muttered under his breath when Donna did. He heard Sherlock do the same, as well as Felicity. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no._

_'Sherlock,' he scowled, abandoning the chicken for a moment to stalk to the living room. 'Sherlock, what on earth are you–' He stopped dead in his tracks. Sherlock and Felicity were indeed watching Doctor Who, but Sherlock's face had been painted with a wide array of colourful powders. His eyes were a bright pink, his cheeks a deep red (from blush and actual blushing), and his lips were a vibrant share of costumey purple. Sherlock's face, despite the makeup, said, 'Do not ask and don't get mad.' So John didn't ask, and he didn't get mad. It was quite a sight, the two of them, spending time together like they were._

_John barely managed to stifle a giggle before saying, 'If she gets nightmares about giant red spiders tonight, you're going to be the one to console her when she wakes up.'_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes at John. 'She won't get nightmares, John.'_

_'Yeah, Daddy!' Felicity exclaimed, copying Sherlock's eye roll. 'I won't get nightmares. Only baby Benny gets nightmares.' John couldn't help but laugh. The two of them together were so adorable, and Sherlock's face was gorgeous to say the least._

_'Ok, you two enjoy your Doctor and Donna Noble. I'm going to finish dinner.'_

_'Will do,' Sherlock agreed, turning to face the TV once more, hugging Felicity tightly to him. John smiled, staring at the two of them. Father and daughter and Doctor Who. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He silently crept out of the room to grab the camera, taking a quick photo before returning to fixing dinner._

_The chicken was browning nicely and the vegetables were cooking, so John set the table. An apple piece hit his head and Benny laughed. John turned to him and shook his head._

_'No, Benny. We don't throw fruit at Daddy.' The little boy chucked another piece at him, full on laughing. 'Benny!'_

_'Trow affles at Daddy!'_

_'No, save your food,' John scolded. 'Because if you don't I'll make you eat the vegetables.' Benny made an 'ick' face and held on to the rest of his apple pieces, munching on them occasionally._

_'It's scary,' Felicity whispered as the biggest and reddest spider she had ever seen came onto the screen._

_Sherlock clutched to her, trembling, face half hidden behind a pillow. 'I am in total agreement with you there, Princess.'_

_'Just a heads up, dinner is almost rea–' John froze in the doorway. Sherlock and Felicity were wrapped in a blanket, their faces covered, Felicity hugging Sherlock like she needed him in order to breathe. He glanced at the telly and saw what the blanket was about. He smiled softly and turned off the telly, a squeal of protest coming from the blanket._

_'Dinner's just about ready. Felicity, wash your hands. Sherlock...' the man's head popped out of the blankets to stare at him, almost begging him to continue. 'Keep the makeup. You look gorgeous, darling.' John grinned and walked back to the kitchen, spooning the vegetables into a bowl while the last of the chicken cooked._

_'See Father, I told you that you look pretty,' Felicity giggled. Sherlock shook his head, not entirely amused by being referred to as pretty._

_'Come on, time to wash your hands.' Sherlock swept her into his arms and began to carry her to the kitchen. John put the chicken on a plate and moved it to the table, setting the vegetables near it. He considered pouring himself and Sherlock glasses of wine but thought better of it. Save that for when the kids weren't around. So everyone got water except for Benny; he always got milk. Sherlock and Felicity entered then, Sherlock carrying her to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. John grabbed Benny and did the same, the siblings splashing each other and John and Sherlock laughing above them._

_'OK guys, time to eat. Then you can watch one movie before bed, alright?'_

_'Ok, Daddy,' Felicity smiled as Sherlock put her in her bright pink chair. John grabbed Benny's and moved it closer to him so he could keep an eye on him while he ate. He sat the boy in and put some chicken pieces and more bits of apple in front of him. The boy giggled and grabbed a piece of chicken, gnawing on it before trying to suck on it like the dinosaurs on the telly._

_Sherlock dug into his food rapidly, licking his lips, and making tiny hums of appreciation. The food was absolutely wonderful. He looked up as the children began to giggle._

_'What?' he asked through a mouthful of food._

_'Fafer greedy,' Benny grinned toothily._

_Felicity nodded. 'Daddy says you shouldn't eat your food so fact. It can give you indi– indi–'_

_'Indigestion?' Sherlock supplied. 'Hmm, I suppose I should eat my food slower.'_

_'Makes you fat!' Benny squealed before beginning to chant 'fat, fat, fat' over and over again. Sherlock swallowed and glanced down at his plate, suddenly not very hungry anymore._

_'Benny,' John scolded. 'Fat isn't a nice word. It hurts people's feelings. Look.' He pointed to Sherlock, how he was staring at his plate like it was diseased. 'You hurt Father's feelings. Father isn't fat, is he Benny?'_

_'No,' the boy said softly. 'Fafer not fat.'_

_'Here.' John stood and grabbed the boy from his chair, taking him to Sherlock. 'Tell Father you're sorry and give him a hug.'_

_'Sorry, Fafer,' the boy said, his little hands grasping for Sherlock's shirt. 'You not fat.'_

_Sherlock hugged Ben tightly. 'It's ok Benny. I forgive you.' He smiled at John, patting his son on the back. 'Now you better go eat your food.'_

_'Chick-chick,' the boy grinned, scrambling back into John's arms so he could return to his seat. He shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth before he had even sat down. Sherlock returned to eating, slower this time, and without the same eagerness as before. He toyed with his vegetables and only ate half the amount of chicken that had been laid out before him. He pushed his plate away and glared at it as though it was the most repulsive thing he'd ever seen._

_'Can you excuse me a minute?' he asked the question but got up to leave before John could reply._

_'Sherlock?' John called after him but he was already out of earshot._

_'Is Father having a sad day?' Felicity asked, softly._

_'Yes, sweetie, I believe he is,' John sighed._

_'I don't like it when Father's sad,' she said, poking her chicken with her fork. 'It makes me sad.'_

_'Me too, Princess. Me too.'_

_Sherlock sat hunched on his knees by his and John's bedroom toilet. Before he could really comprehend what he was doing he'd stuck a finger down his throat. He gagged and it wasn't long before everything he'd eaten, including his sandwich and the two packets of crisps he had earlier came spilling out. He stood to his feet, wiped the back of his hand against his mouth and flushed the toilet. He quickly sprayed some cologne to cover up the smell and drank a glass of cooling water._

_He ambled warily back down to where his husband and children were sitting before reseating himself and picking up his knife and fork once more, eating what was left of his meal, feeling a lot less guilty about it sliding down his throat and into his now empty stomach._

_John's doctorly gaze swept over his husband. He'd heard the loo flush, but whether Sherlock actually used it properly had yet to be determined. When he ambled back to the dining room, legs shaky and face calmly composed, John narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He wasn't going to bring it up right then though, especially not in front of the kids. He ate his dinner in silence, the kids eating in relative silence as well. It was peaceful, and it worried John. Could the kids sense the seriousness of the situation?_

_As Sherlock finished his last bite he smiled at John. 'That was quite lovely, John. Thank you.' He hoped that his smile looked genuine but by the look on John's face he knew it didn't, and he was in for a lecture once the children were out of sight and earshot._

_Felicity poked at the last of her vegetables. She looked over at her father, her eyes sad. Why did Father have to be sad? He looked happy, he was smiling, but she could tell he was still sad. Why was Father sad? She looked over at her dad, his eyes looking the same as hers: sad, confused, and apprehensive. She sighed and pushed her plate away._

_'I'm done, Daddy,' she said. 'Can I take Baby Benny and we can get in our pj's and watch a movie?'_

_John eyed her plate before nodding. 'Go ahead, Princess.' Felicity slid out of her chair and grabbed Ben from his, carrying him to their room and closing the door. John turned his gaze to Sherlock, eyeing him._

_'I don't want to talk about this now, but I'm going to anyway,' he started. He pulled a small silver device from his pocket and clicked the button, the bubble forming around the table. 'Nicked it from Myc when I punched him earlier.'_

_Sherlock laughed. 'You sly bastard. You've learnt one or two tricks from me I see.'_

_'I learned from the best,' John half smiled. 'Now, what was with you leaving? I know what you did in the loo, all I want to know is why? Did Benny's words make you do that?'_

_'No,' Sherlock shook his head and closed his eyes in shame. 'It wasn't his words, at least it wasn't just his words.'_

_'Then what was it, 'Lock? Because you aren't fat. Trust me, you aren't. What's going on? Tell me, please.' John hoped he didn't sound like he was begging, but he knew he was._

_'I don't know why I did it,' Sherlock sighed heavily. 'I didn't even realise what I was doing until my fingers were down my throat.'_

_'God, Sherlock,' John choked out. 'Honey, I...' He stood slowly from his seat and walked to him. He collapsed to his knees and lay his head in Sherlock's lap. 'You're beautiful, love. You are, you are. Why can't you see what I see?'_

_'Don't you dare cry. Only one of us is allowed to shed tears at a time.' Sherlock patted John's back. 'I suppose I just don't like the fact that my children see me as fat. And that with everything else going on doing it felt so right.' He frowned. 'I can't see what you see in me. I just can't.'_

_'The kids don't see you as fat, love. Benny is five, he doesn't know that words can hurt people. And he's at that point where he repeats a lot of things. He didn't know what he was saying.' He buried his nose in Sherlock's lap and sighed._

_'You are gorgeous and handsome and I love you so very much,' he said softly._

_'I know, I know. I'm sorry, John,' Sherlock apologized, running a hand through John's mop. 'It was stupid and it won't happen again.'_

_'It better not,' John growled. 'Because the second it does I'm carting you off to a rehab facility whether you want to go or not.'_

_'Understood,' Sherlock grunted. He would have added more to that sentence but as it was John was growling at a close proximity to his crotch and he found that almighty distracting._

_'Naughty boy,' John smirked, nuzzling his nose in Sherlock's crotch. 'Very naughty indeed.'_

_'Again? Here?' Sherlock asked, wide eyed and groaning._

_'Yes, again,' John smirked, mouthing at Sherlock's clothed erection. 'But not here. Too open. The kids could walk by at any moment.' He looked up at Sherlock from beneath his lashes._

_'Clear the table like a good boy and I'll reward you later in bed,' he smirked._

_Sherlock rose to his feet instantly and hurriedly cleared the table and stacked the dirty dishes and glasses in the dishwasher._

_'Are we all watching a movie first?' he questioned. 'You better not tease me for that period.'_

_'Good boy,' John purred, rising to his feet. 'And yes, we'll be watching a movie. It's Benny's turn to pick, and he usually picks the cartoons, which are much shorter.' He walked over to Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a deep kiss. Sherlock continued to kiss John until he heard one small 'eww' noise from Benny and a fit of giggles from Felicity. He pulled away, turning a shocking shade of red._

_John blushed and cleared his throat. 'So, what do you want to watch tonight, Benny?'_

_'Are you happy now, Father?' Felicity interrupted. 'Since you were kissing Daddy? Are you happy now?'_

_Sherlock nodded curtly and grinned at Felicity. 'Very much so, princess. Very much so indeed.'_

_'Good,' she grinned. She grabbed his hand and held it tightly. 'I want to sit with you tonight.'_

_'Good idea, Princess,' John smiled, scooping Benny up. 'Now, Benny, what movie do you want to watch?'_

_'Threk!' the boy giggled._

_'Shrek it is,' John grinned, grabbing the DVD off the shelf. He popped it in to the telly's player and plopped down on the sofa, Benny in his lap. Sherlock sat next to him, Felicity clinging to his chest with the widest grin on her face._

_'You two are absolutely adorable,' John whispered to Sherlock as the movie started._

_'As are you two,' Sherlock whispered back, admiring the sight of his son and husband snuggled down with each other. John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, not really watching the movie as he was watching Sherlock and Felicity._

_Benny fell asleep halfway through, Felicity soon after. John stopped the movie and turned off the telly, gently standing so as not to wake Benny up. Sherlock did the same with Felicity and they made their way to their room. John put Benny in his new big boy bed, Sherlock put Felicity in her princess one. John kissed them both goodnight and moved to the door, lingering as Sherlock was still standing in the middle of the room._

_Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off of the two sleeping children, or rather didn't want to, refused to. He stood like an angelic figure gazing upon the tiny miracles, a guardian, their guardian, keeping them safe._

_John smiled softly and approached Sherlock, hugging him from behind._

_'They'll be alright, love,' he whispered. 'Promise. We're right above them, and if they need us we'll hear.' He hugged Sherlock tight._

_'Will you come to bed with me now?'_

_Sherlock turned reluctantly away from the children. 'Okay,' he said dumbly, not wanting to leave the room but knowing he couldn't stay._

_'You can kiss them goodnight if you want,' John whispered._

_'Wouldn't want to wake them,' Sherlock replied under his breath._

_'They won't wake, love,' John whispered. 'They sleep pretty soundly.'_

_Sherlock nodded. 'Go. I'll be right up, dear.'_

_John nodded and kissed the back of Sherlock's neck. 'Don't be long, love,' he murmured in Sherlock's hair._

_'I won't be,' he promised._

_He watched as John left and firstly went to Benny to place a loving kiss on his cheek._

_He then approached Felicity's bedside to give her a kiss too. He was surprised to see her awake. 'Father?'_

_'Shhh,' he hushed her. 'Just came here to kiss you goodnight.' He leant over and did the same as he had done to his son. He felt the nine year old girl press something soft against him. Looking down he saw that it was the same bear from the tea party earlier._

_'I want you to have Beary,' she stated simply._

_'Oh, right, err–' He wasn't quite sure what to say. In the end he settled for a 'Thank you.'_

_'Beary will stop you getting sad in the night,' she explained._

_His heart broke. 'I'm with Daddy. I won't get sad.'_

_'I want you to have him anyway,' she said sleepily, closing her eyes._

_'Night, night, Princess,' he murmured, taking his leave. As he reached the doorway he heard her small voice._

_'Night, night, Father.'_

_John was sitting in bed reading **The Hobbit**  for the umpteenth time when Sherlock walked in, Felicity's favourite bear in his arms._

_'She gave you Beary?' he smiled._

_Sherlock threw a guilty look at John. Still clutching to the teddy bear he quickly washed the makeup off of his face and began to strip from his clothes. He lay beside John, naked._

_'She said it was to stop me from getting sad in the night.' John smiled softly, setting his book to the side._

_'She's done it before. Given you Beary so you wouldn't be sad,' he said. 'She just wants her dads to be happy. Don't look so guilty. She loves you and wants you to be happy.'_

_'It still hurts that she is aware of my inner turmoil.' Sherlock clambered onto John's lap and melted his body into John's._

_He shivered, feeling unbearably cold as he was naked and it was quite chilly, and neither he or John were underneath the covers yet. However, it wasn't just a physical sensation of cold he could feel, it was an emotional cold too._

_'Am I sad often?' he questioned softly._

_'I wouldn't say sad. I'd say distant,' John said softly, wrapping his arms tenderly around Sherlock's frame. 'But your bees help, I think. They let you get out of your head for a while, and you always come back smiling after you've been tending them. So, no, I don't think you're sad, love.'_

_'I'm giving my bees up,' Sherlock stated, nuzzling John affectionately. 'I can't stand being distant in your lives.'_

_John gasped. 'But... But you love your bees,' he whispered._

_'Yes, but I can always pick up where I left off. Children tend to grow up fast, John. And you need me around,' Sherlock replied in a rather methodical tone of voice._

_'Alright, love. Alright,' John said softly, hugging Sherlock gently. 'When the kids get older and have maybe gone to uni we can get you another hive of bees.' He kissed the top of his husband's head._

_'I love you.'_

_'My thinking exactly.' **That is if I'm still stable when that time comes,**  he heard a voice add. He shivered again and clutched at Beary in his hands. John felt Sherlock shiver and pulled the covers over them, holding Sherlock tight. He buried his nose in Sherlock's hair and inhaled deeply, all that was Sherlock filling his nostrils. He smiled and nuzzled him affectionately._

_'You know I would go for a sixth round,' he muttered sleepily. 'But as I was saying earlier, we're not teenagers anymore, John.'_

_'I wasn't trying to start anything, love,' John sighed in content. 'Truly, I wasn't. You just smell... wonderful and clean and like Sherlock. It's hard to describe.'_

_'That's a strange thing to say,' Sherlock chuckled. 'I smell like myself .. hmmm. I'd be a bit worried if I didn't.'_

_'Silly git,' John smiled. 'You know what I mean. Yes, you smell like yourself, but you smell like my Sherlock. Our scents have mingled for so long I can't smell you without smelling me on you. And that is a delicious smell indeed.'_

_'It's definitely delicious,' Sherlock purred, sniffing John's skin, inhaling their mixed scents greedily. John moaned softly and pressed his nose into Sherlock's neck, inhaling deeply and sighing happily._

_'These are the moments I live for, you know? The quiet days. The days where before you came along I felt so bored I didn't mind being reckless have been replaced by these moments with you. These quiet times with you are often the highlights of my days.'_

_'Mine too, love. They're beautiful moments and I cherish every one,' John smiled. He cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and pulled him in for a tender kiss. Sherlock leant his head on John's and exhaled._

_'Have you made an appointment for me yet?' he questioned softly._

_John nodded. 'I made it while I was making dinner. It's at ten, so we'll have time to drop the kids off and maybe grab a bite before.'_

_'Good,' Sherlock said tenderly. 'Because this is killing me on the inside. Knowing that I've lost so many precious memories.'_

_'We'll work it out,' John murmured. 'I've got a ton of photo albums we can thumb through. I always went overboard on the photos when the kids were younger. Guess that might be a good thing now.'_

_'I'm afraid, John,' he admitted. 'Afraid of losing my mind completely.'_

_'And I'm afraid of losing you,' John whispered._

_'At least you will have your memories of me. That might ease the pain slightly,' Sherlock mused. 'What will I have?'_

_'You'll have me,' John said. 'You'll always have me. Even if you can't remember me I'll be there for you. And, I think you'll have your bees too.'_

_'And all the while I will be putting you through so much emotional pain.' Sherlock brushed John's stubble with the tips of his fingers. 'And I am so sorry for that.'_

_'I've been through so much with you already,' John sniffed. 'I won't abandon you when you forget who I am. I won't. I refuse. No matter how much pain I may be going through I will still care for you. I swear.'_

_'I've arranged everything with Mycroft if I should take a dangerous route, because I may grow to be a danger to both myself, and you and the children. He'll sort everything out.' Sherlock ran his fingers up to John's watery eyes and trapped a tear under his thumb. 'I suppose he's not a completely hopeless excuse of a brother after all.'_

_John sniffled and buried his nose in Sherlock's curls. 'God, I don't want to think about that. You, losing so much of yourself that you become dangerous. Although I'm somewhat glad Mycroft has agreed to help, I still don't want to think of you in that way.'_

_'We have to be prepared, John. Who knows what the diagnosis will be?' Sherlock rolled his shoulders in a small shrugging gesture. 'It's likely to be quite bad though, isn't it?'_

_'It might be, yes. And it may take more than one visit to the doctor's. Sometimes we physicians can be stubborn and want to be absolutely sure before we deliver bad news.' John hugged Sherlock close, his forehead resting on his shoulder._

_'No matter the diagnosis, good, bad, or god awful, I'll be there for you. I love you too much to abandon you when you need me the most. And, if it is memory problems, I've already got a good idea of how to refresh your memory every day.'_

_'Oh, really?' Sherlock raised a curious eyebrow. 'Come on then, let's hear it.'_

_'Well, since I've taken so many photos of the kids' lives already, I was thinking I could put them in photo frames throughout the house. They'd be labeled with their names and how old they were and the date and whatnot. A timeline of sorts of their lives and ours.' John smiled softly. 'Starting with the day we met perhaps, some of our cases, our proposal and marriage, moving in here, everything. The photos will all be labeled properly, dates, names, events, et cetera. And you'll be able to follow our lives and our children's through a photo timeline. What do you think?'_

_'I think my genius has finally started to rub off on you,' Sherlock laughed cheekily. 'It's a very well thought out plan indeed.'_

_'Thanks, love,' John smiled. He placed a small kiss to Sherlock's temple._

_'Did my brother tell you he's coming tomorrow too?' Sherlock laughed again, this time with very little humour. 'Guess it's as it has always been. Both Holmes boys fucked up in the head, huh?'_

_'Yes, he told me he's coming, and shush. You aren't fucked up. If you were you wouldn't be laying naked on top of me.'_

_'I'm pretty fucked up, John, and so is Mycroft. No point denying it, is there?' Sherlock shifted on top of John._

_'I don't like thinking of you as "fucked up,"' John frowned. 'I don't like that term. Nor do I like "mentally unstable." I prefer... difficult. It's not as harsh or specific as the others.'_

_'Call it what you like, John. Doesn't stop me from being a mess,' Sherlock said, sadness dripping from his voice like acid. John sighed and cupped Sherlock's face in his hands again, forcing his husband to look at him._

_'Fucked up or not, I still love you and I always will.'_

_'And know in my heart, if not my mind, I will always carry a piece of you within me.' Sherlock smiled weakly, patting the spot on his chest just above his heart. John placed his hand over Sherlock's and squeezed gently._

_'I love you,' he stated simply._

_'I love you too, my dearest Watson,' he stated gleefully, kissing John's jaw line. John purred and tilted his jaw up, letting Sherlock reach more of his neck. Sherlock giggled and pressed more kisses to John's exposed neck._

_'Love you, love you, love you,' he chanted._

_'Mmm, I love you too. So much,' John moaned happily, arching into Sherlock's kisses. Sherlock grinned as an idea popped into his mind. He began moving his kisses further and further south until he was forced to duck beneath the covers. John gasped and moaned, his heart beating rapidly in his chest._

_'Avert your eyes, Beary,' he gasped, covering the bear's eyes with his hand. Sherlock chuckled and scrambled further down and placed a delicate kiss right above where he knew John wanted his lips. John's hips jumped up and he shuddered. He tossed the bear to the floor as his arms flailed for purchase in the sheets._

_'Yes, Sherlock, yes,' he breathed. 'Please. Please.'_

_'What's the magic word?' he hissed from underneath the covers._

_'Please! Please!' John begged. 'Oh dear god please!'_

_Sherlock ghosted his lips over John's member. 'I'm sorry? I can't hear you under the covers,' he laughed loudly._

_John growled in frustration. 'Sir. Sir, please. I'm begging you. Please touch me.' Sherlock opened his mouth wide and clamped it down on John. John grit his teeth together and moaned loudly, bucking his hips into Sherlock's mouth._

_'Silencer,' he gasped. 'Silencer.' His hand scrambled to the bedside table, grasping the small device and turning it on._

_As Sherlock continued his ministrations he began to think. Now Sherlock was constantly thinking, especially of late and with the events that had taken place. He wondered what was really going on with his mind, whether it was nothing serious or whether the news that would be given to him and John would be grave and heart wrenching._

_He thought about all he and John had once had and all he had now, about his children, his wonderful children. He wondered how he could have become completely smitten with them in less than a day, and he pondered about what kind of father he had been before his memory loss, and then of course the kind of father he wanted and longed to be._

_No more bees. No more being distant. Violin teaching for Benny. Tea parties and secret Doctor Who watching with Felicity._

_He worried about his brother, more unstable than he had ever seen him, and yet somehow even more loving. It took him back to when he and Mycroft had been children, not happy, but at peace with each other._

_Part of him longed to be a child again because although he had had to worry about the physical beatings he had always had his mind to fall back on. His genius, ever expanding, quick witted, and all-seeing mind._

_He didn't want to lose that. He didn't want to have to remember his children or John through photos. He wanted to be able to soak in every moment he spent with them and he wanted to remember them. Because he dreaded the thought of losing even a second of time with them._

_He loved them. He loved John. All three of them had stolen his heart from the word go. He never wanted that love to be ripped from him, never wanted to forget that this is where he belonged, with his family, by his husband's side, watching as his children grew into remarkable young adults._

_He wanted John to be the last thing he saw, wanted to grow old and retire together, laughing over old memories._

_That wasn't going to happen he feared. It wasn't going to happen because his mind was going to cave in on itself and slowly deteriorate. Today had been a wake up call. A fire had been lit within his mind, slowly burning away at his mind and the memories it contained._

_And what does fire do? It destroys._

_John groaned. He could feel Sherlock's mind wandering. His mouth had slowed and his body had gone tense. He rut his hips, trying to bring Sherlock back to the present._

_Sherlock blinked. How long had he been out of it? Shrugging he began to pick up his speed once more. John gasped and arched into Sherlock's touch, silently begging him for more. Sherlock pushed every single thought in his mind away and simply focused on John, using his tongue as a deadly weapon. John cried out and pushed himself closer to Sherlock's mouth._

_'More, sir! Please, more!' he begged. Sherlock growled, bobbing his head faster, driving John closer and closer._

_'Yes! Yes, sir! Yes!' John cried, bucking his hips into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock pinned John's hips down and growled almost angrily around John's throbbing erection. John gasped and whimpered, writhing under Sherlock's talented tongue._

_'Oh fuck,' he whimpered, close to the edge. Sherlock sucked down harder, pinching John's thighs. He moaned in satisfaction as he began to taste John's seed streaming into his mouth and over his taste buds. He hummed happily and genuinely felt content in that moment. John gasped and spluttered as he came, a string of 'oh fuck, oh fuck' chanting from his mouth. His back arched off the bed and he screamed as his orgasm ended, gasping for breath and falling back on the mattress with a thud._

_Sherlock released John and scrabbled up him, flinging the covers off and gasping for air. He laughed, collapsing onto John with an exhausted sigh. John giggled and inhaled deeply, coming down from his high. He tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair and sighed happily._

_'Night, night, John,' Sherlock muttered, his eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy. John picked Beary up off the floor and put him between the two of them, turning into his side to face Sherlock._

_'Goodnight, love,' he whispered, nuzzling against him._

_Sherlock slept soundly in the knowledge that John was by his side and his children were just downstairs. He was safe. No more Moriarty to contend with and no abusive father to hurt him. Just the comfort of sleep washing over him, and the knowledge that he had a near perfect life now._

_John curled closer to his sleeping husband, nuzzling his nose into his hair. 'I love you,' he mumbled sleepily. 'Love you so much.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so daddy!batch and parent!lock feels all around. I personally loved writing for Felicity. She's pretty awesome. Next week's chapter is around 70 typed pages, so it's another long read. The longest chapter in the story I believe. So be prepared for more parent!lock feels and gaps in Sherlock's memory. Happy Red Pants Monday, and we'll see you next week.
> 
> TSA + IB


	23. Dream On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter is 32,530 words long. It's a long ass chapter, the longest in the story, so it'll take a while to finish. But it's a good read. Full of feels and sorrow. Enjoy!
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, Felicity, Ben, Mycroft, Greg  
> Shared: little Mark
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: feels, alcohol use and abuse, depression, mentions of drug use, risk of overdose, and substance withdrawals.

_When Sherlock awoke he felt groggy. It was as though he had been sleeping for days on end. He groaned and stretched out his legs under the covers, lazily cracking open an eye._

_John was downstairs making breakfast. Felicity was flitting about the house, frantic about her first day of high school._

_'Dad, do you know where my favourite skirt is?' she asked, her hands fisting her blonde locks._

_'Yes, and I'm not telling you because there is no way in hell I'm letting you go out dressed like that,' he answered, scrambling the eggs and frying the bacon. 'Put jeans on and a t-shirt. A proper one.'_

_'Ugh! Dad! I'm not a kid anymore!' she protested, stalking off to her room to get dressed._

_'Which is why I refuse to see you dress like a tart,' John mumbled under his breath. Ben came out of his room, dressed smartly in jeans and a purple button down reminiscent of Sherlock's. His violin case was under his arm, his shoes in his free hand._

_'Hey Dad,' he smiled, plopping down at the island and snatching a piece of bacon off the plate. 'Where's Father?'_

_'Probably still sleeping,' John smiled softly. 'Go easy on him, ok? He might not remember what today is.'_

_'Sure thing Dad,' Ben nodded solemnly. Felicity appeared then, dressed in proper jeans, heels, and a red shirt like John used to wear. God, they were so reminiscent of him and Sherlock when they were younger. It brought a tear to John's eye._

_'You look beautiful, sweetheart,' he choked out._

_'Thanks Dad,' she blushed. 'Where... Um... Where's Father?'_

_'Upstairs,' Ben answered for John, seeing how torn up he was. 'We think today's going to be a danger day. So, be nice.' Felicity nodded, her blonde locks falling around her face like a halo._

_Sherlock groaned as he realised he was alone in bed. John was obviously up and about already. He glanced at the clock. No wonder. John had told him Benny was an early riser and so he was probably downstairs dealing with him._

_He jumped from bed, a huge grin spreading across his face. He was positively happy about seeing the children again. Not even his looming doctor's appointment seemed to dampen his mood._

_He speedily got dressed, shoving on a black t-shirt and some pyjama bottoms before thundering down the stairs, searching for John._

_'Sweetie, you have to eat,' John told Felicity. She was staring at her plate of eggs and bacon, fidgeting in her seat._

_'I'm too nervous to eat,' she said._

_'Why? It's not like you won't know anyone there. All your friends will be there, it's not like you won't know anyone. Just eat. Trust me.' Felicity groaned and stabbed a piece of egg with her fork before slowly bringing it to her lips. The trio all turned as a thundering was heard on the stairway._

_'John?' Sherlock whispered under his breath, not wanting to wake up Benny. He crept down the hallway, straining his ears to listen to where everybody was. It sounded like everyone had already started breakfast. He sped into the kitchen like a mad man. He first saw John and he smiled the biggest smile but then his eyes set on the girl and the boy that were staring at him. His heart stopped in his chest and his eyes widened._

_All he could think was: Oh god please not again._

_**Yep. Danger day,** _ _John affirmed._

_'Good morning, Father,' Felicity said sweetly._

_'Morning, Father,' Ben said around a mouthful of toast. It came out sounding like 'Fafer,' how Benny used to pronounce Sherlock's title, and John's heart broke. Would Sherlock remember?_

_Sherlock's eyes scanned over the boy and girl. He already knew what had happened - who they were. His mind ached and his heart shuddered within his chest. His mind had deteriorated further. He'd lost yet more time with his husband and children. He swallowed, composing his face, and walking into the kitchen as confidently as he could._

_'Morning!' he exclaimed a little too cheerily, grabbing a seat and opening up a paper, flicking through the page but not really taking in what the black and white print said. He wasn't prepared to face the fact that his condition had worsened. Nope. He wasn't even going to mention it. John sighed and fried more bacon. He figured Sherlock would play it off as nothing, at least until the kids left for school._

_Felicity swallowed, tears pricking her eyes. She looked over to Ben who shook his head, 'don't written on his face._

_'How'd you sleep, love?' John asked, trying for a sense if normalcy._

_Sherlock glanced up at John a little edgily._

_'Fine,' he replied briefly before turning his eyes back to the paper. John sighed, pushing the issue aside for the moment. He didn't want Sherlock to lash out in front of the kids, especially on the first day of school when everyone was nervous._

_Felicity's lower lip trembled. How much had her dad lost? She'd grown to think of Sherlock as her dad despite John being her biological one. And while she loved them both equally, it was her and Sherlock watching Doctor Who she cherished the most. And it was because of Sherlock that Ben got started with the violin. John was the supportive father while Sherlock had become the interested party. Not that John wasn't there for them, but as Sherlock started taking an interest John was sort of pushed to the background, but he was always there._

_When Sherlock had been diagnosed with dementia Felicity had been torn. She had been too young to understand at the time, but she knew what was going on with her father's mind now. She had been devastated when she finally realised what was happening, and she had held onto him for hours before crying herself to sleep in his arms._

_Now she was on the verge of tears again. She didn't want to lose her dad, not so early. She needed to do more research, find out what to do to help. John had already started with the photo timeline, and she liked to walk through it herself every now and again to relive the happier moments. She risked glancing up at her dad and saw he was doing his best to ignore the situation, hiding behind the newspaper he wasn't even reading._

_Sherlock could feel a pair of eyes boring in to him, studying him observantly. He peeked his eyes over the top of the newspaper and felt his insides contort as he locked eyes with Felicity. She was no longer a little girl anymore but a young woman. Despite that he could still see the little girl in her eyes. He studied her, deducing her within seconds. At least his deduction skills were seemingly unaffected._

_She was scared, worried, nervous, and agitated._

_He observed that although she was wearing casual clothes they were smart. She was obviously off to school. Maybe it was a new school which is why she was so nervous and agitated. Why was she scared? And then it came to him like a stab to the chest._

_It was him. She was scared for him._

_He gently tossed the newspaper aside and stood to his feet, walking over to Felicity with a purpose. He cautiously wrapped his arms around her._

_'Good luck with your first day, Princess,' he whispered into her ear._

_Felicity couldn't hold back her tears and sobbed into Sherlock's shoulder, holding him close. John's heart broke at the sight. Even after losing so much of their time he still saw her as his princess. John felt himself choking up and wiped at his eyes, turning off the stove before he burned the last of the bacon._

_Sherlock held onto Felicity tightly. 'I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. Forgive me for upsetting you,' he apologised quickly, trying to hold down his own emotions to the best of his ability. 'Please, please, don't cry.' Felicity clutched tightly at Sherlock's shirt, nodding but continuing to cry despite her best efforts. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, how nervous she was about her first day not because she would be at a new school but because she didn't want to leave him._

_'It'll be ok,' he assured her. 'I'm just having–' he paused. '–a bit of an off day.' Felicity sniffed and nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand._

_'Ugh. I'm going to have to redo my makeup now,' she choked out. 'Sorry d–Father.' She didn't want to call Sherlock 'dad' in front of John. It was their special thing, like watching Doctor Who, and she didn't want to hurt John's feelings by using the term with Sherlock as well._

_'I guess my nerves are just fried because of today,' she managed to say. 'New school and all.'_

_'You'll be fine, sis,' Ben said, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. 'You're smart. And trust me when I say you'll make at least one new friend today. It's how you are. No need to be nervous.'_

_'It's not the students I'm nervous about,' Felicity mumbled._

_'Sweetie, the teachers will love you,' John finally spoke up._

_'Not them either,' Felicity whispered under her breath, peering up at her dad who she knew had heard her._

_Sherlock's eyebrows raised high on his forehead. Had Felicity nearly gone to call him dad? He gave a confused but warm look and a smile wriggled across his features. He then heard her whisper about it not being the teachers she was worried about. Her eyes told him everything he needed to know._

_He sighed heavily. 'There is no need to worry about me.' He squeezed her shoulder. 'I'm fine.'_

_'Okay,' she nodded weakly. She turned to John. 'Dad, I ate. I'm fixing my makeup. I'll be back before the bus gets here.' She dashed off to her room before John could answer, locking herself in the bathroom and gulping down deep breaths._

_**He called me princess,** _ _she smiled happily._

_Sherlock smirked at Benny. 'Morning Benny.' He noticed that his old childhood violin was sat proudly beside him and his smirk widened. 'If you have time we can play together later.' He paused. 'That is if you aren't too old to play with your old man.'_

_'Morning Father,' Ben smiled. 'I would enjoy playing with you after I get home from school. Oh, and the school said this year in and practice my violin instead of going to gym. The kids are brutal in there.'_

_Sherlock frowned and stared at Benny, suddenly feeling a gush of protectiveness rise in his chest. 'If they're giving you any trouble I could probably sort them out.' He grit his teeth together, nostrils flaring._

_'It's fine,' Ben said. 'They aren't picking on me or anything. Well, mostly. But I don't let them get to me. I usually just state some obvious fact about them and they go away. Usually.'_

_Sherlock swallowed. 'That's my boy.' He stepped closer and ruffled his son's hair playfully. 'You don't need those people. They're all ordinary and complete idiots.'_

_'They're boring,' Ben smirked. 'And stupid. They don't think at all. Their grades are proof of that.'_

_Sherlock nodded. 'Mundane idiots who don't observe simply don't deserve to be around such fine company.'_

_'Thanks,' Ben smiled. 'Hey, I've got some time before the bus arrives. Do you want to hear me play?'_

_Sherlock nodded simply. 'I'd love to,' he smiled weakly, straining himself to try and get it to meet his eyes._

_Ben smiled softly, reaching out and squeezing his father's hand. He stood and grabbed the violin case, leading Sherlock to the sitting room. Two music stands stood by the windows, facing each other. Ben sat Sherlock on the sofa, strolling over to the shorter stand and pulling out his violin._

_'I've been working on this for a couple weeks,' Ben explained as he positioned the violin under his chin. 'Let me know what you think.' He put the bow to the strings and began to play._

_Sherlock closed his eyes and tilted his head back onto the sofa, letting the music wash over him. He felt his breath quite literally stop in his chest. The music was soft, childlike, beautiful, and deadly sad. He was glad that it didn't hold anywhere near the amount of torture his own music brought, but even with that sad tears began streaming down his cheeks and his entire body shook. He hoped this wasn't a start of another panic attack. How foolish would he look in front of Benny if that were the case._

_Ben finished playing, taking a deep breath to steady his emotions. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, setting his violin on the stand. He knew he wasn't supposed to do that, but his father was crying from his playing and he needed him. He walked to the sofa and sat gingerly in Sherlock's lap, wrapping his arms around him in a tender hug._

_'Please don't cry,' Ben whispered. 'It's alright, Father. I... I love you.'_

_Sherlock wrapped his arms around his son weakly. 'I love–' he gasped for air, '–you too,' he just about managed before his sobs raised in both noise and pitch, causing him to sound like some kind of dying animal. 'I think–' he struggled for breath, '–I need your dad's help. Get him, p-please.'_

_Great. This was a panic attack. His cheeks turned a rosy red in colour from embarrassment and lack of air._

_'Ok,' Ben nodded, running off to find John._

_John had hidden himself in his and Sherlock's bathroom, crying silently. Sherlock had been diagnosed with dementia five years ago, confirming John's fears. He had helped Sherlock through the first few months, the two of them created the photo timeline, and even Ben and Felicity had done their best to help even though they didn't fully understand what was going on. It had been fine, until Sherlock woke up one morning and couldn't remember the last two years of his life. It didn't happen again for another year, and it began happening with increasing frequency, going from years to months, losing more time with each episode._

_'Dad? Dad! Father needs you!' Ben's voice permeated his thoughts, his tone urgent and worried. John lifted his head and wiped his eyes and cheeks of tears. He looked at himself in the mirror, making himself presentable before opening the door and leaving the bedroom. Ben was on the stairs, wild eyed._

_'Ben? What's going on?'_

_'It's Father. I think he's having another attack. He can't breathe.'_

_John rushed downstairs to the sitting room, laying a flailing Sherlock across the sofa and preparing to give him CPR once again. Tilting his husband's head back he breathed a puff of air into his mouth, holding him steady as he gasped and spluttered under him. Sherlock continued to cry loudly as John tried to blow air into his lungs. He grasped at the material of John's shirt tightly and pressed his fingers into the flesh that lay below._

_When he finally gained back what was a nearly normal breathing pattern he pulled away and buried his face in John's shoulder._

_'S-orry,' he hiccupped._

_'It's alright, love,' John whispered softly. 'It's alright.' He looked to Ben who was lingering in the archway._

_'Get ready and put your shoes on,' he said. Ben nodded and scrambled off to his room. John sat Sherlock up and held him to his chest, stroking his hair soothingly._

_'It's not though, is it?' he blubbered, leaning against John. 'Everything is so messed up.'_

_'It's been worse,' John admitted. 'We can go through the pictures again if you want. After the kids have gone off to school.'_

_'I don't want to,' Sherlock shook his head. 'I can't go look at memories that will never return to my mind.' He shook his head vigorously. 'I... I just can't do that. Not today.'_

_'Alright, love. Alright,' John murmured, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. He glanced at the clock and sighed. 'The bus will be here any moment. Want to see the kids off?'_

_'Okay,' Sherlock whispered. 'I'll see them off.' He closed his eyes for a brief second and hoped he could at least put some of the walls that detached him from feelings back up, he had once had them before John had come along but now they were weak and crumbling._

_Opening them again he noticed the abandoned violin trembling on the smaller music stand. He tutted and got up to his feet with a bit of John's help. Heading over to it he picked it up gently and cradled it in his arms like a baby. 'Can't let him forget this.'_

_'He would be bored without it,' John grinned. 'I swear that violin is his life. When the two of you play, god Sherlock, it's a thing of beauty.'_

_Felicity peered into the sitting room, observing her dads. Sherlock was cradling Ben's violin in his arms. She smiled and turned away, sighing. Ben saw her and quirked an eyebrow. She smiled and gestured behind her. Ben smiled when he saw his violin in Sherlock's arms._

_'Dad, the bus is almost here,' Ben said. His dads turned to look at him and he smiled over at Sherlock, gesturing to the violin. 'Thanks for taking care of her.'_

_'No problem at all.' Sherlock handed the violin over to his son. 'I see you've kept her in good nick,' he smiled sadly._

_'I'm sorry about earlier Benny,' he said in a small voice. 'It's just - your music got to me.'_

_'That's a good thing, right?' Ben asked, putting the violin back in its case. 'You didn't hate it or anything, did you?'_

_'No,' Sherlock huffed a laugh. 'Not at all. I'd go as far as saying you're a far better player than myself.'_

_Ben blushed and hid his face, not in embarrassment but pride he felt he didn't deserve just yet. 'Thanks,' he mumbled._

_The bus pulled up to the house, the driver honking the horn. John looked out the window and held up two fingers, the driver tapping his watch. John nodded and turned back to the kids._

_'Ben, you'll do great. Don't let the kids get to you. They don't know how to appreciate genius.' He hugged the boy tightly before releasing him for Sherlock to hug._

_'Felicity,' he sighed, looking at his little girl. 'You're going to be fantastic, darling. I love you so much.' He hugged her tightly, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. She released him and turned to Sherlock, waiting for him._

_Sherlock firstly hugged Benny, ruffling his hair, and gripping onto him tightly. 'Keep practicing, yeah?' He gestured to the violin before stepping away._

_He turned to Felicity and pulled her into a delicate hug because deep down, despite everything, she was still like a princess to him._

_'I'll see you after school, ok?' he whispered softly so only he and Felicity could hear. She nodded, her forehead pressed tightly to his shoulder._

_'I love you, Dad,' she whispered, kissing his cheek before pulling away. She sniffled but managed to keep her tears at bay. She smiled at him and walked to the door, Benny right behind her. She waved at her dads before closing the door and heading to the bus. The driver pulled away and sped off to the next pickup._

_John sighed and wiped away a few stray tears. They grow up so fast, he thought to himself._

_Sherlock glanced over to John and sighed shakily. 'You didn't think I forgot your hug did you?' he asked, pulling his husband tightly against him. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, burying his nose in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, a few tears escaping despite his best efforts._

_'Sorry,' he whispered. 'God. I just... The kids have grown up so much.'_

_'Tell me about it,' Sherlock muttered sadly, his inner emotions only emphasized my his prolonged sigh._

_'I'm sorry, love,' John whispered. 'If um... If you're up for it we're actually supposed to visit Myc and Greg today. They came back from the hospital the other day with baby Mark. Do you want to meet your nephew?'_

_Sherlock pulled back and rubbed his head. He was starting to develop a headache with the ton of information wriggling into his mind like a thousand angry worms. He winced. How many more things had changed?_

_He shook his head. 'Would they forgive me if I came and visited him another time?' he mumbled. 'My mind's not going to cope with much more today.'_

_'I'm sure he'll understand,' John said softly. 'I'll give little Mark a hug and kiss for you then?'_

_'Will you?' he questioned, entirely grateful for John's understanding. 'I would love to meet him but–' he trailed off._

_'I know, love. I know.' John cupped his face in his hands and looked into his eyes. 'I'll take pictures and show you, ok? And I'll let Myc know you'll meet him later. He'll understand.'_

_'And how is the insufferable sod bearing up these days?' Sherlock smiled fondly._

_'Better. He's on medication now,' John half smiled. 'But I'm looking forward to seeing him sleep-deprived and delirious now that baby Mark's arrived. I'll take pictures of that too.' He laughed and hugged Sherlock again._

_'I'll be leaving for their house soon. Do you want me to get anything while I'm out?'_

_Sherlock almost came up with the sarcastic retort of 'my memories back,' however he decided against it. He shook his head and glared at the ground. 'Do send my brother my love.'_

_'Ok, love,' John sighed. He caressed Sherlock's cheekbones and pulled him in for a chaste kiss. 'I'll be back in a few hours. Take care of yourself. I love you.'_

_'I love you too, dear,' he replied with a half smile. 'I'll miss you.'_

_'I'll miss you too,' John murmured. 'I'll send you a couple pictures on your phone of Mark and the happy couple, yeah?'_

_'Okay. I'll probably reply with a sarcastic remark,' Sherlock huffed a small laugh._

_John clicked his tongue and smirked. 'Feel free to send any sarcastic remarks toward Myc as you want. I know how much you enjoy that.' He looked to the clock and sighed._

_'I should get going. It takes awhile to get to their house. I know I said this already, but take care of yourself.' He kissed Sherlock again and sighed against his lips. 'Love you.' Sherlock kissed John roughly, pulling him tight to him, catching him off guard. He pulled away and smirked._

_'Plenty more of that to come when you get back.' John blushed and pulled away, dizzy and breathless. He couldn't remember the last time Sherlock had kissed him like that. God, it felt fantastic. He gave his husband a goofy grin._

_'Oh, I look forward to it... sir,' he winked. He moved to step away and nearly fell, his knees weak from the kiss. He quickly righted himself, shooing away Sherlock's concern. He cleared his throat and walked to the van, steadying his breathing before starting it. He waved to Sherlock and blew him a kiss before departing._

_When John left Sherlock was left to mull over his thoughts; something that was bad news on good days. He walked to the sofa and collapsed onto it with a whimper, his lower lip giving a tiny quiver. A sob broke through his lips as the temporary walls he'd tried to put up for the children's sake after his first break down of the day came tumbling down, crushing him like his emotions were actually weighing down on him._

_He found his trembling body craving something and as he opened his eyes he saw what it was. A large bottle of vodka sat in front of him. He hadn't a clue how it had gotten there or why his body was aching for him to put it to his lips when he hadn't touched vodka since his teenage years, but he knew that he needed it, badly._

_He grabbed the bottle and wrenched it open urgently before tilting it against his lips. He closed his eyes again and hummed as he felt warmth speed through his system like wildfire._

_God that felt insanely right and satisfying._

_As John drove to the Holmes-Lestrade manor, he thought about all that had happened that morning. Mostly about Sherlock and how he must be so scared and confused that his mental walls were crumbling down. John gripped the steering wheel tight and exhaled forcefully. He told himself that Sherlock would be fine, but he truly hated leaving him on his own. He always had that nagging feeling in his gut telling him that, as a doctor, he should never leave a dementia patient on their own alone in a supposedly strange and unfamiliar place. But Sherlock was no ordinary dementia patient. He had proven time and time again that whenever he had spells of confusion and memory loss he could power through it and calm himself down enough to realise that perhaps the people around him weren't going to hurt him after all. And once he walked the Hallway of Memories (as John had been prone to calling it) he calmed further and even called them by name._

_John sighed and forced himself to stop thinking and pay attention to the road. He had a ways to go yet and he wanted to arrive in one piece. Myc and Greg probably wouldn't appreciate him bleeding on the carpet. John huffed a laugh and pulled out his phone, staring at the photo of Sherlock when they first met. Well, close enough anyway as they had been sharing the flat for close to four months at the time. Still relatively new to John. But it was a photo of Sherlock playing the violin. He was standing in front of the window, the only light source streaming in through the half-closed curtains, making Sherlock look like he was being touched by some sort of holy light. God, he was beautiful. He was still beautiful, even thirty years later. John just wished Sherlock could see it. As he began driving again he found his mind wandering back to his husband and how he was holding up at home._

_Sherlock was being dragged further and further under the powers of the alcohol. It helped him forget about his problems and warmed him to the core. His mind felt fuzzy and protected, and despite it burning the back of his throat, causing him to occasionally cough and splutter, he had managed to drink almost all of the bottle. He placed it back where he had found it, shocked and a little angry at himself for allowing himself to consume such a great amount of alcohol. He groaned and clenched his eyes shut as his head began to swoosh. What would John do if he found him like this? What would the children's reactions be if they knew he had resorted to alcohol? He had to get rid of the evidence and sober up fast. That was a decision easy for Sherlock to make at least._

_When he next opened up his eyes two strange things had happened. Firstly, the near empty bottle of alcohol had vanished, and secondly his violin and a bottle of mouthwash were sitting in its place._

_The violin might help him to sober him up, or at least help him to focus on something other than the burning in his veins. And that mouth wash would be definitely be useful to cover the smell of his breath and the taste on his tongue in case John expected a kiss when he got home, which was most likely._

_'John!' Greg exclaimed upon opening the door. He wrapped the shorter man in a hug and laughed. 'Good to see ya, mate. Where's your other half?'_

_'Home,' John smiled weakly. 'He had an episode this morning. Not too bad though as he could remember us this time. He even called Felicity "princess" this morning.'_

_'Well, I'm sorry to hear about the episode but glad to hear it wasn't so bad,' Greg said softly._

_'Gre-gor-y!' Mycroft shouted from deep inside the house. 'He's crying again! What do I do?!' Greg and John laughed. Greg moved aside, letting John inside._

_'Bring him to me, Myc,' Greg said. 'I'll show you what you need to do.'_

_'I guess it's safe to say you're the more competent parent in this house?' John smirked._

_'Three previous children have pretty much desensitised me to anything that could possibly go wrong,' Greg said. 'Crying is sometimes still an issue, like if it happens at night. But yes, I am definitely the more competent parent.'_

_A very ragged Mycroft appeared, his shirt and tie askew, holding baby Mark. John just about cooed at the sight of the little ginger bundle. Greg took the baby off Mycroft's hands and walked to the kitchen, warming a bottle. Myc looked at John wild eyed._

_'Make it stop,' he whispered, grabbing John tightly by the shoulders. 'The crying. Constantly with the crying. It doesn't need changing and it doesn't need food. Why is it crying?!'_

_John couldn't help but laugh, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture of Myc's haggard face. Myc was so out of it he didn't even so much as scowl at John._

_'Listen to your son,' John said softly. 'There are different cries for different things. Hot, cold, hungry, and a full nappy. Just listen, trust me.' Myc barely nodded and left for the living room, collapsing on the sofa in a heap and falling asleep soon after. John couldn't resist in taking another photo._

_Sherlock was sprawled across the sofa, his violin resting on his chest, his breathing slow and steady. His head was still swimming in the alcohol so his legs had been rendered useless and his violin playing was brought down to simply plucking the strings every few seconds. He pondered to himself about how bad his condition had gotten, how upset and unsettled his family seemed to be, and how much worse his condition was getting. He shifted through his mind noticing that there were more and more black spots where memories once had been._

_He thought about how he had suddenly willed things into existence. When he had been craving alcohol it had appeared out of nowhere, and when he had wanted his violin and something to wash out the taste in his mouth out both things turned up._

_**Perhaps I'm just insane because of my condition. Things don't just magically appear at will. Maybe I'd retrieved them myself but forgot about it.** _

_**Insane and an alcoholic.** _

_Everything about his life seemed pointless now. Where there had once been color and joy there was now the dark and sadness, a deep and gut wrenching sadness._

_**Most likely depressed too. Not at all surprising. It would also explain my sudden need to turn to alcohol to feel better about my life. In which case why didn't John say anything? Why would have he risked leaving me alone? Not that I'm quite thankful for this time alone. Maybe John doesn't know about my alcoholism. I'm not sure if that's good or bad.** _

_His thoughts swerved to Mycroft and the promise that he had made. To protect his family._

_**Perhaps he doesn't think it's gotten so bad. Or maybe he's forgotten the deal altogether in the hope that he can hold onto me, his darling little brother, for longer. Perhaps it's high time I reminded him of his promise.** _

_He fished out his phone and began to rather drunkenly type, too lazy to concentrate on typing in the proper manner. He knew that Mycroft would tell something was up just from his text speak._

_**Hav u kept ur promise, My? –SH** _

_**2 protect my fam. –SH** _

_**Congrats on being a dad btw. –SH** _

_Mycroft shuddered awake when his phone went off. He lifted his head slowly, not wanting the blood to rush to quickly to his sleep-deprived brain. He strained to listen for where Greg and John were. In the kitchen, he deduced, baby Mark sucking on a bottle._

_His phone went off again and he groaned. He turned over on his back and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He really hoped Gregory wasn't texting him again to wake him up. He hated it when he did that. Much to his surprise it was his little brother. But wasn't he here? He searched his memory and realised that only John had come. Why hadn't Sherlock?_

_His phone buzzed one last time and Mycroft finally opened the messages. The grammar was atrocious and had Sherlock really used numbers and slang? And was that an acronym? God, he must really be out of it. Or drunk. Mycroft had fond memories of his brother drunk texting him, and it seemed he was doing it again. He opened a new message and typed his reply._

_**I am looking out for your family as best I can. I haven't forgotten. –MH** _

_**And thanks. Mark is a handful but I love him. –MH** _

_**By the way, have you been drinking? –MH** _

_Sherlock smiled to himself as he received his brother's reply. However his smile soon turned into a frown as he was unsure of what to answer the third text with. Could he trust Mycroft not to tell John about his alcohol consumption? He raked his fingers through his curls before beginning to type once more._

_**R u sure I hav not becum a danger 2 my fam & myself? Cus Im not sure. –SH** _

_**I wana meet my nephew, My. Sum other time maybe? –SH** _

_**I may have drank a tiny bit of vodka. But if u tell John I will kill u. Understood? –SH** _

_Mycroft read over the texts Sherlock had sent him._

_'Tiny bit of vodka my arse,' he grumbled, typing out a reply._

_**So long as the drinking doesn't become a habit I see no danger. And you haven't abused them in any way. Not that I've noticed anyway. –MH** _

_**Whenever you meet Mark I want you clean and sober or I may just kill you. Understood? –MH** _

_**And I won't tell John unless the alcohol becomes a problem. Otherwise you need to tell him if you think it already is. –MH** _

_**I hurt them. I make them sad. –SH** _

_Sherlock's fingers trembled as he continued to type. Was it a habit of his? How was he supposed to know when he was constantly forgetting things?_

_**Understood, My. –SH** _

_His hands quivered further as he typed out one simple word that summed up how he was feeling perfectly._

_**Scared. –SH** _

_Mycroft ran a hand through his thinning hair. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated it when Sherlock was scared. It made him feel like he had failed as an older brother, the one who was always supposed to protect his little brother. But how could he protect his brother from himself?_

_**I know you're scared. I'm scared too. Do you want me to move your family? Or do you want to talk to John first? –MH** _

_He paused, reading Sherlock's first text._

_**How did you hurt them and make them sad? It wasn't physical, was it? –MH** _

_**Neither. –SH** _

_Sherlock shuddered. He didn't want to do either of those things. On the other hand what needed to be done and what he wanted were two completely different things._

_**No. Not that I can recall. But I make them so sad, My. –SH** _

_**I'm sad, My. Really sad. –SH** _

_**Sad as in depressed sad? –MH** _

_**Yes. –SH** _

_Sherlock took a deep breath. It had pained him to admit it even with it just being a three letter word needed to answer his brother's question._

_'Oh baby brother,' Mycroft sighed._

_**You need to talk to John. Please. Before you find your way back to the dark. –MH** _

_**I can't. –SH** _

_Sherlock wasn't prepared to talk to John about any of this. Hadn't he put his husband and his children through enough?_

_**Help me, brother, plz? –SH** _

_**What do you need me to do? –MH** _

_**I wanna see u. –SH** _

_**But u r busy. –SH** _

_He blinked uncaringly at the two badly written texts._

_**John is busy talking to Gregory and the baby. I can sneak out and come to you. –MH** _

_**Do you want me to? –MH** _

_**If it's not 2 much 2 ask, yes. –SH** _

_**I'll be there soon. –MH** _

_Mycroft sighed and straightened up, stretching the kinks out of his back. He kept quiet, sneaking off to the car park, signalling his driver for departure._

_'To my brother's. And step on it,' he ordered. The driver nodded and sped off down the road._

_Sherlock nodded sadly, closing his eyes. He returned to plucking the strings of his violin, not bothering in replying to his brother's text._

_**Sherlock, I know how you are when you drink. I want to be sure you aren't going to pass out on me. Text me back or call me. Don't ignore me. –MH** _

_'Get me there as fast as you can. I don't care what it takes.' The driver nodded and sped up, cutting through traffic like a speed racer._

_'I'm coming, Sherlock,' Mycroft muttered. 'I'm coming.'_

_Sherlock grunted as his phone buzzed. He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes again. He was tired, really tired. Drunk, tired and weary beyond belief. His plucks on his violin became softer and less often as the part of his mind telling his hand how to move was suddenly fogged up._

_**Hurry brother, hurry.** _

_'Son of a bitch,' Mycroft growled. 'Answer your phone!' He dialled the house and Sherlock's mobile repeatedly, but he never answered._

_'Fuck!' Mycroft spat. 'How much longer?'_

_'At this rate, half an hour sir,' the driver responded, careening through traffic at an alarming rate. 'Provided we don't get into an accident or pulled over.'_

_'I'm the fucking government! They won't pull me over!' Mycroft hollered. 'God dammit!' He slammed his fist against the upholstery. 'Just hurry! He isn't answering!'_

_'Yes sir!' the driver nodded, flooring it as he came across a stretch of empty road. Mycroft braced himself against the seat, praying to a god he didn't believe in to keep his little brother alive._

_By that point Sherlock was far past caring that his brother had tried to call him several times over. He clutched his violin to his chest like it was his lifeline and buried his face in the sofa. He was losing hope altogether of his brother coming._

_The car pulled up to the house and Mycroft dashed out before it had even come to a proper stop. He pulled the spare key out from under the mat, forcing it into the lock and shoving the door open._

_'Sherlock?' he called, searching the kitchen and dashing into the sitting room. He found Sherlock on the sofa, his mobile on the floor, and clutching his violin like it was the only thing that cared about him in the world._

_'Sherlock? Sherlock, wake up,' Mycroft pleaded, moving to his side and shaking his shoulder gently._

_Sherlock huffed and batted the hands that were shaking his shoulder away. He opened his eyes blearily and giggled._

_'Croft,' he giggled harder._

_'This isn't funny, Sherlock,' Mycroft scowled. 'You had me scared to death. I thought you'd passed out, or worse.'_

_Sherlock tried to copy Mycroft's scowl but it turned out to be more of a befuddled expression. 'Mmm sorry, Croft.'_

_'Apology accepted,' Mycroft replied rather gruffly. 'Now, why do you want to see me? Do you want my help with something?'_

_'You're my brother. I wanted to see you,' Sherlock muttered, rubbing his alcohol fried brain. 'Problem?'_

_'Oh. Well.' Mycroft blinked. Sherlock had never just wanted to see him. Not without some ulterior motive. He looked down at his drunk brother sprawled over the sofa._

_'It, um... It's good to see you, Locky.'_

_'I wish it were under better circumstances, Croft.' His words slurred heavily, mashing together. He wriggled up on the sofa, creating space for his brother. 'Sit, please.' He patted the empty space. Mycroft adjusted Sherlock's posture on the sofa, not wanting him to slump over and off. He sat down next to him and watched him carefully, acutely aware of how drunk his younger brother was._

_'It happened again, Croft,' he said in a faint whisper, looking on at his brother with a look of helplessness in his ever-changing colored eyes. 'I forgot.'_

_'Oh, Locky,' Mycroft sighed and grasped his brother's hand. 'I'm sorry. I figured as much when John arrived alone. How much time did you lose?'_

_Sherlock clawed at Mycroft's hands with his fingertips. If it was hurting his brother he simply didn't react. 'At least five years at a guess.'_

_'Better than fifteen I suppose,' Mycroft said softly. 'You remembered your family this time at least.' He glanced down at Sherlock's hands which were clawing into his. He moved his hands away before clutching onto his hands tightly, stopping him from clawing at himself._

_'Where did the vodka come from?' he questioned softly, trying to capture Sherlock's wandering, drunken gaze. Sherlock frowned and shrugged, letting his eyes dance around the room._

_'It's strange,' he muttered. 'I can't remember.'_

_'It must have come from somewhere,' Mycroft stated. 'Bottles of alcohol don't just appear out of thin air.'_

_'Do you think I'm a complete idiot?' Sherlock snapped. 'Of course they don't just appear out of thin air.' He set a steely look upon his brother. 'I'm not lying. I can't remember.' Mycroft chewed his lip in thought._

_'Alright, then tell me this: where'd the bottle go? Because it's not in the trash or your room.' He held his phone up, a text from his driver on the screen. 'I was thorough.'_

_'I must have eaten it,' Sherlock replied sarcastically. Mycroft snorted and put his phone away._

_'Sorry. Sorry,' he apologised. 'You must have hid it somewhere. But trust me when I say this: if your children find you drunk, passed out on the floor, or god forbid they find your stash, I will send you to a rehab facility. Against your will if I have to. Understood?'_

_'I have no stash,' Sherlock grumbled under his breath. 'Hunt down the entire house if you like.'_

_He sighed heavily. 'I wouldn't mind going to rehab. I've stopped caring.'_

_Mycroft's face fell. 'Oh, Lock,' he sighed. 'It's that bad?' He shook his head, stopping any words Sherlock might have said in their tracks._

_'You don't have to answer that. I would put you in rehab if you truly wanted me to. But, what do you want? Do you want to stay here or have me send you somewhere?'_

_Sherlock shrugged, placing his violin aside. He swiveled his position and budged closer to Mycroft so his head was resting on his chest and his arms were wrapped around his brother's still protruding stomach._

_'I don't know, Croft. I don't know,' he admitted. 'I just know that I hate my life right now. If you only knew what I've thought about doing in the past few hours.' The younger Holmes' lip trembled. 'I almost consumed the whole bottle,' he whispered._

_'Oh, Lock,' Mycroft sighed, pulling his baby brother closer to him. He rubbed calming circles on his back, trying to reign in his emotions._

_'Please don't leave this world like that,' he whispered. 'Not the coward's way, taking your own life. Please.'_

_Sherlock sniffled and squeezed his brother tightly. 'Mmm sorry,' he all but choked out. 'Mmm so sorry.'_

_'It will be alright baby brother,' Mycroft whispered. 'I... I'm saying this now in case you never get to hear me say it again.' He took a deep breath and whispered in his brother's ear:_

_'I love you.'_

_Sherlock glanced up warily at Mycroft and gave him a crooked smile._

_'Love you too, Croft.' He nuzzled his nose against his brother and hummed sleepily._

_'Shouldn't you leave?' he asked sadly. 'They'll notice you're gone for sure.'_

_'They'll be fine,' Mycroft said, brushing thoughts of his family aside for the moment. 'I'm here for you, as long as you may need me.'_

_'I'll always need you, Croft,' Sherlock mumbled, beginning to fall into a drunken sleep. 'Always.'_

_'And I'll always be there for you, Locky,' Mycroft whispered, risking petting Sherlock's hair. 'I promise.'_

_Sherlock was aware of something tugging on his arm urgently. He grunted and squirmed away from whatever or whomever was tugging at his arm in annoyance._

_'Go away, Croft,' he said with a childish huff._

_'It's not Uncle Myc, Dad. It's... It's your princess,' Felicity whispered softly. 'Daddy says you need to wake up now and eat something. We'll be leaving soon.'_

_'I'm not hungry,' he replied with a loud sigh. 'And not at all in the mood to go out. I apologise.'_

_'But, Dad,' Felicity pouted. 'It's my graduation. You said you'd be there.' Sherlock felt his brow crease at his daughter's words._

_'Don't be ridiculous Felicity. That's a complete impossibility. You're not old enough to graduate.' He rolled over and opened his eyes. He almost instantly jolted backwards, hitting his head against the headboard with an almighty thud. His lips shook as he formed the question, 'Princess?'_

_His teenage daughter was suddenly a beautiful young woman._

_'Hi Dad,' she smiled gently, placing her hand over his. 'Yes, it's me. Hard to believe, huh?' She hung her head and sniffled. 'Sorry. I just... I really want you to be there today. For me. Please?'_

_Sherlock took a moment to compose himself before slowly nodding. 'Of course, Princess. Anything for you.'_

_'Thanks Dad,' Felicity smiled weakly. She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. 'I'll meet you downstairs, ok? Please hurry.'_

_'You call me "dad" openly now?' he questioned. 'Or is it still our little secret?'_

_He stood to his feet, walking over to his wardrobe, looking for something smart to wear._

_'Still just you and me,' Felicity whispered, winking. 'Like our secret Doctor Who watching.'_

_Sherlock grinned from ear to ear, his worries momentarily watered down by the briefest moment of happiness. 'I'm so glad I passed on my Whovian badge to you.'_

_He pulled out a smart black and white tux with a satisfied smile. 'Let me get dressed, and I'll be down.'_

_'Me too, Dad. I'll see you downstairs.' She moved to the door and paused, grinning. 'Fish fingers and custard, Dad. Fish fingers and custard.' She waved and left the room, bouncing down the stairs to join John and Ben in the kitchen._

_Sherlock frowned. 'Fish fingers and custard indeed,' he muttered to himself. It was obviously a reference to an episode he had forgotten. His gut dropped as the realisation of just how much he'd forgotten this time hit him. He felt numb as he put on his tux and when he went downstairs into the kitchen and saw John he couldn't even muster a smile._

_'Morning Lock,' John said, not really paying attention. He was tying Ben's bow tie, but the teenager was having none of it._

_'Why do I have to wear this stupid thing?' he groaned. 'I'm only going to untie it at the ceremony.'_

_'Because it's my graduation, I'm valedictorian, and I want you not to dress like a bloody slob for once,' Felicity huffed, checking her hair for probably the hundredth time._

_'But it's choking me,' Ben complained, making a gagging noise._

_'Behave,' John scolded. 'It'll be your turn next year, and you'll need to be wearing this suit again. So you might as well get used to it now.'_

_'Ben's graduating next year?' Sherlock questioned, startling all three parties._

_Ben looked toward his father, confusion and hurt written all over his face._

_'Yeah, Father. I skipped my freshman and sophomore years. Too tedious and boring. Thanks for remembering,' he scowled._

_'Benedict!' John scolded. 'You know your father can't help what he remembers or doesn't.'_

_'I don't fucking care!' Ben shouted. 'He's always so distant and lost and too goddamn drunk all the fucking time. Or are you still turning a blind eye to that, Dad? And where was he when I had my first violin concert? Passed out in an alley behind a bar. Do you remember that, Father?'_

_'Ben, you shut up right now,' Felicity growled. She stalked over to her little brother, glaring up at him even in heels. 'Shove your petty grievances aside for once and don't spoil my big day. Or I swear to god I'll bust you to Uncle Myc.'_

_'You wouldn't dare,' he growled back, glaring down at his sister._

_'Try me,' she sneered._

_'Bust you for what?' John asked, concerned._

_'Nothing, Dad,' Ben answered a little too quickly. Felicity just quirked an eyebrow and crossed her arms, her good mood with her dad earlier spoiled._

_Sherlock's face fell. 'You're right Benny,' he said in a pathetically small voice. 'I am distant. I hate myself for it._

_'My mind is slowly crumbling to pieces and I'm a shit parent. I don't need to be reminded of that. I simply look at myself in a mirror and I can see it.'_

_His eyes turned to stone and his heart sunk deep within his chest. 'And the last memory I have is of being pissed, huddled on your uncle's lap. So yes, I must turn to alcohol a lot. But you have no idea what it's like to have your life stolen from you. No fucking idea at all! I wish I could be there for you every fucking second but I can't. And do you know why? Because I'm bloody losing my grip on time and my life._

_'I'm running out of time, Benny. One day I'll wake and I won't even remember my name! So deal with it!'_

_'Don't call me "Benny,"' the boy growled. 'I'm not a fucking child anymore Sherlock! Call me by my actual goddamn name! Shut up Dad!' he yelled at John who was about to speak up._

_'I know that your mind is dying, "being consumed by the fire within" as you once so eloquently put it. But guess what? I don't fucking care. I would have thought most people with memory loss would have tried to cling to the people they love most, but you didn't. You drank and distanced yourself from us. Felicity at least has the decency to hold on to the good memories you two shared, but I suppose I'm too full of petty grievances to look past the bad. And, well, the good things don't always soften the bad. And I have too many bad memories that the good can't overpower them.' He inhaled deeply before continuing, silencing Felicity's cries with his hand._

_'And you know what, if you wake up and can't remember me one day, I'll consider that a blessing. Maybe then I can go and find a real father. One who remembers me and goes to my violin concerts and supports me in all that I do!'_

_He glanced around the room, fuming. He glared at Felicity, tears streaming down her cheeks; John, who had collapsed on the floor in a heap; and finally Sherlock, looking all the world like a lost child._

_'Sod this,' he growled, ripping off his tie and throwing it to the ground. 'Sod all of this. I'm leaving. Sis, congrats but I'm not going to be there. Good luck in uni.' He removed his jacket and set it on the counter, undoing the top three buttons of his shirt before grabbing his wallet and keys before stalking from the house._

_Felicity began sobbing in earnest, covering her face in her hands. She wanted so much to go to her dad, to hug him and apologise for all the hurtful things Ben had said, but she knew it wouldn't make things right. It might even make them worse. She shouldn't apologise for her brother's actions anyway; they weren't her responsibility._

_John was gasping for breath on the floor, his sobs having racked his body for so hard they made it difficult to breathe. He curled in on himself on the floor, afraid to look at his daughter and husband for fear they would look just as lost and hurt as he felt. But he was more worried for Sherlock and his reaction to Ben's words, his scathing remarks, and how quickly he had abandoned them all. Sherlock had been right about Ben's teenage years. He'd gotten mixed up in the wrong crowd, his grades had started slipping, his violin had taken a backseat to his so-called friends, and John blamed himself for not being a better father to his son._

_Anger boiled underneath Sherlock's surface and his chest tightened. He looked over to John on the floor, crying in a heap, and then over to Felicity who looked unsure of what to do, silent tears streaming down her face._

_He swallowed and shook his head. 'I wish Mycroft had kept his promise,' he sniffed. 'Because then I'd be locked up or dead and you'd all be rid of me. Which in all honesty at least gives you a chance of some happiness.'_

_He turned to John. 'I'm sorry for fucking everything up, love,' he said as softly as he could. 'I'm sorry my brother is incompetent in keeping promises. That he didn't protect you all by taking me away as I asked him.'_

_Then he slowly looked to Felicity. 'I'm sorry for ruining your big day. I shall not bother speaking for the rest of the day. I don't want to say anything wrong again. Feel free to call me by my name as well. I'm not your d- father.' He closed his eyes and snorted. 'I'm nothing to you. I always have been.'_

_'That's not true!' Felicity wailed. 'You have never been nothing! You were my everything! You took care of me when I was sick, you looked after Beary when I was away at school, you willingly went to my tea parties, we watched Doctor Who every day! You were there for me when boys were idiots, or when I was being an idiot with a boy. You have been my favourite man in the entire world since I was eight and that has never changed. You...' She turned to John, who had managed to sit up. She mouthed 'I'm sorry' at him before she continued._

_'You're my dad, my beautiful, wonderful daddy, and I love you more than anyone in the world.'_

_She moved forward and wrapped her arms around Sherlock in a secure hug. 'I love you so much, Dad. Please don't go.'_

_'I'm hurting you. All of you. You are far too much like your dad. So kind and forgiving and that's why I love you.' He hugged her to him tighter._

_'But it changes nothing. I have failed everyone, especially Benny.' Tears dripped from his eyes. 'He hates me as I hated my father. He is so much like me and I am terrified for him.'_

_He pulled back and glanced up at Felicity. 'You can hide it from your dad and cover up for Ben all you like but I know when someone has dropped into the dark path. I took it once. I suppose I still am with the alcohol._

_'I am sorry, princess. Maybe after this graduation you should simply allow your uncle to do what he sees fit about me and move on with your life.'_

_'Ben didn't take the path because of you,' Felicity whispered. John listened in earnest now. His Benny was following in Sherlock's footsteps? How had he not noticed?_

_'There was a girl,' Felicity explained. 'One of those grunge punk rockers like from the eighties. He really liked her, probably because she was everything he wasn't and secretly wanted to be. She was rebellious, badass, and had a fuck all attitude. He was smitten. And he really wanted to impress her so, the one time she passed him something he took it willingly._

_'But when they broke up, the drug use didn't end with the relationship. They got worse, mending a broken heart, and now he's slipping away from us. I'm so scared for him, Daddy. And I'm scared for you.'_

_She looked up at him, both their eyes shining with tears._

_'You keep drinking despite the knowledge that alcohol can make dementia worse. I wish you would stop, but I know you're too far gone to quit cold turkey. And I don't want Uncle Myc to do anything to you. He has no say in this matter. Because he is not your daughter, or your son, or your husband. He may be your brother, but we are your family. And we will stand behind you no matter what.'_

_'I'll talk to him. He might not listen to anything I have to say. However, I've been there in his situation. I took drugs to fit in. And if he doesn't stop then... he might... I don't want to think about that.' He wiped at his eyes._

_'I'm sorry about the alcohol. If I could stop I would but obviously I can't.' He clenched his jaw. 'Mycroft said he was going to send me to rehab if I worsened and continued to drink. Yet another broken promise by him._

_'Your uncle has plenty to say in this situation I am afraid. He knows how to make good, cold, logical decisions. And at the moment his decision should be to get me away from you. All of you. You said you'd stand behind me. Can you stand behind me on this?'_

_Felicity's lip trembled. She nodded and clutched her dad tighter._

_'If you're going to get better than I'll support you. I love you and I want you to get better.' She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed._

_'Will you still come to my graduation? Please?'_

_'Thank you,' he hushed. 'I love you too.'_

_'Of course,' Sherlock's voice cracked. 'I wouldn't miss it for the world.'_

_'Thanks, Daddy,' she whispered, smiling against his chest. She pulled back and wiped her eyes, her hands coming back streaked with black._

_'Ugh. Now I have to redo my makeup,' she sighed. 'Give me five minutes?' She dashed away, leaving her dads alone in the kitchen._

_Sherlock hurried over to John and lifted him up into his arms. 'I am so, so sorry.' He kissed his husband on the lips lightly. 'I love you. You know that, right?'_

_'I love you too,' John whispered, pulling himself closer to Sherlock. 'I am so sorry about Benny. I didn't know he felt that way, that he was taking... taking drugs.' His voice cracked and a small sob escaped. 'But, Mycroft wasn't not fulfilling his promises. I refused to let him take you. But, if you really want to, I'll allow him to take you to a rehab facility.'_

_'You weren't to know. How could you have known?' Sherlock reassured John. He clung to him closer._

_'Don't you think you've been putting it off for long enough? Maybe not today but soon. I guess you were a little pissed at him that he hadn't informed you of our plans?' He smiled sadly. 'I'm sorry about that.'_

_'Myc never told me the two of you had arrangements,' John said softly, his fingers clutching loosely at Sherlock's tux jacket. 'I always just assumed he was taking the bloody initiative yet again and was trying to take you away from us.'_

_He looked up at his husband and brought their lips together in a gentle kiss. 'And maybe you should go with him the next time he comes. That will give you time to talk to Benny about his... habit, and maybe see Felicity off to uni.'_

_'Of course. Not that Ben will appreciate a talk with me about it.' Sherlock smothered John's lips with his own, attacking them like there was no tomorrow._

_John gave a muffled sort of noise, not expecting Sherlock to kiss him so thoroughly. He quickly melted into it, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck and kissing him back just as fervently. Sherlock slid a hand to John's arse as he continued to kiss him relentlessly and gave it a light and cheeky squeeze. John gasped and moaned into Sherlock's mouth. One hand tangled itself in Sherlock's curls, the other travelled down Sherlock's back and gave his own supple arse a squeeze. Sherlock groaned, squeezing John's arse harder whilst moving his other hand to cup John through his trousers._

_'Oh god,' John moaned, his hips rutting into Sherlock's palm. 'Still such a dirty bastard after all these years.' He rut faster, pulling Sherlock into a deep kiss, his tongue plunging down Sherlock's throat._

_'I want you,' he gasped, moving as fast as his hips would allow. 'I want you so fucking much. Take me.'_

_'Felicity could walk in on us.' Sherlock grimaced at the idea of being caught in such a compromising situation by his daughter. However, that didn't stop his longing for John. He needed this. After everything that happened today god did he need this. He pushed John down onto the ground gently and straddled him._

_'It's a risk I'll take.' He teasingly moved up and down against the straining erection in his husband's trousers._

_'I didn't – oh fuck. I didn't mean here,' John groaned, rutting against Sherlock's hips. 'Bedroom. Now. The silencer is up there too.'_

_Sherlock groaned loudly. 'But that's no fun,' he pouted, kissing along John's neck. 'Besides I wasn't suggesting a fuck. Just a mere rutting session.' He moved his hips faster. 'As for silence?' He ripped his bow tie off and stuffed it in John's lips. John gasped at Sherlock's taking charge, his cock giving a lurch as he shoved his bow tie in his mouth. He groaned and nodded, rutting against his husband's own straining erection. His movements made his intentions clear: make this as quick as possible before Felicity comes back. Sherlock pounded himself against John, keeping up the quick and needy pace. He pinched John's bottom and grunted, pressing his lips to his husband's throat. John whimpered and clutched tightly to Sherlock's hips, rutting fast and hard against him. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, his breath coming in sharp gasps, and he was so close to a release he could almost taste it. He whimpered again, shifting his hips so Sherlock would rut against his sweet spot. He came sharply and with a muffled yell a few sharp thrusts later, his body arching towards Sherlock's and his head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Sherlock cried out as he too felt himself cum, exploding in his trousers painfully._

_'John!' he all but screamed. He soon froze however when he heard his daughter's footsteps racing towards the kitchen. He buried his face in John's neck. He was far past caring if it was obvious what he and John had just done. Besides, Felicity wasn't a little girl anymore._

_'Dad?!' Felicity cried, running into the kitchen. She was breathless, racing from her room after hearing her dad shout John's name. It sounded painful too. Was John hurt?_

_'Dad? Is everything al–' She stopped when she peered past the island. Her parents were sprawled on the floor, John's mouth stuffed with black fabric. She blushed bright red, suddenly realising the reason for her dad's shout. She swallowed and rushed from the room, not sure if she should be laughing or scared for life._

_Sherlock burst into laughter against John's neck. 'Oh god,' he snickered. 'Poor Felicity.'_

_John removed Sherlock's tie from his mouth, licking his lips as they had gone incredibly dry. He was blushing scarlet and hid his face in his hands. He was beyond embarrassed and couldn't believe Sherlock found the situation funny. His own daughter had walked in on the aftermath of their rutting session and she was probably traumatised beyond belief. How on earth was that funny?_

_'I'm sorry,' Sherlock apologised, his laughter dying in his throat. 'It's not funny. It's just been such a long time since I've felt this good. Since I've laughed even.'_

_'The one time we're intimate, our daughter walks in on us,' John mumbled from behind his hands. 'God, she must be traumatised. I feel... exposed and filthy.'_

_'One time?' Sherlock questioned, his heart twitching in pain. 'God, I'm sorry,' he gulped guiltily. 'I feel like I've used you.'_

_'Why else would I demand we go to the bedroom?' John said sadly, dropping his hands to the floor. 'I wanted you to take me, Sherlock. I told you what I wanted. And, although you can't remember, try to deduce the last time we were intimate with each other. Go ahead. It must be written all over me.'_

_Sherlock stared at John for a long time._

_'Years,' he muttered. 'It's been years since we've done this.' He smacked a hand on his head. 'I'm a fucking idiot. I should have listened.'_

_John nodded solemnly, wriggling out from underneath Sherlock. He sat up and hunched his shoulders, hanging his head._

_'It's been so long, love,' he murmured. 'I... I almost don't remember what your cock feels like. I feel almost virginal again.' He blinked back tears and glanced up at his husband._

_'If you would... That is, if you're up for it... Would you fuck me into our mattress when we get back from the graduation ceremony? Felicity will be out with friends. Trust me. We'll have the place to ourselves, we'll be able to be as loud as we want. Could you do that for me? Please?'_

_Sherlock pulled John against him. 'I see I've been a shit husband as well as a crappy father. But I'm not going to fuck you.' He paused, studying his husband's fallen face. 'I am going to make sweet love to you.'_

_'Even better,' John smiled, hugging himself closer. He sighed and laid his head against Sherlock's chest, listening to the beating of his heart._

_'Are you two quite finished?' Felicity huffed, hiding behind the archway. 'I'm glad you're making up and all but honestly! We have to be at the school soon! I need to be there early. Valedictorian and all.'_

_'Yes, dear,' Sherlock grinned. 'We're finished.' He helped John up before whispering, 'for now,' down his ear._

_John blushed and cleared his throat. He stood up and straightened his tux, grimacing slightly at the feeling of his cold cum caked in his pants. He grabbed the keys from the counter and looked to Felicity. She was still hiding behind the arch slightly, her eyes wary._

_'You ready to go, sweetie?' John asked her. She merely nodded, heading to the garage and getting into the car. She was so glad the shitty van was gone and her dad had bought a proper car. John sat in the driver's seat, Sherlock in the passenger's. John smirked at his husband as he started the car, buckling in before he exited the driveway and drove off to the high school._

_The journey to the high school was deadly quiet. John's eyes were fixed on the road but Sherlock could tell that he was in deep thought about what had gone on, and Felicity was seemingly distracted by her big day. Meanwhile, Sherlock placed his head against the cool glass of his window and watched the world outside pass him by as guilt consumed him. Oh how he wished things had turned out differently. If only he'd been there for Ben more often, then maybe his son wouldn't have taken a dangerous path. Then of course there was John, the man whom he loved deeply, and yet it seemed had abandoned. Then there was Felicity who didn't want to lose her daddy but knew that it was inevitable._

_When had things gone so wrong?_

_John stared at the road as he drove, his mind wandering between Benny's choices to Sherlock's actions on the kitchen floor. And then there was Felicity, graduating top of her class, off to Columbia University in July. God, when had she grown up into such a smart, kind, beautiful young woman? He could remember when she called herself a princess, had tea parties with her stuffed animals and occasionally him of Sherlock, wore sloppy pigtails that she did herself, and ran around the house clutching Beary to her chest as he chased after her to put her to bed._

_He glanced in the rearview mirror at his little girl. She looked absolutely beautiful. And while she had kept her blonde locks she had taken to curling them slightly the way Sherlock's did. She had done it today as well, and she looked like an angel. Perfect and beautiful and full of life. She was texting one of her friends, presumably Mary as they were inseparable as of late, and he hoped to god she wasn't telling her what had happened in the kitchen._

_He glanced over to Sherlock, his head resting on the window, the glass fogging up slightly from his breaths. His beautiful, wonderful, lost Sherlock. So many memories gone, so much anger and confusion, so much pain. He wished he could take it all away, fix him like he fixed his patients. But this was an illness of the mind, not the body, and John felt helpless and useless. What kind of a doctor was he if he couldn't even help his own husband get better? Or keep his son off drugs?_

_He sniffled and reached out for Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together and holding on tight. He needed an anchor at the moment, to keep him grounded so he wouldn't crumble under his thoughts and emotions. And while choosing a man fraught with emotions probably wasn't the wisest choice, it was the best one._

_Sherlock held on tightly to John's hand and risked a glance over to him._

_'I love you,' he whispered under his breath sadly. 'And I'm sorry.'_

_'I love you too,' John whispered. 'And I'm sorry too. For all that happened in the kitchen.'_

_Sherlock shrugged. 'Oh, I don't know. It wasn't all bad.'_

_John blushed. 'Ok, yeah, that bit was pretty good.' Felicity made a disgusted sound, causing John to blush further._

_'But Ben's behaviour and his harsh words... I'm so sorry about all that.'_

_'I deserved his words,' Sherlock retorted. 'And I don't blame him for his behaviour or the path he has taken. I've been there, remember?'_

_'I know you've been there,' John sighed. 'And you seem to be going down that path again, but with alcohol this time. But we'll get you through this. I won't abandon you.'_

_Sherlock's lips twitched and he nodded._

_'I don't know how I got started on the alcohol, John. It wasn't a planned thing. I must firstly assure you of that. I suppose my first memory of my problem was on the day little Mark was brought home.' He sighed heavily. 'Little Mark, of course, won't be so little now.'_

_He chewed on his lower lip. 'Mycroft knew about it of course. He was the one who I turned to. I don't know why but I can remember that in that moment I felt a longing for my brother to comfort me. I threatened him, said if he told you I'd kill him.' He paused, licking his lips._

_'He said he'd get me help if it continued. I did not anticipate you stopping him. I did not anticipate becoming a drunkard father, husband, brother, and uncle. I'm sorry. I should have sought out your help, but I didn't want to hurt you, or Felicity, or Ben. I didn't want to hurt anyone if I could help it.' He snorted. 'I failed tremendously so on that account, didn't I?'_

_'You never hurt us,' John stated. 'Not physically at least. Your drunken words could sting pretty bad though.'_

_'Dad, don't make Daddy feel bad before my ceremony,' Felicity said, her face still buried in her phone. 'Please. I want him to be there and I want him to be happy.'_

_'Oh, John, I owe you a thousand apologies.' Sherlock rubbed his thumb over his husband's knuckles before turning to face his daughter._

_'I'm fine, Felicity, really. You should stop fighting my battles for me. I'm going to be there, and although I am not perfectly happy with myself right now, I'm happy for you and all the things you have achieved.'_

_Felicity looked up from her phone, smiling softly at her dad._

_'Thanks, Dad,' she grinned. 'That means a lot. Especially since you can't remember much. Do you want me to tell you where I'm going and what I'll be studying?'_

_'I'd love to hear about that, yes,' Sherlock grinned, chest swimming with some emotion he couldn't quite understand._

_'I'm going to New York, in America. Columbia University to study medicine and psychology,' she beamed proudly. 'I would be a doctor but people's insides make me squeamish. So, I'm going to help people in other ways.'_

_Sherlock felt his heart well up and his lips quivered sadly on his porcelain face. Felicity was going into a medical career that involved trying to heal people with psychological problems. He felt his stomach plunge to the ground and his eyes suddenly became distant. He wondered for a moment if he had been her inspiration to help people with such problems. After all, he had enough psychological abnormalities wrong with his mind to spur her on in that direction. He was quick to shake that thought away and drag himself back to the present._

_'I'm proud of you, Princess. You're making your old man really happy right now.'_

_'You aren't my old man,' she pouted. 'You're my dad. And thank you. And before you put yourself in a funk, I didn't want to go into psychology simply because of you. Uncle Myc had a bit part with his bipolar issues. But I want to be able to help people who have psychological issues because the doctors here are shit. They're impersonal and impractical and just plain rude. And when you have mental issues you don't want attitude, you want understanding.'_

_'I am pretty ancient,' he stated, his voice dripping with amusement, a small chuckle forming on his lips._

_'As for what you're doing, I think it's amazing. Not many young people surrounded by others who have... certain aspects wrong with them in their upstairs department,' he pointed to his head, 'Would want to carry on living a life surrounded by more like them._

_'And whereas I agree most doctors are shit they're not all like that.' Sherlock glanced at John briefly. 'You weren't talking about any doctors that saw me were you?' he asked, raising an eyebrow. 'Because believe me, even as a sickly child I brought out the very worst in my doctors. It probably wasn't anything personal. I'm just not a very good patient.'_

_He smiled affectionately at Felicity. 'I'm certain you'll make a wonderful doctor. You're not idiotic for a start.'_

_Felicity smirked. 'Thanks, Dad. That's a great compliment coming from you.' She glanced to John and saw he was wearing a similar smirk._

_'Dad is a great doctor, but he deals with physical maladies. I want to specialise with the mind. And I want to have the patience to deal with difficult patients, like yourself.' She smiled fondly._

_'And I'll be there for you too, either as a doctor or your daughter. If you ever want to talk, I'll be there to listen.'_

_Sherlock shook his head. 'I wouldn't want to burden you with what goes on in my mind. No one should have to deal with that.'_

_'Then you don't have to tell me,' she shrugged. 'Even if you just want to know how my day is going that will be good enough for me. I just want to hear from you while I'm away at uni. And Dad too.'_

_'Of course you'll hear from me,' Sherlock protested. 'Try to keep me away from contacting you.'_

_'Good,' she smiled brightly, shifting forward to clasp her dads' linked hands in both of hers. 'Because I'll be calling you every day.'_

_'I wouldn't expect anything less,' Sherlock returned her bright smile._

_'Sorry to spoil the moment, but we're here,' John said, pulling into the high school's parking lot. Students in graduation gowns were everywhere, holding onto their caps despite the wind being nothing more than a gentle breeze._

_Felicity glanced around at her classmates, swallowing as she realised that she was going to have to give a speech in front of not only her class but their parents and the teachers as well._

_'Dad?' she whispered, squeezing their hands tightly._

_Sherlock hummed and raised an eyebrow. 'You shouldn't be nervous. You'll do brilliantly, Princess,' he reassured her. 'No need to feel scared.'_

_'I just... I never realised how many people I'd be speaking in front of today until now,' she said softly. 'I've never been one for public speaking.'_

_Sherlock clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. 'Then simply imagine yourself somewhere else, away from all of those people. This is where it's quite handy to have a mind palace. You can lock yourself in there. Nothing can touch you. You should try it.' He paused and glanced away from Felicity. 'You don't know about my mind palace, do you?'_

_He heard John scoff playfully at the term 'mind palace' and shushed him gently._

_'No. No I haven't.' Felicity cocked her head. 'What's a mind palace? How does it work?'_

_'It's a memory technique of mine. You imagine a place within your mind and you put information within it. It doesn't have to be a palace,' he smirked. 'It just makes me feel cooler by saying it is._

_'In theory,' he continued his explanation, 'the technique prevents you from forgetting things. You just have to simply find your way back to them.' His smirk wavered. 'It used to work brilliantly for me before my condition came along. I also used it to hide from reality. If I didn't like what was going on I'd simply resort to hiding within my own mind. I still can do the latter use of my palace with ease.'_

_'Ok, Dad,' Felicity said softly. 'I'll work on creating one. But not today. Today, I'm going to imagine I'm speaking solely to you and Dad. Because, today, you two are the only people who matter.'_

_Sherlock grinned goofily. 'And I'll be hanging onto your every word.'_

_Felicity squeezed their hands again and smiled brightly._

_'I'll be looking for you two in the audience.' She released their hands and exited the car, adjusting her cap and gown before strolling off to the auditorium where the students were meeting before the ceremony._

_'I love you!' she called over her shoulder before disappearing._

_'I love you too, Princess,' John said softly, squeezing Sherlock's hand tightly._

_Sherlock squeezed John's hand back. 'She's done so well for herself,' he whispered, his voice happy yet sad at the same time._

_'She's brilliant, and she's got a good heart,' John smiled softly. 'She's going to be a fantastic doctor.' He looked over to his husband and sighed._

_'I'm going to miss her so much,' he sniffed. 'And she's going to be in America, New York where it can be so dangerous. I'm scared for her, Sherlock. And I don't want to let her go. She's my baby girl, my princess, and now she's all grown up. God.' He sniffled and wiped his eyes free of the fresh tears._

_'We, um. We should go get some seats next to the podium. So she can spot us better.'_

_'She'll make a brilliant doctor!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'And if she's anything like you she'll be able to hold her own whilst in America. We must let her go so that she can grow, John. She seems happy and that's all that counts at the end of the day._

_'Come on, we'll go and seek out some good seats. But firstly–' Sherlock smacked his lips on John's. 'I wanted to do that.'_

_John pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, holding him tight before releasing him._

_'I just wanted to do that,' he whispered against Sherlock's lips. 'Let's go find those seats now.'_

_Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'Will Mycroft be there?' he asked, his voice a little taut._

_'He might be, yes,' John nodded. 'He said he would try to be here. Greg and Mark too.'_

_Sherlock shifted in his seat again._

_'Right, okay,' he muttered, trying to compose himself._

_'Are you worried he's going to try to take you away?' John asked softly. 'Because I won't let him. Not today. He isn't going to ruin Felicity's big day.'_

_'No,' Sherlock quickly corrected John. 'I don't believe he would do such a thing. But you see, the last time I remember seeing him, I was pissed beyond belief. I guess I'm just ashamed and worried about what he must think about me now.'_

_'Oh,' John frowned. 'Well. I wouldn't worry. He's your brother. He doesn't think you're a degenerate or anything. He worries about you, given that he's tried to take you to rehab at least six times already. I just wish I'd known about your promises before I kicked him out every time.'_

_John frowned and sighed. 'At the very least you'll get to see little Mark. He really likes you. Thinks you're funny.'_

_'He was only doing what I instructed him to do, John,' Sherlock said in low voice._

_He looked at his husband seriously. 'I don't remember Mark. What if I say something wrong?'_

_'He's four, Sherlock,' John said. 'Anything you say is going to be funny to him. You couldn't possibly say something wrong.'_

_'Trust me when I say I'll probably find a way,' Sherlock shot back._

_'Stop that,' John scowled. 'You are a fantastic uncle. You've never been drunk around Mark, you treat him like your own son, and he loves you to death.'_

_'I promised Mycroft that I'd be sober around him. It would seem we've made a good deal of promises to each other lately. As for treating him like my own son I should bloody hope not. For my own son hates me, and for my nephew to grow to hate me too... it would simply kill me.' Sherlock ran a hand through his hair roughly in a spur of self hatred._

_'Sherlock, stop this right now,' John scolded. He grasped Sherlock's hands tightly, holding them away from his head. 'You are not a bad father nor a bad uncle. Ben is angry at you for petty reasons, most of which he may have imagined when he was... high. Um.' He paused, swallowing thickly._

_'Mark is just a toddler. He isn't going to be corrupted by you, he isn't going to go the same way as Benny simply by knowing you. You heard Felicity. He didn't start all that because of you, but because of a girl, which is a whole lot worse. Just stop it. Stop it. Please.'_

_'Stop defending me, John. I know that I have wronged Ben, that I pushed him away, that I wasn't there for him for when he most needed me.' Sherlock's voice was soft and broken._

_'So excuse me if I am a little wary of hurting my nephew in a similar way.'_

_'Then fix it,' John scowled. 'Talk to your son when he comes home. Force him to if you have to. Threaten to turn him in to Greg if you have to.' John released Sherlock's hand and opened the car door._

_'Now can we go to our daughter's graduation now? Preferably with smiles on our faces.'_

_'I'll talk to him. I promise.'_

_Sherlock shot John a sarcastic smile. 'Better?' he asked._

_'Not nearly,' John frowned. 'Here.' He pulled Sherlock in for a soft kiss, threading his fingers in his hair. When John pulled away he had a soft smile on his face. Sherlock had his eyes closed, a small smile twitching on his lips._

_'Let's go,' John whispered._

_Sherlock nodded. 'Let's,' he agreed. When they both got out of the car Sherlock allowed John to drag him to their destination like a small child huddling for safety behind their parent. He swept his eyes over a throbbing throng of students and family and friends alike. The atmosphere was buzzing with excitement and nerves, and he could practically smell the stench of the young people graduating in the air. He faintly remembered his own graduation being similar, but that had been a long time ago. Mycroft had practically dragged him to his graduation and after he could remember things getting blurry. Most likely due to him getting high. He shuddered as he, for one single moment, pictured the same fate for his son._

_John found a row of seats close to the stage but higher up so they would be able to see their little girl easily. Hopefully she'd be able to see them easily as well. He flagged down Greg and Mark, the toddler squealing when he saw Sherlock, his little hands grasping for his shirt._

_'Is Myc gonna be able to make it?' John asked as Greg handed Mark over to a rather reluctant Sherlock._

_'He's going to try, but apparently MI6 can't run anything without him for five minutes. He keeps getting calls about the agents and shit going down. And they all know how important today is for him, but you can't tell criminals not to steal international secrets on your niece's graduation day.'_

_Sherlock cuddled the little boy tightly to him after his initial shock of Lestrade handing him over. Mark was a mini copy of Mycroft with his mop of ginger hair. He sat down, still holding him closely and cooed, completely awestruck by him. John smiled over at Sherlock, his heart warming at the sight of little Mark clinging to his shirt. John raised an eyebrow at Greg and nodded over at Sherlock. Greg turned and grinned widely._

_'Still don't know why he's so enamoured with him,' he whispered._

_'He was worried he'd say something wrong,' John whispered back. 'In his mind, this is his first time meeting Mark.'_

_'Oh,' Greg frowned. 'Well, Mark will probably say something to cheer him up. He usually does. He's four. He thinks everything is funny.'_

_'Sher,' Mark giggled on Sherlock's lap. He reached upwards with his fat chubby fingers and began playing with Sherlock's set of curls. Which was fine until he decided to yank a lock particularly hard. Sherlock whimpered and held back a 'fuck.'_

_'Mark.' He placed a hand over the toddler's. 'That wasn't very nice.' Instead of deterring the ginger haired boy it seemed to make him more curious about Sherlock's curls and he pulled again. Sherlock grunted and glanced up at his husband and Lestrade. A look of help was written on his face. Lestrade heard the grunt of pain and glanced over at Sherlock and his son. Mark had his hands tangled in Sherlock's hair and was tugging rather hard._

_'Mark. Mark, stop,' he said, giving the boy a glare. 'You're hurting Uncle Sherlock. Do you want to have your hair pulled?'_

_'No,' the boy said, releasing Sherlock's curls. He stared up at his uncle, his eyes bright with mischief. 'Fun, fun!' he giggled. 'Say fun-fun!'_

_Sherlock sighed softly and gave Lestrade a grateful look. He turned his attention back to Mark._

_'Fun-fun?' He raised an eyebrow. Mark burst out in laughter and began clapping his hands whilst chanting 'fun-fun' over and over again._

_'Just say a really long word,' Greg explained. 'He thinks your scientific terms are funny. He really likes that long Mary Poppins word. What is it again?'_

_'Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?' John suggested._

_'That's it,' Greg nodded. 'He likes that. Or any of your science terms. He thinks they're funny. Hence, fun-fun.'_

_Sherlock tried with the Mary Poppins word, but instead of saying it normally he sang it in his deep baritone voice. That sent Mark into another fit of giggles. He clutched to Sherlock with all his might, grinning cheekily up at him. John smiled fondly. Sherlock could remember the Mary Poppins song. He was so glad he could remember that but he didn't understand why. His heart swelled and he blinked back tears. He quickly checked his watch and swallowed. The ceremony would be starting any minute now._

_'Sherlock, it'll be starting soon,' he informed his husband. 'Let Greg have Mark, otherwise he'll be giggling throughout the whole ceremony.'_

_Sherlock pouted but nodded and picked Mark off of him, handing his nephew back to his dad. As soon as he the red haired boy was taken away from Sherlock however he began to scream, lower lip trembling, and face becoming as dark red as his hair. A true Holmes temper._

_'Mark, what's with the tears?' Greg asked softly, cradling the boy to him._

_'Sher,' the boy sniffled. 'Want Sher.'_

_'Uncle Sherlock is right there. You can see him. He isn't going to go anywhere.'_

_'Want sit wif Sher,' Mark sniffled._

_'You don't want to sit with Daddy?' Greg asked._

_'No. Sit wif Sher,' the boy said again._

_Greg nodded. 'Ok, but be quiet. It's cousin Felicity's special day. So be quiet, ok?' He held a finger to his lips, which Mark mimicked._

_'K,' the boy smiled. 'Sher!' His little hands reached for Sherlock's shirt again as Greg passed him back._

_Sherlock wrapped his arms around Mark and went back to hugging the toddler tightly._

_'Love you, Mark,' he whispered, smiling genuinely for the first time that day._

_'Wuvv you, Sher,' Mark mumbled into his uncle's chest._

_John smiled and wiped a stray tear from his eye. He was so glad Sherlock's fears hadn't been needed. Little Mark loved him. The principle of the school approached the podium and tapped the microphone, letting the audience know the ceremony was starting. John turned his attention to the man, sitting with rapt attention as his daughter's graduation officially began._

_The ceremony was marvellously dull and Sherlock spent most of it staring at Mark. He only lifted his head when his daughter walked onstage. He grinned at her and waved slightly. Mark giggled and copied the action._

_Felicity approached the podium, taking deep breaths to steady herself. She closed her eyes briefly, picturing her parents to calm down. When she opened them she scanned the crowd until she spotted her dads, Greg, and little Mark. Her dad was waving at her, and she smiled back at him. Turning back to the podium, she smiled widely and began her speech._

_Sherlock allowed Felicity's words to wash over him. It was a brilliant, intelligent speech and she threw in moments of amusement too._

_**She's so much like John.** _

_He couldn't believe that was his little girl up there and it was bringing tears to his eyes. Meanwhile Mark was fast asleep on his lap, a warming sight of its own._

_Felicity finished her speech and looked over to her dads, smiling widely at them. The audience applauded loudly, giving her a standing ovation. John stood and jumped up and down, clapping enthusiastically. Greg stood next to him, applauding loudly and whistling. Sherlock remained sitting until Mark woke up screaming from the noise. Then he stood and held the toddler in his arms as he gave Felicity the praise she deserved._

_Felicity felt tears pricking in her eyes at the sight. She wiped her eyes before reintroducing the principal to begin handing out the diplomas. She sat in her chair in the student section, watching her parents the entire time. Sherlock gazed across to his daughter for the rest of the mundane event, after finally getting Mark to calm down that is. He smiled at her and she smiled right back._

_Felicity's name was finally called and she approached the stage slowly. She didn't want to trip but also because it was finally hitting her that she was leaving high school and entering university life. She took the diploma from her principal's hand, shaking his offered one before walking down the stairs and back to her seat. The final students got their diplomas, the principal announced that they could shift their tassels, and pronounced them the graduating class. The crowd cheered and the students threw their caps in the air, the graduation ceremony officially over._

_As Sherlock clapped and cheered he couldn't help but feel his body starting to shake. It started with his hands and traveled through his whole body. Then came the craving. It was the same craving he'd had four years ago and that terrified him. It was stronger than ever. He could only presume he'd still had alcohol in his system in the morning to stop his withdrawal symptoms. He just hoped he could go without for now and that no one would notice._

_Mark noticed._

_'Sher, shakin!' he squealed, fisting Sherlock's shirt. 'Shakin!'_

_John turned to his husband, his smile faltering._

_'Sherlock? Are you going through withdrawal?' he asked gently._

_Sherlock shrugged but nodded._

_'I'm fine,' he stated, continuing to shake like hell._

_'Shakin!' Mark shouted. 'Shakin!'_

_'Mark! Shush!' Greg scolded. The crowd was thinning as the guests filed away to find their respective student and take pictures. He didn't want them to be overheard that Sherlock was having withdrawal symptoms. It wouldn't be good if they were._

_'But Sher shakin,' Mark said, his tiny brow creasing as his uncle continued to shake and clutch him tight._

_'Yes, Uncle Sherlock is shaking, but everyone doesn't need to know,' Greg said, shaking his head. He saw how tightly Sherlock was clutching onto his son, and it was helping with the shaking, but he didn't want Sherlock to crush Mark either. So, for the time being, he let Sherlock hold his son until it was time to go._

_Sherlock closed his eyes, nuzzling Mark lightly. His breathing had become uneven and he felt nauseous from the tremors wracking his body. What little colour was in Sherlock's cheeks was draining quickly and a thin sheen of sweat was beading on his skin. He needed some alcohol and fast._

_No._

_He had to stay sober for Felicity. Not just for Felicity but his whole family._

_'Are you going to be alright, love?' John asked softly. He placed a hand on his shoulder and sighed when he realised just how powerful the quakes were rippling through his body._

_'We still have pictures to take, then we'll be going home. I don't know how long that will take.'_

_'Dear me. Has my little brother gone into withdrawal?' Mycroft suddenly jeered from behind John. The shorter man groaned and turned to the elder Holmes._

_'Not now, Mycroft,' he growled. 'And definitely not here or today.'_

_Sherlock lifted his head to greet his brother. He didn't bite the bait Mycroft had thrown at him, didn't reply with a sarcastic remark, didn't sneer. He simply stared at him, looking on at him helplessly. He told his brother all he wanted to say with his eyes._

_**Why didn't you help me, Croft? How can you just leer at me when I sought out your help? You should have helped me. Why did you listen to John? Why didn't you take me away and lock me up, brother?** _

_**Why?** _

_Mycroft sighed and looked at his little brother._

_'I am sorry, dear brother, for not keeping my promise,' he apologised softly. 'But your husband was very adamant in refusing my taking you. But as today is such a grand day, I would not wish to spoil it by talking about this here. Shall we sit down and talk when you are home?'_

_Sherlock nodded lightly. He most certainly didn't want to ruin Felicity's big day because of problems he had caused himself. He would just have to struggle through and hope his withdrawal symptoms wouldn't worsen._

_'Sher.' Mark placed his little hand on his uncle's cheekbones. 'Sher, sick?' he asked curiously._

_Sherlock hummed, snuggling the four year old to him. 'I'm fine,' he said softly, more to reassure himself than the toddler._

_Mycroft ran a hand through his son's ginger hair, sighing at how caring he was at only four._

_'Give Uncle Sher a kiss,' he whispered in his son's ear. 'And a tight hug. They always make him feel better.'_

_The boy giggled, his hands hitting Sherlock's chest gently._

_'Want kiss, Sher?' he asked. 'Give kiss. Make better.'_

_Sherlock smirked briefly. 'Go on then.' He pointed to his cheek with a long, boney finger, hugging the toddler tightly._

_Mark clasped Sherlock's face tight as he planted a loud and sloppy kiss on his uncle's cheek. He snuggled into his chest and clutched tightly to him._

_'Better, Sher?' he asked._

_'Much,' Sherlock said, feigning a smile before glancing gratefully over to his brother._

_Mycroft nodded at him, offering him a small smile._

_'Uncle Myc! You're here!' Felicity called, running over to the group. She hugged him tightly before stepping back. 'When I didn't see you in the audience I was afraid you hadn't made it.'_

_'Nothing could have stopped me from being here,' Mycroft said softly, kissing the top of her head. Felicity smiled and moved to hug Greg, then John, pausing when she reached Sherlock and Mark._

_'Hi, Dad,' she smiled softly. She noticed his shaking but her smile never faltered. 'Did you like my speech?'_

_Sherlock let out a choked chuckle._

_'It was beautiful sweetheart. Like the woman who was presenting it.' He stood to his feet, holding Mark tighter as to not drop him. His legs shook as he took the step towards his daughter but that didn't stop him from enveloping her in a hug._

_'I'm proud of you.' The hug was gentle and brief as Mark was stuck in the center and Sherlock had to resort to sitting once more. He practically fell onto his seat but his smile was still wedged on his face nevertheless._

_'Thanks, Dad,' she grinned. She turned her smile to Mark and knelt down to his level._

_'Hi Mark! Did you get to sit on Uncle Sher's lap today?'_

_'Yeah!' he grinned enthusiastically. 'Sher say fun-fun! Sher shake! Fun-fun!' Felicity frowned slightly but still managed to smile. She ran a hand through his ginger hair, the boy calming almost instantly._

_'I'm sorry about that, Dad,' she whispered. 'I won't keep you here for long. Just long enough to get pictures and then I'm going out with my friends. Feel better, ok?'_

_'It's fine, princess. I'm fine.' Sherlock knew however that no matter how many times he told himself or others that that it wasn't true. At the moment he was far from fine. Felicity nodded, clasping one of his hands and rubbing circles on it. Gallifreyan like he taught her._

_'You don't look good, Dad,' she whispered. 'Let's get some pictures now so you can go home.' She gestured to John, capturing his gaze. He nodded, pulled out his camera, and walked over to the two of them._

_'Just a few pictures to put on the wall and then we'll go home, ok?' John asked. 'I don't want you to start convulsing out here.'_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'I'm hardly going to start convulsing, John.'_

_He pulled an arm around Felicity's waist and gave her a gentle smile. 'Let's make them good ones, yeah?'_

_Felicity smiled and sat in Sherlock's lap, pulling Mark onto hers. The little boy grasped her hair while snuggling into Sherlock's chest._

_'This will be a great one,' she whispered, kissing her dad's cheek as John snapped the first picture._

_Sherlock grinned at her as the camera flashed brightly._

_'I love you, Princess.' Mark gave a little huff and pouted. 'I love you too, Mark.' He ruffled his nephew's hair. He shuddered as the memory of doing the exact same thing with Ben as a boy spread through his mind._

_'Hey, Uncle Greg, could you take Mark? I'd like to get one of just me and Dad, then with both my wonderful dads.' She smiled at John, resting her head on Sherlock's shoulder. Mark gave a huff of protest and Felicity ruffled his hair._

_'I'm sorry little Mark,' she said softly. 'But can I have my daddies please? You can go to yours, ok?'_

_The toddler looked as though he was going to scream again. Sherlock shook his head and leaned forward to whisper something in the boy's ear. Mark looked at him with his big eyes._

_'Ok, Sher.'_

_Sherlock nodded at Lestrade. 'You can take him now. He won't kick up a fuss.'_

_Greg looked at him incredulously, especially when he picked Mark up without the boy crying and throwing a fit._

_'Holy cow, Sherlock. What did you say to him?'_

_'A magician never reveals his secrets.' Sherlock gave Greg a lopsided smile._

_'You may need to share it with me sometime,' Greg laughed, shifting Mark so his head was on his shoulder. 'May come in handy around bedtime.'_

_'Oh, I'd love to Greg. However that wouldn't be as amusing for me. And I do love to be amused,' Sherlock teased. Greg just laughed, bouncing Mark slightly when he gave a little squeal of protest. Felicity clutched onto her dad, smiling into his neck._

_'You're fantastic,' she told him. 'And I love you.'_

_'I'm really not,' he responded morosely, hugging her a little tighter. 'I'm really not,' he repeated._

_'Shhh,' Felicity hushed him, pressing her face against his neck. 'Shhh. Yes you are. You are my daddy and I will always think you're fantastic.' She hugged him tight, kissing his neck gingerly. 'I love you so much, Daddy.'_

_Sherlock smiled as John snapped another picture. 'And I love you, Princess. I love you more than you could probably ever comprehend.'_

_'Same here,' she whispered, hugging him tight. 'Dad, get in on this father-daughter action.' She waved to John and grinned. John smiled at her and handed the camera to Mycroft, sitting down next to Sherlock and pulling Felicity's legs over his lap. Sherlock moved so he had one arm around his husband's shoulders and the other around his daughter's._

_'I love you both so much,' he told them, kissing them both on the base of their necks before turning to face the camera. John and Felicity smiled at the camera as Mycroft clumsily took a photo. He took a few more before passing the camera back to John. John stood and kissed Sherlock on his head, helping Felicity up and giving her a kiss as well._

_'We'll get some shots with Myc and Greg and then your dad and I are going home, ok?'_

_'Ok, Dad,' Felicity nodded. She turned to Mycroft and smiled at him. 'I'm so glad you could make it.'_

_'Me too, my dear. Although I'm afraid I missed the beginning of your speech. But I loved what I heard.' He wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead. John snapped a picture before Myc could protest. He took a few of Felicity with Greg, with both Myc and Greg, and then some with her and little Mark, the boy giggling and squealing in glee. Sherlock sat in the background, watching, just watching. He watched his family, so happy, so gleeful, laughing, squealing. It was beautiful, blissful, and almost sickeningly sweet. He wished he could join in, laugh along with them, smile, but he couldn't._

_He felt painfully ill. He'd been through withdrawal symptoms before, but with drugs. He can't remember the withdrawal stage ever being that bad though. Maybe it was because he hadn't been dependent on the drugs and it would seem he was dependent on the alcohol. With the drugs it had been a matter of fitting in for a change, but with alcohol consumption it was a way to drown himself of his sorrows, to forget that he was forgetting, to sweep his worries under the carpet. Or maybe it was because he wasn't young anymore and his body was coping with it poorly. Either way he felt like shit._

_'Ok sweetheart,' John sighed, looking at Felicity with soft eyes. 'Sherlock and I are going to go home. Go have fun with your friends. And, congratulations. I'm so proud of you.' He pulled her in for a tight hug, kissing her cheek before releasing her rather reluctantly._

_'Thanks Dad. I love you.' She kissed him back and moved to hug Sherlock tight. 'I love you too, Daddy. So very much. I'm glad you made it.'_

_'I wouldn't have missed it for the world, Princess.' He managed to steady his voice so it only trembled slightly. He rubbed a hand on her back gently and released her with a small sigh._

_Felicity gave Sherlock a soft smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. She hugged John, Greg, and Mycroft before flitting away to join her friends. John said goodbye to Myc and Greg, running his hand through the sleeping Mark's hair._

_He turned to Sherlock, who looked pale and ill and was trembling in his seat. 'Let's go home, love,' he said softly._

_Sherlock held out a hand to John. 'Help me,' he said in a pathetically small voice._

_John nodded, grasping Sherlock tightly and hauling him to his feet. He looped Sherlock's arm across his shoulders, his own going around Sherlock's waist. He helped him back to the car, easing him inside before getting in himself. He started the car and drove off toward home._

_Sherlock's head hit the window with a heavy thud and he groaned. 'I feel like hell,' he complained, continuing to shake in his seat._

_'I know, love,' John shushed. 'We'll be home soon and we can get you in the bath. Okay?'_

_Sherlock managed a small grin and eyebrow wriggle. 'I'm looking forward to that "bath."'_

_John blushed and smiled. 'It's for your health,' he laughed. 'Whatever happens outside of that bath will be for mine.'_

_'I don't know if I could last until we get out of the bath,' Sherlock stated. 'I'd want to make love to you then and there.'_

_'My back might not be able to take that,' John frowned. 'Unless, of course, I was laying on you instead of under you.'_

_'You make it sound so clinical, John,' Sherlock sighed. 'Just go with the flow. I'll be gentle and mindful of your back. I have back problems too so I'm hardly going to play it rough. Especially with my withdrawal symptoms.'_

_'We could just skip the bath altogether and go right to the love making,' John offered. 'A post-coital bath might not be so bad.'_

_'Yes,' Sherlock hummed, letting his head drop back to the cool glass window. 'It would be far more comfortable I imagine.'_

_'Ok,' John nodded, suddenly anxious to get home. He focused on the road, occasionally glancing over at Sherlock to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep. Sherlock barely moved for a while, and when he did move it was to glance at John to ask him a question._

_'Why, John?' He didn't elaborate, just those two words._

_'Why what, love?' John questioned, looking over at Sherlock._

_'Why?' Sherlock repeated softly. 'Why did we stop being intimate? Why didn't you allow my brother to take me to get help? Why hadn't you brought up my problem before now in conversation? Because I saw you this morning in the kitchen. You looked as though you were in denial. Why did you simply ignore it for almost four years? Just, why?'_

_'I don't know,' John sighed. 'To everything. I don't know why we stopped being intimate, I don't know why I didn't let Mycroft take you away to get better, I don't know why I never brought any of this up until today. I honestly and sincerely don't know, but I can tell you this.' He paused and swallowed, turning his attention back to the road._

_'I love you too much to just let you go like that. Because the way Mycroft worded things was like you weren't going to come back. And... And I wouldn't be able to see you.'_

_Sherlock looked over to John sadly. 'You may not have. That's what I instructed him to do: take me away if I became a danger to myself and the children.'_

_'But you weren't dangerous,' John said softly. 'You were depressed. You've never struck out at us, never tried to hurt yourself. I saw no danger. Or, I refused to. But now I realise that you need help, love. And I'm so sorry for putting it off for so long.'_

_Sherlock nodded in understanding. 'I'm guessing from my withdrawal symptoms this is the longest I've gone without even a sip,' he mused. 'And I must have been drinking a hell of a lot. I was a danger, John.' He licked his lips nervously. 'And I still am.'_

_'I came to the same conclusion about your withdrawal,' John nodded. 'And I'll let Myc take you to a proper facility soon. It may not be today, or tomorrow, but it will be soon. I promise.'_

_'How do I last till then?' Sherlock asked, his voice almost forming a whine. 'I can't go without a drop for that long. I won't be able to stand this withdrawal for much longer.'_

_John closed his eyes and sighed. He should have realised that._

_'I know, love. I know,' he whispered. 'I... I know this is probably going to be the stupidest thing I've ever said but... God dammit.' He opened his eyes again and looked to Sherlock._

_'I'll let you drink but I'm going to monitor you the entire time.'_

_'Thank you,' Sherlock sighed in relief. 'If that weren't the case I may have gone a little overboard.'_

_'I won't join you, though,' John clarified. 'I should stay sober for your sake. And are you going to have to have something before the love making begins?'_

_'Of course. I understand that perfectly,' Sherlock said. He wouldn't want John to join him. He wasn't going to risk getting John into the alcohol as well. He held his hands out in front of him and studied them carefully. It was fascinating to watch them shake. It was as though they were possessed._

_'I think it would be wise to have some alcohol intake before we do anything. I barely feel human at the moment.'_

_John nodded, pulling into their driveway and parking. He exited his side and moved to help Sherlock out of his, holding him like he did at the high school._

_'Let's get you inside and get something in you,' he grimaced. 'As much as it pains me to say it, you need a drink.'_

_'Yes.' Sherlock slumped heavily against John. 'I really do need some,' he whimpered softly. 'We have some in, right?' he asked hopefully._

_'You're the alcoholic, Sherlock, not me,' John said, opening the door and shuffling inside. 'I don't know where you hide your stash. Sorry.'_

_Sherlock groaned. 'As I told my brother four years ago: I do not have a stash.'_

_Why did this have to happen to him? He was craving alcohol like a child craves candy. He wanted it so bloody badly, no, he needed it. He wanted it racing through his veins, clearing his clouded head, wiping away his nausea. He scrunched his eyes shut and for a moment indulged in the image of lots and lots of bottles of alcohol spread across his bed, ready for him, calling his name._

_'Sherlock, how could you possibly not have a stash?' John asked incredulously. 'With how severe your withdrawal symptoms are you must have a pretty sizeable stash.' He helped Sherlock up the stairs to their bedroom, Sherlock slumped against him the entire way. He opened the door to the bedroom and stopped in his tracks._

_A wide array of alcoholic beverages lay across their bed._

_'John?' Sherlock murmured, opening up his eyes to see why his husband had suddenly frozen. When he saw the bed littered with a unbelievable amount of alcohol bottles he exhaled sharply._

_'Oh. Now that is fascinating,' he whispered. It was exactly how he'd imagined it. Exactly._

_'This isn't how I left the room at all,' he told John, whom was looking both befuddled and blank._

_'Where... What... How the hell did those get here?' he asked sharply. 'They sure as shit weren't here when we left this morning.'_

_'No. No they weren't,' Sherlock frowned. 'You have to believe me, John. I would never leave such a large amount of alcohol out in the open. I'm not a complete idiot.'_

_'I believe you, Sherlock. Really, I do,' John muttered. 'I just don't understand how they got here.' He moved some of the bottles and sat Sherlock on the bed. He gazed upon the bottles, ranging from gin to vodka to whisky. He sighed and gestured to the alcohol._

_'So, where do you want to start?'_

_'Vodka,' he replied without hesitation. 'No, wait, whisky. No–' He groaned and threw his hands up in frustration. 'Just chose for me.'_

_John sighed and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels, passing it over to Sherlock rather reluctantly. Sherlock opened the already used bottle of whisky and raised it to his lips, practically moaning in pleasure as the cool liquid began to gush down his throat. John looked on as Sherlock chugged the whisky, his entire body visibly relaxing as the alcohol went down his throat. John hated that he was allowing this, all his medical training screaming at him to stop this and get Sherlock the help he desperately needed. And why was he allowing this to happen? So he would get shagged for the first time in almost three years. Sherlock continue to gulp the alcohol down greedily. His withdrawal symptoms had long disappeared. He just simply didn't know how to stop._

_'Ok Sherlock, I think that's enough,' John said softly reaching for the bottle. Sherlock growled and wriggled away from John, clutching the alcohol to his chest._

_'No,' he stated stubbornly._

_'Sherlock, don't you dare start with me,' John growled. He grasped the neck of the bottle and pulled._

_'No, no, please,' Sherlock begged, yanking the bottle away from John's hands. He knew he sounded like a complete child but he didn't want his alcohol to be taken from him. It was his instinct to fight John on this matter._

_'Sherlock, you've had enough to quell your withdrawal,' John said, yanking back on the bottle. 'I will not allow you to get pissed so quickly. Whatever happens after we make love is up to you. But right now, I'm stopping this here.'_

_He yanked harder, the bottle slipping from Sherlock's grasp. John grabbed the others as well and set them on the floor by the wardrobe._

_'For today, I don't care how much you drink. But starting tomorrow you're quitting. And I'll bring Myc in on this too.'_

_'Fine!' Sherlock snapped irritably. 'Isn't that what I tried to do in the first place? It isn't my fault it got to this stage!'_

_He grabbed John's wrist tightly, pulling him down on top of himself. He flipped their positions, pinning John down to the mattress angrily, rubbing every inch of himself over John with frantic force._

_'I'm sorry, Sherlock! I'm sorry!' John cried, tears escaping down his cheeks. Where the hell had those emotions come from? Oh, right. Sherlock was an alcoholic and John had stopped Mycroft from getting him the help he needed and now he was giving him the demon drink simply because he wanted to get laid._

_What the fuck was wrong with him?_

_He struggled against Sherlock's weight, but he was stronger than him these days. He stopped fighting, going limp in Sherlock's grasp, surrendering to his drunken rage. Sherlock kissed John's neck greedily, looming over him possessively. One hand shot to his lover's belt buckle and did quick work of unfastening his trousers, the other held fast to his small hands._

_'I wanted help, John!' Sherlock yelled. 'I needed help!' He slipped his hand down his husband's boxers and squeezed his member painfully hard._

_'I – needed you to let me go,' Sherlock stumbled over his words. 'Why? Why, John? Why? Was that so hard?'_

_'Because I loved you too goddamn much to let you go!' John screamed, both in pain and anguish. 'You're my husband! We made a commitment to each other, for better or for worse! And you just expect me to forget that and toss you away?! Gah! Fuck!'_

_Sherlock was groping him too tightly, he was so angry, and John regretted everything. Not letting Myc take him when he knew he needed it, not being there for Ben when he needed a dad, for being so damn focused on Felicity that his marriage was just about shot to hell, and now for giving Sherlock a drink simply because he wanted a shag. John hated himself, he hated himself so much._

_'I expected you to do just that.' Sherlock pulled John's boxers down and pressed two fingers at once into John's entrance. He chowed down on his husband's pale neck, sniffing him aggressively. 'It's ok, John. You'll get your shag, no worries.'_

_'I couldn't just abandon you like that!' John cried out, Sherlock's fingers dry and painful as they pushed in. 'I... I don't want... Not like this!'_

_'Don't worry, John. I've got you,' Sherlock whispered brokenly. 'I'm not going to let anything happen to you that you haven't made you're quite certain you want.' Sherlock pushed his fingers in deeper. 'I love you.'_

_'It hurts,' John sobbed. 'Want you to make love to me, not rape me.'_

_Sherlock pulled back and frowned, suddenly deadly pale and alert._

_'What?' He was trembling once more but for entirely different reasons than before._

_'I want you to make love to me, not rape me,' John repeated quietly. 'And you're drunk and angry and I don't want it like this.'_

_'I didn't... I wasn't... Oh god.' Fat and ugly tears wriggled down his face. 'I'm sorry.' He buried his face in his hands. 'I'm so sorry.'_

_John curled in on himself, pressing his face into the sheets. He wanted to comfort Sherlock but he wasn't sure Sherlock would accept it, nor did he want Sherlock to hurt him again._

_Sherlock risked a look at John and burst into more tears. 'Why do I have to fuck everything up? This was supposed to be nice. But then again it's the nice things I seem to fuck up the most.'_

_John swallowed his sobs, clenching his eyes shut and pressing further into the sheets. He wanted to scream he was sorry until his lungs were sore, he wanted to tell him that they would fix things, wanted to tell him he would finally get him the help he desperately needed. But he was too scared to open his mouth and let out the sobs threatening to burst forth._

_'I'm sorry,' Sherlock sniffed. He crawled up to John. 'Can we try again? I promise to be gentle this time.'_

_John sucked in a deep breath, swallowing his tears. He wanted to try again, he really did. The rational part of his brain said not to, but he had been ignoring his rational side ever since he gave Sherlock that bottle. He nodded slowly, turning to look at his distressed husband._

_'Can we try some kissing first?' he asked in a small voice._

_Sherlock nodded, gently clambering on to John. 'Shhh,' he hushed him when he let out a whimper. 'I promise you I'm not going to hurt you.' He leant forwards and kissed him softly._

_John whimpered when Sherlock's lips pressed softly to his, trying not to shrink back. When his brain realised that Sherlock wasn't hurting him he tangled a shaky hand in his husband's curls, kissing him a little deeper. Sherlock hummed and placed a hand over John's, kissing him faster and harder. He rocked his hips a little as an experiment to see how far John was prepared to go at the moment. John relaxed further as Sherlock kissed him, sighing in content when his hand laced with his and it didn't hurt. When Sherlock began rocking above him he let out a loud moan, arching his hips to meet Sherlock's. Sherlock took that moan as a good sign and so his rocking intensified. He parted his lips, begging for John's tongue. His one hand squeezed John's in his curls, his other skimmed down his husband's chest. John's hips rocked with Sherlock's, his tongue tentatively searching for Sherlock's in a soft greeting. His hand grasped Sherlock's curls tightly, his other wrapping around Sherlock's waist and holding him tight. Sherlock groaned as John's tongue shyly connected with his. He shifted himself carefully above John. He took the hand around his waist and placed it on his straining erection. John squeezed lightly, moaning as he felt his husband's cock pulsing in his hand. He sucked Sherlock's tongue into his mouth and squeezed a little harder, loving how responsive Sherlock was. Sherlock practically yelled into his lover's mouth before breaking free, gasping for air like a fish out of water._

_'Clothes off,' he managed to grunt._

_'Yes sir,' John moaned, his fingers scrambling to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. God, he needed his cock so bad. John shoved the shirt off Sherlock's shoulders, his mouth going to suck on his collarbone as his hands began undoing Sherlock's trousers._

_'No. Don't call me that,' Sherlock said, sighing as his clothes were taken from his body. 'I don't deserve that title.'_

_'Oh. Ok,' John mumbled, shucking Sherlock's trousers and pants down and off. 'What, um... I suppose I'll just stick with "love" then?' He took his own shirt off and tossed it to the floor._

_He and Sherlock were now completely naked. John hadn't felt so exposed in years._

_'Yes, dear. "Love." I like being called that.' He began to kiss his way down John's body. 'Please, forgive me. I have been a fool,' he apologised softly. 'A drunkard idiot. Please?'_

_'I forgive you, love,' John whispered. His body squirmed as Sherlock kissed his way down his chest. 'I'll always forgive you. And I suppose that makes me a fool as well.'_

_'Yes it does,' Sherlock agreed softly. 'My fool. Always my fool.'_

_'Willing to follow you everywhere,' John mumbled, his body shuddering as Sherlock made his way down his stomach. 'But with a few smart exceptions. Like the alcohol, and following you into the dark.'_

_He gasped as suddenly Sherlock's mouth was right above where he wanted it to be, his body pushing itself closer. He could almost feel his cock reaching toward Sherlock's chin._

_'No more sad stuff,' John gasped, his hips thrusting minutely. 'No speaking except for good things.'_

_'I don't think speaking will be a problem,' Sherlock retorted, licking John's member teasingly._

_John gasped and whimpered, his entire body shaking as Sherlock's warm, wet tongue explored his member for the first time in years._

_'Been so long,' John groaned. 'Might not last. More than one go? Please?'_

_'We'll see, we'll see,' Sherlock tutted. 'Patience, my dear Watson.' He slowly swallowed John's erection, hollowing out his cheeks and panting harshly._

_'Oh Jesus fucking Christ!' John cried out. He turned his face into the pillow beside him, muffling his cries into it. His hips moved slowly, thrusting in and out in small movements, not wanting to hurt Sherlock. Sherlock sucked harder and forced John to slide deeper down his throat. He purred like a cat, fixing his insanely blue eyes on John, willing him to cum._

_'Feels good,' John moaned, gritting his teeth at the immense pleasure. 'Warm-fuck!-tongue, pretty mouth. You have a pretty mouth, love.' He risked glancing down and squeezed his eyes shut, the sight of Sherlock's mouth and blown pupils boring into him sending him over the edge with a harsh cry._

_Sherlock spluttered slightly as John came down his throat. He pulled back and grinned at the sight of John so overcome with pleasure he couldn't even keep his eyes open. He cautiously moved up his husband, stopping when his thick and throbbing erection was swaying over John's face. John didn't even need to open his eyes to know what Sherlock wanted. He could smell him, feel the head of his cock hanging just above his own lips. John opened his mouth, his eyes still closed, and his tongue reached out, caressing the head of Sherlock's cock with light flicks and licks._

_'Oh!' Sherlock yelled. 'Oh fuck. Fuck.' It would seem John was right about how long ago they had last done this from the way his cock felt as though it was going to explode. John grasped Sherlock's hip and pulled him down, his husband's cock sliding into his mouth with ease. He would probably need to change position to be more comfortable, but for now this one worked. He worked his tongue around Sherlock's prick, sucking occasionally but preferring to tease him with his tongue. He sucked a little more inside before he decided moving might be best. He didn't want to choke after all. He nudged Sherlock's hip to let him know. Sherlock lifted himself out of John's mouth with a disgruntled sound ripping from his own throat. He reached down and cupped himself experimentally to see how close he was._

_'Fuck,' he moaned. 'Move quickly.'_

_John sat Sherlock on the edge of the bed, spreading his thighs wide as he sunk to the floor. He pumped Sherlock's cock a couple times before engulfing it, swallowing it, immersing it in the wet heat of his mouth. He could tell Sherlock was close, could feel it in his pulse and see it in how tight his sac was. He bobbed furiously, sucking and licking until he felt Sherlock trembling, and not from withdrawal this time. Sherlock shot forward rather harshly, felt his body flail, his rigid cock pumping liquid down his husband's throat, and time stand still as he screamed John's name. John spluttered slightly when Sherlock shoved himself down John's throat. But as soon as he felt his seed gushing down he moaned obscenely. God damn it had been too fucking long. He glanced up, observing in almost slow motion. Sherlock's body was shaking but pure pleasure was written all over his features. His head was thrown back, his mouth open in ecstasy but no sound came out. His hands gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles white. And his curls bounced as he shuddered, dancing across his shoulders._

_He was beautiful. And he was John's._

_Sherlock still rocked in and out of John's mouth even after he'd finished grunting. He was almost instantly hardening again. He hummed._

_'You–' he gasped. 'Are amazing.'_

_'And you're bloody gorgeous,' John breathed, licking his lips of stray seed. He moved up Sherlock's body and kissed him deeply, letting him taste himself as they fell against the mattress._

_Sherlock raged war on John's lips, pushing a hand through his scraggy mop._

_'Are you ready for me?' he asked softly, breaking free. 'Because I'm ready for you.'_

_'Get me prepped and then you can have me,' John whispered, kissing him softly again._

_Sherlock nodded, eyes a little sorrowful, knowing that John was quite nervous after his first attempt of preparing him. He slicked one finger up and carefully prodded his husband's entrance. John grunted and hid his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck. He was nervous, yes, but he wanted it so badly. He pushed back just a bit, letting Sherlock know it was ok. Sherlock pushed his digit into John, curling it and finding his prostate with years of expert ease. John's grunt turned into a delicious moan against Sherlock's neck. He pushed back against the finger, begging for more, kissing and sucking Sherlock's neck. His body rocked against Sherlock's, telling him 'more, more, please, more.'_

_'I think I get the message,' Sherlock laughed, pulling his hand back to lick up two more fingers. He then slowly worked them all in. One and push; two, push and twist; three, push and stroke John's prostate._

_'Oh, fuck!' John moaned, pushing back against Sherlock's wondrous fingers. 'Please, please. Need you, love. Need you inside.'_

_'Finally,' Sherlock said with a goofy grin, removing his fingers and aligning himself with John perfectly. 'I want you to cum as fast as possible, ok? I want to know that I did that to you.'_

_'I'll try,' John nodded, pushing back against Sherlock's prick. 'Fuck me. Fuck me, please.'_

_Sherlock pushed forwards with a loud, waning groan._

_'Good boy,' he praised his husband._

_John whimpered and pushed back, moving his hips in a steady motion to get accustomed to having Sherlock up his arse again. Jesus, it had been too fucking long since he'd had anything up his arse. He'd tried, he had really tried, but nothing could compare to his husband's perfect cock. So he'd stuck to wanking in the shower, sometimes in the bed when Sherlock was passed out downstairs. Now that he had it again he didn't want it to be over so quickly. But Sherlock had asked him to cum as quickly as possible, so that's what he was going to try to do. He sat up slowly, dragging his hands down Sherlock's chest, tweaking his nipples as they passed. When he was straddling his husband he began to rock back and forth, easing himself into it. He lifted up slowly, slowly, before sliding back down and impaling himself on his cock. He let out a harsh cry and did it again, and again, and again, his cries louder each time. Sherlock rocked up into John, faster and faster. The current pace was far too slow for the curly haired brunette. He stared at John, mouth hung open, nostrils flaring with the effort of the usually simple task of breathing._

_'Close.' He puffed out his cheeks and made his pace even more relentless._

_'Yes, yes!' John cried, moving faster, impaling himself harder. 'Close too. Touch me, please. Fast and hard. Want to cum so bad. Please, love, please.'_

_Sherlock grabbed John's member gingerly before beginning to move his hand up and down as fast and as hard as he could manage._

_'Oh. Oh god. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!' John cried, fucking himself on Sherlock's cock and in his hand. 'Yes! Yes! Fuck me! Oh... Oh shit... Gonna–'_

_John came all over Sherlock's hand and torso sharply, his hips continuing to rock and his mouth hung open as he screamed Sherlock's name. Sherlock swallowed John's scream with a kiss. It wasn't long until his own scream rippled through the kiss and he came deep within his husband. Ripples of pleasure and bliss flowed through John as Sherlock came deep inside him. He managed to shift his hips as Sherlock continued to cum, kissing him deeply as the post-orgasm shudders began. Sherlock shook with the sheer power of the orgasm that had ripped straight through him. He whimpered and nuzzled his head against John whilst he rode it out._

_'That's it, love,' John crooned. 'Cum for me. Cum in me. Yes. Yes, love. Oh, you feel so good. I'd forgotten how good you felt up my arse.'_

_'A horrible injustice,' Sherlock said through a groan. As he came to a standstill his eyes widened and a strangled cry broke free._

_'Shh, love, shh,' John said softly, carding his fingers through his curls. 'I've got you. I'm here.'_

_'Sorry,' he gasped, his breathing finally normalising._

_'It's alright, love,' John whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He held him tight, nuzzling against his neck._

_'I love you.'_

_'And I love you. I hope some of my actions today haven't caused you to forget that.' Sherlock nuzzled John back._

_'No. But our previous action certainly reaffirmed it,' John smiled, inhaling Sherlock's scent. He didn't know which was more powerful, the smell of sex or alcohol._

_'I'm thankful for that,' Sherlock replied, his voice a mixture of happiness and worry. 'I wasn't at all in a good mindset earlier so I would hate for you to judge me.'_

_'I would never judge you,' John whispered, placing kisses along Sherlock's jaw. 'I would be disappointed maybe, but I would never judge you.'_

_Sherlock sighed. 'But I hate making you disappointed.'_

_'I'm not particularly fond of the feeling myself,' John mumbled, placing a deep kiss on his pulse on his neck._

_Sherlock moaned. 'I've disappointed you now though, with the alcohol.'_

_'Yes. And I've disappointed you by not letting Myc get you help,' John said, nipping at his earlobe._

_'It's not your fault. I promise to keep you in the loop with my brother and I from now on,' he spoke gruffly._

_'Alright, love,' John sighed, sucking on Sherlock's neck. He threaded his fingers through Sherlock's curls, humming in content._

_'Can we have that bath now?' Sherlock whimpered under the divine powers of John's mouth._

_John hummed, swirling his tongue around the small mark he'd left._

_'Will you make love to me and not fuck me while we're in it?' John purred, rutting against him to gauge how aroused he was._

_Sherlock nodded, shivering against John's tongue. 'Yes, I'll make love to you,' he said, groaning softly._

_'You go ahead. I just need a minute to myself, ok?'_

_'Don't take too long,' John whispered, kissing him softly before sliding off the bed and heading into the bathroom. He started the bath, making sure the water was hot before plugging the drain. In the back of his mind he wondered if leaving Sherlock alone was a good idea. Was he going to collect his thoughts? Or was he going to drink more? John stared at his reflection as the mirror fogged, his being becoming blurry before being consumed entirely._

_Sherlock waited till he could hear the gush of water filling the bath before getting up on wobbly legs. His body was pounding with the urge for more alcohol. His craving was like a bug bite that he couldn't quite itch and it was infuriating him. He glanced over to the array of alcohol hatefully. Why did his body have to overrule his mind? His mind was the more powerful of the two, surely? And yet his mind was telling him to stop and just go to John but he knew that as he took a step towards the alcohol his body had won._

_He picked up a bottle of whisky and raised it to his lips, swallowing the liquid as quickly as possible before he could feel the shame of his actions. He gulped down as much as he could. Part of him wished to be caught. God he'd give anything to be able to stop and since he wasn't able to stop himself he wished John would._

_John turned off the tap and looked to the door. Surely Sherlock should have arrived by now? John frowned and headed for the door, knowing what Sherlock was doing but hoping he wasn't._

_He was._

_John opened the door to find Sherlock sitting on the floor, chugging a bottle of whisky like his life depended on it. John frowned and sighed, moving over to him cautiously. The last time he'd taken away Sherlock's alcohol had had severe consequences._

_'Sherlock,' he said softly but firmly. 'Sherlock, stop. Stop, right now. Please.'_

_Sherlock looked at John with huge eyes, still slurping the alcoholic beverage at a frighteningly fast pace. His hands shook and he felt horrid as he tried to stop himself._

_He couldn't._

_'Don't lash out at me this time,' John said softly, grasping the bottle of whisky and doing his best to take it away. Sherlock had a death grip on it and was a lot more resistant this time around._

_Sherlock struggled to remain calm as John tried to take his alcohol from him._

_'No,' he grit out. 'I need it.'_

_'No. You don't need it. You want it. And those are two very different things,' John clarified, grasping the bottle with both hands. 'Now you need to stop. Please, love. Please.'_

_Sherlock let John take the bottle. His lower lip trembled and his eyes began to tear up. John set the bottle down slowly, his heart breaking at how distraught Sherlock looked. He pulled him in for a soft hug, rubbing comforting circles into his back._

_Sherlock shook in his husband's arms. 'I couldn't stop myself. I'm sorry.'_

_'I know, love. I know,' John whispered. 'But you did let me stop you. And I'm so proud of that fact.'_

_Sherlock nodded into John's shoulder. 'How much did I consume?' he asked shakily._

_John looked down at the bottle and frowned._

_'More than half,' he sighed. 'And it was apparently a new bottle.'_

_'Fuck,' Sherlock swore loudly. 'I've gotten myself pissed.'_

_'Yeah, I can tell,' John grunted, bearing most of Sherlock's weight as he swayed where he stood._

_Sherlock let out a drunk laugh. 'I feel funny, John.'_

_John rolled his eyes and shifted slightly, bracing himself against Sherlock's weight._

_'Alcohol tends to do that, yeah,' he grumbled._

_Sherlock laughed again. 'I feel... horny.' He ground himself against John, laughing all the while._

_'Alcohol can do that too,' John grunted, trying and failing to swallow down a moan. 'But... You're drunk. And I don't... don't want to make love to you like this. I want you to be able to remember what we did.'_

_'That's pointless, John.' Sherlock continued his actions. 'I'll forget it sooner or later. We might as well. The bath has been run after all.'_

_John groaned. He loathed Sherlock's drunk logic sometimes, but this was not one of those times._

_'Ok. Ok, you have a point,' he agreed. 'Let's just soak in the water for a bit before we start anything though.'_

_Sherlock yelled out gleefully, his grinding speeding up frantically._

_'Of course I'm right. When am I not?'_

_'You're always right, love,' John groaned, clutching tightly to Sherlock as he ground against him. 'Even when you're utterly pissed.'_

_Sherlock brought his cupid lips to John's throat and growled. 'I want you, now, this instance.'_

_'Oh god, yes,' John moaned, tilting his head back so Sherlock could reach more of his neck. 'Take me. Take me now.'_

_'Come, John. To Atlantis!' He swooped up his husband and staggered into the bathroom. John laughed, clutching to his husband as he brought them into the bathroom._

_'I hear Atlantis is beautiful this time of year,' he murmured softly._

_'I've heard that too, but nowhere near as beautiful as you,' Sherlock said, ever the charmer even when pissed. He placed John into the bath before practically falling into the tub himself with a huge splash. John squealed, barely managing to move away in time. Sherlock had landed rather harshly, and water had flown everywhere._

_'Sherlock? Are you ok?' John asked, voice heavy with concern._

_Sherlock blinked at John before bursting into giggles, clapping his hands together wildly._

_'Again! Again!' he whooped._

_'No!' John yelled hastily. 'No. Sorry, but no. You are not five, and I don't want you to hurt yourself. Let's just take our bath and go to bed.'_

_Sherlock waded himself over to John, straddling him the moment he reached him._

_'You're such a bad pirate, John.'_

_'I'll take that as a compliment,' he grinned. His hands slipped under the water, sliding across Sherlock's hips to his arse and squeezing._

_Sherlock grunted. 'You should.'_

_He hummed in thought. 'Do you know who you remind me of?'_

_'Mmm. No,' John moaned, rocking against him. 'Who do I remind you of?'_

_'Beary,' Sherlock groaned. 'You're all snuggly and I hug you in secret when I'm sad.'_

_'You... You still have Beary?' John asked, pausing his movements._

_Sherlock nodded and frowned. 'I can remember hugging him on many occasions. I believe I keep him in the back of my wardrobe.'_

_John smiled fondly, resuming his actions._

_'It is an honour to be compared to Beary,' he whispered, a finger fluttering across Sherlock's entrance. 'Although, I don't think Beary would do anything like this.'_

_Sherlock stiffened and a shiver rippled up his spine. 'No he most certainly wouldn't.'_

_'I would be concerned if he did,' John murmured, swirling the pad of his finger around the puckered hole teasingly._

_'It's bad enough that he talks,' Sherlock mused to himself._

_John paused, his finger stopping just as he was about to push it in._

_'B-Beary talks to you?' he asked in a small voice._

_'That's not normal, is it?' Sherlock questioned, then frowned. 'Why have you stopped?'_

_'No. No, that's not normal,' John said. He swirled his finger again, slowly. 'What kinds of things does he say?'_

_'Those conversations are private.' Sherlock's face darkened but he quickly moaned and wiggled back on John's finger._

_'Ok, love. I understand,' John nodded. He slowly eased his finger inside Sherlock, curling it slightly when it pushed in all the way._

_'Now that I think about it though, it's not so abnormal for you,' he mused, pumping his finger teasingly. 'You would often talk to your skull, but if it talked back I'm not so sure.'_

_'Don't be ridiculous, John. Inanimate objects don't speak. Beary's alive, so that's why I have two-way conversations with him.'_

_Sherlock leant his neck back and purred. 'Oooh, that's good.'_

_**Beary's alive? Oh dear. He's worse off than I thought.** _ _John frowned but continued pumping his finger. He added a second, easing them inside and curling them slightly as he moved them in and out._

_Sherlock gasped. 'Fuck - yes he's alive - gah - ahh.' His mouth became slave to the sounds John was making escape them._

_**When did Beary being alive start? Questions for another time, John. Not important right now.** _

_John shook his head and focused on his fingers, twisting and pushing and pulling. He loved the delicious sounds he was drawing from Sherlock, drinking them down as he pulled him into a kiss. He slowly eased in a third finger, stretching Sherlock further and gently stimulating his prostate. Sherlock moaned into the kiss and pushed downwards as far as he could go._

_'Like that, don't you?' John purred, gently dragging his fingers across Sherlock's prostate in a steady motion. 'Like my fingers, my dirty boy? Do you want my cock, dirty boy? Do you?'_

_Sherlock snarled and bared his teeth, nodding, eyes darkening in volume. 'Let me be your dirty boy, John.'_

_'Mmm, yes,' John growled, pumping his fingers faster. 'My dirty boy has been very naughty. Very naughty indeed. And you need to be cleaned up. What shall we clean first, hmm? That dirty, filthy mouth? Or this pretty little arsehole I just happen to have my fingers shoved inside?'_

_'I'll take any punishment in this current moment in time.' Sherlock leant in and kissed John's lips. John ravished Sherlock's lips, nipping and sucking and occasionally biting. His fingers worked torturously in Sherlock, pumping and curling and stroking until his husband was a trembling mess._

_'Are you ready for my cock now, dirty boy?' he whispered down Sherlock's ear. 'Because my cock is certainly ready for you.' He shifted against Sherlock's thigh, letting him feel his engorged cock against him._

_Sherlock's entire body was shaking with pleasure. His drunken mind could hardly keep up with the sheer mass of feelings tingling in his very being. When John shifted beside him to show his current predicament Sherlock gasped loudly. He had to place a firm hand on his husband's shoulder just to keep himself steady._

_'You have no idea how much I need this, John.' His voice was filled with devastation. 'I want you to make me feel better. Please do that.'_

_'Of course, love,' John nodded, abandoning the little game they had been playing. He pulled Sherlock in for a soft kiss, removing his fingers slowly. He positioned his cock and eased the head inside, going slowly until he was buried completely._

_The movements were slow and gentle at first. Both parties took their time to explore the other's body. John eased himself in and out, learning Sherlock all over again. He moved slowly, languidly, making love instead of fucking._

_'This should have been our first time,' John mused. 'Slow, learning each other, taking our time. Making love to each other, not fucking while trying to work off a drug.'_

_'I never wanted it to play out like it did,' Sherlock said in a hushed whisper into John's neck, rocking back and forth. 'I wanted you to be the one to make the first move. I wanted you to choose me._

_'I thought I'd missed my chance with you when I made my marriage status with my work perfectly clear. I never did state that it was an open marriage. But then I never thought I'd meet someone like you. I didn't think I deserved to be loved.' Sherlock took a deep breath as he glided a hand down his husband's chest. 'I still don't deserve to be loved.'_

_'That's rubbish and you know it,' John pouted, a hand trailing up to cup Sherlock's cheek. The other clutched at his hip, helping them move._

_'Everyone deserves to be loved, even sociopaths. We accept the love we think we deserve, but you didn't. You chose me, accepted my love, and I can honestly say I love you a lot more than you deserve at times.' He paused, suddenly realising that Sherlock had remembered. But... Hadn't he lost those memories?_

_'Sherlock... Did... Can you remember our first time together? Because I thought Moriarty's drug erased all your memories of us.'_

_'I...' Sherlock blinked, cocking his head up to stare at the blank ceiling. 'I think I may have just uncovered a memory,' he laughed joyously._

_'It was just a glimpse of our past but it felt so good to delve into that memory.'_

_'Can you go further?' John asked, urging him on. 'Delve into your mind palace and connect the dots?'_

_Sherlock closed his eyes in deep concentration._

_'Bear with me. I may be gone a while. Don't get your hopes up though. I'm surprised to see even that much of our past. Especially with my dementia, the damage the drug did to my brain, and of course we can't forget to factor in that I'm pissed. It's a long shot._

_'Don't stop making love to me, John. I'm still here. Just not on the outside.' He opened the entrance to his palace and stepped inside._

_'Let me know all you remember,' John said softly, moving his hips again. 'I want to know everything.' He sealed his lips against Sherlock's pulse, rocking into him steadily._

_Sherlock began to wander through the marble hallways of his palace. He was searching for a room. John's room. The room that contained every scrap of information about his husband. When he found the room he saw to his dismay that it was cluttered and dusty beyond belief. He hadn't ventured into this room for a very long time. His eagle eyes scanned it all until he came across one word that, although lacked importance, seemed significant in finding any wandering memories._

_Pink._

_'Pink,' he spoke out loud._

_'Our first case together,' John answered, his hips moving faster now. 'The pink lady, the cabbie, the pills. I shot him for you and we'd barely known each other more than a day. "A Study in Pink" I called it. Go on. Explore.'_

_Sherlock panicked as memories randomly began to crash over him. It was like trying to read every book in a library at one time. Impossible._

_A sharp cry ripped from his throat._

_Their first case setting their relationship in stone. A shock blanket. Their first night as flatmates. Now that had been interesting._

_More and more moments tumbled onto him. The violence. The quiet. The discussions about common human knowledge. The solar system? Gah, unimportant. John trying to convince him to care. Sherlock snapping at him because he was starting to care too much about him. Slowly falling into the trap of love whilst watching John date woman after woman. Boredom mixed with anger. Self made drugs._

_Their first time..._

_'Make it stop!' he roared until his throat was red raw. 'Oh god, please, make it stop.'_

_Moriarty._

_'Sherlock? Sherlock what's wrong?' John panicked, sitting them both up and holding Sherlock's face in his hands. 'Talk to me, love. Let me help. What's wrong?'_

_The memories splurged in his mind palace, flooding John's room to the brim and threatening to overflow it._

_'Make them stop!' Sherlock howled in agony as the memories crushed him from the inside out._

_'How, Sherlock? Tell me how!' John cried, panicked as he couldn't stop Sherlock's pain._

_'I don't–' Sherlock choked, '–think you'd approve of me chugging more alcohol.' He just about managed before his screams began to get manic and inhuman._

_'Approval is one thing,' John said, removing himself from Sherlock and stepping out of the water. He turned Sherlock around so he wouldn't fall face first into the water. 'But a lot of doctors don't approve of their patient's medication.'_

_He dashed out to their bedroom, grabbed the first bottle he saw, and ran back. He opened the bottle and handed it to Sherlock._

_'I don't approve of this at all, but it's for the betterment of my patient.'_

_Sherlock's hands quaked as he swallowed more and more of the liquid that had been handed to him. The vein in his neck bulged as he tried to bring himself to calm down._

_He couldn't._

_His pain wasn't something he could shrug off. All he could do was hope the alcohol would numb it, and soon._

_'Take a break, love. Just a quick one. Just to breathe. Please,' John begged. He hated seeing Sherlock like this, hated seeing him so lost and scared and confused, having to turn to alcohol to quell it all._

_Sherlock removed the bottle from his lips and took a huge, painful breath. 'Oh god–'_

_The bottle slipped from his hands and landed in the bath with a sploosh._

_'Fuck.'_

_He couldn't breathe. It hurt. It hurt so much. He could feel himself slipping down into the water. He couldn't do anything to stop it._

_John grabbed Sherlock under his arms and hauled him out of the tub, sitting him on the floor with his back propped against the tub. He left the bottle in the water though; it had probably emptied anyhow._

_John sat next to Sherlock and held into him tightly._

_'What's going on, love?' he asked softly. 'What hurts?'_

_'My head feels like it's imploding,' Sherlock's voice broke. He stared at John but he wasn't seeing him. He was seeing the past._

_'Too many memories at once?' John guessed._

_Sherlock nodded lightly. 'Far too many,' he sobbed, clawing at his eye sockets._

_'Stop. Sherlock, stop.' John grabbed Sherlock's hands and pulled them away from his face. 'Would dealing with all these memories be easier if I sedated you? So you can sort through your mind palace without so much pain?'_

_'No!' Sherlock panicked._

_'It's one thing dealing with this whilst I'm awake!' he exclaimed loudly. 'But handing myself to those memories via sleep would be like... death!'_

_He tugged his hands out of John's vice like grip. 'Just sit down and shut the hell up!'_

_John swallowed and nodded, flexing his hands before deciding to sit on them. He stared off into space, trying his best not to think in case Sherlock would hear him._

_Sherlock felt the current in his mind push him through another door. This room was different to John's. It was darker and suppressed in the very back of his mind. He could just about make out a figure lurking in the darkness._

_He gasped as the figure revealed himself._

_'Papa?' His voice was tiny, reverting to a childlike state._

_**'Hello Freak.'** _

_'Papa. Please go away. I'll be good. I'm sorry for being bad, Papa. I don't mean to be a freak. I'll try to stop.'_

_**'But you are, son. You're the biggest freak I've ever come across. And nothing is going to change that.'** _

_Sherlock called out to his older brother. Surely Mycroft would save him._

_'Croft!' he screamed. 'My!'_

_No one came._

_'Why don't you come help, My?' he whispered. 'Why did you leave me with him. I hate you Croft!'_

_John desperately wanted to pull Sherlock from the dark, pull him away from the memory of his father, tell him he was fine now and he was ok. But Sherlock had told him not to interfere, to be quiet and let him work through his memories. It pained John to do so, but Sherlock needed to do this. Maybe then he would remember some things about their past._

_John drew his knees up to his chest, pushing his eyes into his knees and sobbed silently. He wanted to help so much, but the only help Sherlock would accept was his silence. So John would give him that much, only interfering if Sherlock became tormented or violent._

_Sherlock jumped abruptly to his feet, his hands clenched into fists so tightly his knuckles were ghostly white._

_He tried calling for his brother again. 'Croft! I'm not fucking joking! Get back here!' he snarled. 'Get back here you coward!'_

_John's head shot up, staring at Sherlock wild eyed. He's calling for Myc? Why Myc? Oh. Their father. Shit._

_'Croft!' Sherlock screamed at the top of his lungs, staggering forwards drunkenly. 'Come back! Don't leave me, please. He'll kill me. Croft!'_

_'Sherlock,' John whispered. 'Sherlock, Myc isn't here. Neither is your father. You're home, with me, your John. Your father is dead. He can't hurt you.'_

_'But he can,' Sherlock swallowed down hard, taking another tottering step forwards. 'And he still does!'_

_Sherlock set his two pools of watery blue on John. 'Why did Croft leave me to die? Why did Croft let me suffer? Doesn't he give a fuck?'_

_'He can only hurt you now if you give him the power,' John said softly, staring into Sherlock's foggy eyes. 'He can only hurt you mentally, and you're letting him torture you._

_'And Myc didn't give up on you. He didn't abandon you. He tried to help you, he did. I just wouldn't allow him because he was going to take you away from me. And I'm not ready to let you go.'_

_'I didn't mean that!' Sherlock shouted, stamping his foot. 'I meant why did he leave me alone to suffer via our father's cruel hands? I could have died!'_

_'He left to get you help,' John explained softly. 'He left so he could stop your father from hurting you and your mother bit just took him longer than he initially thought.'_

_'Help?' Sherlock snorted. 'That fat bastard did nothing but leave me to suffer. I fucking hate him!' He almost tripped over his own two feet as he strode to the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway._

_'I missed him,' he muttered. 'I missed him so badly.'_

_John stood and followed Sherlock to the bedroom, watching him carefully._

_'He put your father away for what he did to you,' he said softly. 'I think that was the biggest favour he'd ever done for you.'_

_'My father escaped.' Sherlock walked over to the bed and dropped down onto the mattress._

_'True, but he was locked up for the better part of your life,' John mused. He followed Sherlock to the bed and sat on the edge. 'But Myc stopped him. Granted, he had my help, but he stopped him. And he allowed me to kill him.'_

_'I just wish to see my brother,' Sherlock said, ignoring John. His voice shook. 'I'm so fucking turned on right now,' he added, completely changing subject._

_'Well,' John laughed softly. 'Those are two very opposite sides of the spectrum. Which do you want to do first?'_

_'I wish for you to finish off what you started,' Sherlock mumbled into the mattress. 'Then get Croft for me. Please?'_

_'Of course, love,' John murmured. He leaned down and placed kisses across Sherlock's shoulders. He pulled his phone from his trousers and quickly sent a text._

_Sherlock wants to see you. Be here in 30 minutes. No more, no less. –JW_

_He then went back to kissing down Sherlock's back, nibbling at the flesh just above his arse._

_Sherlock wiggled his arse in the air and hummed._

_'Thank you, John,' he thanked his husband through a moan._

_'You're quite welcome, Sherlock,' John replied. His tongue poked out and prodded at Sherlock's already stretched entrance, delving inside._

_'Ooof,' Sherlock spluttered, shuddering at the wonderful sensations John was causing him to feel._

_John purred, his tongue lathering Sherlock's hole with saliva liberally._

_'Stop toying with me!' Sherlock yelled into his sheets. 'You know what I want so give me it!'_

_'Settle down your highness,' John growled, tonguing his hole more before pulling away. 'I have to prep you and myself. Plus, I gotta get it back up. So calm down.'_

_'Just hurry,' Sherlock exhaled loudly. 'I need you.'_

_'I know, love. I know,' John sighed. He eased his fingers inside Sherlock and closed his eyes, concentrating on the noises Sherlock was making while also trying to get his erection back._

_Why? Why now? he cursed his prick. Stupid son of a bitch. Why can't you stay up? Your dysfunction is not appreciated nor welcome at this moment in time. Now, I swear to the god I don't believe in, if you don't get up and aroused right now I'll cut you off myself._

_Surprisingly, his prick listened to the threat. It was probably also Sherlock's delicious moans and whimpers of arousal and need that spurred him on as well. Either way, John was aroused as fuck and he needed to pound Sherlock into the mattress, and soon. He licked his palm and slicked his prick, removing his fingers and replacing them with his cock._

_'On your knees, love,' he ordered. 'Please.'_

_Sherlock heaved himself onto his knees with a loud, sexually frustrated grunt._

_'Oh!' he breathed. 'Gah!' John was beginning to move in and out of him frantically._

_John pounded himself into Sherlock, his thrusts harsh and relentless. He moved fast and hard, his prick aching from lack of use and his rough movements. He grit his teeth and moved harder, looping an arm around Sherlock's waist to hold him up, his other laced with one of Sherlock's on the sheets and squeezed tightly._

_'John, ah, harder,' Sherlock moaned deeply as his husband seemed to take his sexual frustration out on his arse._

_'Touch me,' he begged. 'Grope me hard.'_

_John thrust faster, harder, his flesh slapping against Sherlock's with a satisfying smack. His hand on Sherlock's squeezed tighter, almost to the point of pain. His hand on Sherlock's waist moved to grasp his prick harshly, squeezing tight but not moving. If Sherlock wanted friction he was going to have to beg._

_Sherlock cried out and began trying to fuck John's hand._

_'Not fair,' he whimpered. 'Touch me properly.'_

_John stopped moving altogether, grinning maliciously. He leant close to Sherlock's ear, his prick easing out just so._

_'Beg for it,' he purred, drunk off his frustration and the power he held over his husband in their current position. 'Tell me how much you need it. How much you want my hot, aching prick to fuck you with no mercy. How much you want my hand to wank you until you cum screaming. Tell me. Tell me now.'_

_'I want you to make hard love to me. I want you to show my cock and arse no mercy. Please, please,' Sherlock begged, almost in tears._

_John didn't speak; he just resumed his actions, harder and faster than before. He pounded Sherlock's arse at an unforgiving pace, leaning over him and having to prop himself up on his toes to fuck him properly. His hand squeezed Sherlock's cock tight, wanking him as hard and as fast as his cock was fucking his arse. His own cock throbbed and ached, begging for both more gentle actions and a much needed release. He gave it neither, wanting to bring Sherlock over the edge screaming before he lost control himself._

_Sherlock was a mess and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't compose himself. His entire body shook, sobs ripped from his throat in time with the beat of John's thrusts. Sherlock's heartbeat was on the verge of being dangerously fast and it hurt to breathe. And then he arched upwards and in one sharp movement began to cum. His orgasm was frighteningly long and drained his body of all its energy. He collapsed in a silent heap. Not speaking. Not moving._

_John continued to pound into Sherlock at a relentless pace. His hand dropped Sherlock's cock as soon as it began to soften, moving back to hold him up by the waist. He desperately wanted to cum, needed it, wanted it, but his cock refused. He thrust harder, trying to get himself the release he so rightly deserved. Sherlock quivered around him, post-orgasm shakes travelling through him as John continued to stimulate him. Why couldn't he cum? Why? He thrust faster, his prick throbbing in Sherlock's arse painfully. He was close but not close enough. What did he need to do in order to cum? Sherlock was deathly silent, so he was no help. That needed to change. John's free hand released Sherlock's and grasped his curls instead, yanking back hard so Sherlock's head was pulled back and off the mattress._

_'Say dirty, filthy things to help me cum,' he growled. 'No more of this silent crap. Otherwise I'll continue to fuck your arse until it's painful for the both of us.'_

_Sherlock stared into John's eyes, a bright smirk on his face. 'Having a little trouble are we?' he asked cheekily. 'I feel offended. Look where you are, John, what you are doing. And yet that cock of yours is useless.' He laughed loudly and teasingly. 'Is my arse no use to you?'_

_John yanked painfully hard on Sherlock's curls._

_'Yes, if you must know, my cock is useless,' John growled, fucking Sherlock harder. 'I have erectile dysfunction and it's hard and rather painful for me to get it up and find release. So you better fucking help me get there or I swear to god, Sherlock, that I will pull myself out and wank myself to completion. And we both know that you want me to cum in your arse. Now use that talented tongue of yours and help me!' He punctuated his words with sharp thrusts of his hips that hit Sherlock's prostate and caused the former detective a pleasurable sort of pain._

_Sherlock looked a little startled at his husband's words and instantly tilted his head back more to kiss his husband's lips fiercely albeit awkwardly. He tried to help John out by pushing backwards and clenching his arse cheeks. God he felt so guilty. He'd had his release and here John was struggling to even come close to receiving one._

_'I said speak, Sherlock,' John growled. 'Although I appreciate the arse clenching, it wasn't what I asked for. I want as filthy and dirty as you can manage. Now.'_

_'How about, if you don't stop ordering me what to do with my own mouth, I'll have you on the kitchen work tops begging for mercy thrice,' Sherlock snarled, still clenching his arse cheeks._

_John stopped moving, swallowing down hard. He hung his head, resting his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder blade. He released his grip on his head, his hand falling limp at their sides._

_'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm really sorry. I'm just so frustrated and angry at myself. And my cock is a worthless piece of shit and I need to cum so bloody bad. Fuck!' He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe._

_'I... I want your help. Please. Help me cum. Please,' he said softer than before, less demanding._

_Sherlock nodded grimly. 'Get out of my arse and I'll suck you off. I doubt your cock would be able to resist my mouth.'_

_John nodded and pulled out, settling against the sheets._

_'I'm still sorry for bossing you around,' he said softly. 'And for being so rough. If I hurt you... I'm really, really sorry.'_

_'It's fine. You didn't hurt me,' Sherlock lied through his teeth. He was in pure agony from where John had taken out all his frustrations on him._

_He crawled to John and clasped John's red raw member in his hands, massaging it with his fingertips to try and stimulate it a bit before he took further action, not wanting his throat to take the beating his arse had because John was frustrated._

_'Now let me see what I can do for you, dear.'_

_'Do whatever it takes, love,' John mumbled, feeling guilty about his frustrated actions._

_Sherlock sighed and nodded again. 'Please refrain yourself from fucking my throat like a wild animal.'_

_He lifted John's legs and arse in the air and began to slowly tease his husband's member with his tongue._

_'I-I... I'll try,' John stammered, straining not to rut his hips closer to Sherlock's tongue. 'Oh, Jesus Christ, fuck!'_

_'Shhh,' Sherlock hushed him, swallowing his husband whole._

_'Gah! Fuck!' John groaned, fisting his hands in the sheets._

_Sherlock moaned, bobbing his head fast and with no mercy._

_John grunted and panted harshly, forcing his hips to stay still. He arched his neck back, his head digging into the mattress. He shifted slightly, changing the angle Sherlock reached, crying out at the immense pleasure._

_Sherlock scraped his teeth along John's member, teasing him, provoking him, almost bullying him into cumming._

_'Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh Jesus.' John moaned, writhing frantically. 'Close. Close. Please. Oh fuck, please.'_

_Sherlock growled, sucking him as hard as he could. He raised a finger and traced John's entrance faintly._

_'Yes! Yes! Please!' John begged, pushing against Sherlock's finger._

_Sherlock inserted his finger slowly and began to stroke John's prostate, hollowing out his cheeks as he did so._

_**Come on, come on, please.** _

_He begged for it to make John cum. He was exhausted and in pain from having to lean on his arse to suck John, and right now his head was still fucked with his past memories and his veins were racing with stupid emotions that made him want to scream and cry. John grit his teeth and moaned, feeling his release approaching._

_'Close. Close,' he muttered, shifting his hips slightly. 'Oh. Oh god. Oh fuck. Gonna... Gonna–' He screamed as he finally found his release, spurting into Sherlock's mouth and throat almost angrily. Apparently even his cum was sexually frustrated. He continued to pulse down Sherlock's throat in thick, painful spurts, only collapsing against the mattress after Sherlock milked him of every drop._

_'Fuck,' he muttered, staring at the ceiling._

_Sherlock crawled onto John, pressing every inch of his body to his husband's and wrapping his arms tightly around him._

_And then his sobs broke out._

_And not only that. He was incredibly and irritatingly hard and aroused again._

_'I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry,' John whispered, carding a hand through Sherlock's hair. 'I wish I could help, I really do. For both situations you're currently in. But I don't have the stamina I used to to help with your arousal, and I don't have a psychology degree to help with your mind. So, just cry it out, ok love? Just cry.'_

_Sherlock buried his head in the crook of John's neck and sobbed loudly. His head hurt, his body ached, and his arousal wasn't going to go anywhere anytime soon._

_John just held on to his husband, stroking his hair and nuzzling into his curls now and again._

_'I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry,' he whispered. 'I feel so helpless not being able to do anything to help you. I want to help, I do, but I don't know what to do.'_

_'Hand,' Sherlock grumbled, grabbing hold of John's hand and placing it over his arousal. 'Please.'_

_'Ok,' John said softly, moving his hand gently before grasping hard. He groped Sherlock tight, moving hard and fast, twisting around the head before plunging back down._

_Sherlock nodded and groaned against John's neck. 'That's nice,' he murmured. 'Thank you.'_

_'Welcome, love,' John murmured, groping tighter and moving faster._

_'Go ahead and fuck my fist,' John purred, wanking just a bit faster. 'I know you want to. Go ahead. Fuck my pretty little fist that can barely wrap around your thick, fat, long cock.'_

_'You're in such a dirty mood,' he grinned against John._

_He began to slowly move in and out of his husband's tiny fist. He didn't want to move too fast because if he did his arse would surely protest more than it already was._

_'If this is what I can do to help then I'm not gonna do it half arsed,' John said, pulling against his husband's cock before resuming his normal actions. 'Do you have any requests?'_

_Sherlock hummed in thought before speaking. 'Tease the hell out of me. I don't care what you do. Just tease me. Only stop when I tell you to or when I cum. Whichever comes first.'_

_'I meant any verbal requests, but this works too.'_

_John stilled his movements, wanking Sherlock agonisingly slow. Sometimes he would focus solely on the head, sometimes just on the base, and then his free hand trailed down to Sherlock's sac and played with those._

_Sherlock's eyes bolted wide and he yelled out, 'Gah! More! Do that again!'_

_'Which bit, love?' John smirked. 'Twisting your head?' His hand travelled up and twisted around the head, gathering the precum that had formed and coating the rest of Sherlock's cock with it._

_'The base bit?' he asked again, wanking hard and fast at just the base of his cock._

_'Oh. I know what you mean now,' he smirked. His thumb circled around one of Sherlock's balls teasingly. 'You want me to play with these.' He rolled them in his palm, squeezing each one only slightly before pulling on one and hearing it snap against Sherlock's flesh upon its release._

_'Is that what you want my dirty boy?' John purred. 'Do you want me to play with your balls?'_

_'Yes, god yes! Do that!' Sherlock exclaimed loudly, placing a kiss on John's skin in thanks._

_'As you wish, my love,' John purred, wanking Sherlock slowly whilst rolling his husband's balls in his other palm. Sherlock really seemed to like them pulled, so John grabbed the other one and let it smack against Sherlock's flesh. He grinned at the obscene sound it made._

_'Is my dirty boy feeling good?' he purred again, rubbing Sherlock's balls against the heel of his hand. They were drawing tighter to his body, so he must be close to cumming._

_'Yes doctor! I feel bloody, fantastically close.' Sherlock arched up in the air with a loud wolf cry._

_'Then cum for me my dirty, dirty boy,' John crooned. He wanked Sherlock faster and grabbed his balls tightly in his palm, squeezing and pulling them until he felt them tighten as Sherlock found his release. Sherlock barked for joy as he began to cum in hot strips over John's hand and both their stomachs._

_'Yes!' he panted. 'Oh god yes!'_

_John worked Sherlock through his orgasm, pulling his balls tight before releasing them with a wet smack. He continued to wank him fast and hard until Sherlock was shaking yet again. He released his cock and brought his hand up to his lips, licking the cum off it._

_'Thanks for helping me with that.' Sherlock curled up in a ball on John's lap. 'Now we just have to figure out how to deal with my mind.' He rubbed at his painful skull that held his overflowing mind. 'It's really starting to hurt again.'_

_'I may be able to provide insight to that,' came a familiar voice from behind the door. John paled and swallowed. Had he heard everything?_

_'You did say thirty minutes, did you not?' Mycroft asked, still lingering outside the closed door. 'And I do believe it's taken you an extra fifteen beyond our initial time. Now, what is going on in my little brother's head that is causing him such pain?'_

_Sherlock coiled further in on himself on John's lap and shuddered, at a loss for what to do or say._

_He sighed heavily. 'Give us a minute, Croft,' he just about managed to say. His voice was weak and strained and his entire body shook._

_'I'll be in the sitting room,' the elder Holmes said, taking his leave._

_John was too mortified to speak. It was one thing to get caught as a teenager, but as a sixty-year-old married man? He thought their situation was worse. A lot worse._

_'Come on,' Sherlock muttered, unfolding himself from John's lap and getting to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him from over use of alcohol in such a short space of time, the massive war raging in his mind, his sore arse, and the plain embarrassment he felt because his brother had most probably been listening to his and John's activities._

_He tottered over to the wardrobe and plucked out a pair of Dalek print pyjama bottoms, shoving them on quickly. He turned to the alcohol and froze, fighting the urge to pick it up and drink it. John sat up and rubbed his face, embarrassed beyond belief. What all had Myc heard? Would he ever live it down? He sighed and shifted off the bed pausing when he saw Sherlock staring at the alcohol, his entire body seeming to vibrate. John gingerly stepped forward and placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, guiding him back to the bed and away from temptation._

_'Stay here, ok?' John said softly, looking into Sherlock's glassy eyes._

_'Okay,' Sherlock managed a reply, staring down at his feet in an attempt to keep his cravings at bay._

_'I'll get you some water when we get downstairs. I know it won't be the same, but it will hydrate you.' He moved to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of TARDIS print pyjamas and yanked them on. He found a stray t-shirt and pulled that on as well. He found one for Sherlock and helped him into it._

_'Ok. Go slow, alright?' John said softly as he helped Sherlock up. 'I don't want you to trip and fall down the stairs.'_

_Sherlock grunted in reply, leaning his entire body weight on John, and taking one shaky step at a time._

_John's leg protested against Sherlock's weight, the muscle spasming as he attempted to walk and hold him up._

_'Love, love you're going to have to ease up on leaning on me,' John grunted, managing to open the door without them falling to the floor in a heap. 'My bad leg is starting to protest and I don't want us to fall.'_

_'Sorry.' Sherlock positioned himself so only a bit of his weight was leaning on John. His own legs threatened to give way but he pushed on. They took the stairs slowly, one at a time. John's leg was still protesting but he managed to get them to the first floor without much trouble. They shuffled into the sitting room, Mycroft sitting in one of the plush chairs twirling his pocket watch around his fingers._

_'I'll be with you in a moment,' John said, sitting Sherlock on the sofa. 'Just need to get some water in this one. Do you want anything?'_

_'Some Earl Grey would be nice,' Myc said, still twiddling with his watch. John nodded and padded into the kitchen. He turned on the electric kettle and poured a glass of cold water for Sherlock. He leaned against the counter and breathed deeply. The kettle boiling in the background was soothing, and John calmed considerably. He set out two mugs, placing a bag of Earl Grey in each and pouring the boiling water into each mug. He carried the two mugs in his good hand, the glass of water in the other._

_He headed back to the sitting room, letting Mycroft grab his mug before passing Sherlock his water. He sat on the sofa next to his husband, sipping at his tea idly._

_'So, why did you want to see me?' Mycroft asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he glanced onwards at his brother._

_'I started to remember things,' he said softly. 'Memories involving John at first. Our first meeting... along with other things.' He grasped his glass in two shaking hands and gulped at the water it contained. It didn't have the same calming effect as the alcohol but it helped a little._

_'And then I slipped into the memories I suppressed as a child.' His voice cracked. 'I came across a particularly painful one.'_

_He forced himself to keep his eyes open. 'The day you left the manor house father decided he'd give me a victory beating to celebrate the fact you were gone. I believe I nearly died several times that night. I screamed for you till my throat was so dry I couldn't speak. Of course, I knew it had been useless. You were long gone. You wouldn't hear my screams.' Silent tears trickled down his face but he continued._

_'And now all I can see when I close my eyes is him. And I just needed to see you. So–' He shook his head, wiping at his tears. 'Sorry for wasting your time with my issues again, Croft.'_

_Mycroft swallowed his tea and set the mug aside. He listened to Sherlock's words, quirking an eyebrow when he said he had been remembering again. That quickly turned into a frown when Sherlock mentioned their father and the near killings he hadn't realised had happened. He shook his head and looked on at his little brother._

_'You have never been a burden,' he said softly. 'Nor have you ever wasted my time when you have come to me with your problems. You are my brother and I will always be there for you whenever you should need me.'_

_Sherlock nodded, though by this point his brother's words were quite lost on him._

_'And now, dear brother, I am in so much physical pain because my brain has literally been stuffed with new memories. And if it wasn't for John I would have drank to my death. Believe me when I say I was tempted.'_

_'Dear god,' Mycroft sighed in a hushed breath. 'You should get to a facility soon. John, even you must see how much help he needs. But, thank you for not letting him drink himself to death at the very least.'_

_'I know how much he needs help,' John said softly, staring into his tea. 'And I'll let you take him, but I have one request.' He looked up at Mycroft with as much determination as he could muster. 'I want to be able to visit him, assess his progress myself. And, when he's no longer a danger to himself or others, I want the kids to be able to see him as well.'_

_'And if I don't stop being a danger?' Sherlock questioned. 'Don't be a fool, Mycroft. I'm trusting you'll be able to take charge this time and make a suitable decision about me.'_

_'That will be for your doctors to decide,' Mycroft said. 'And I don't mean John. Sorry.' John swallowed but nodded. 'If the doctors at the facility deem you unfit for return to society then I see two possible outcomes. Either they keep you in the facility until you're better, or they keep you there until you die.'_

_'Way to tell us lightly,' John grumbled._

_'He's only trying to help, John. Would you rather have to put up with my alcoholism until you one day find me dead, lying in a puddle of vomit? Do you want to risk me nearly raping you again? Or have you forgiven me for that already?'_

_Sherlock took a deep breath. 'Think about how this is affecting Benny–' He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Ben, I mean. Maybe if he sees me getting help he will resent me less. Or maybe he'll resent me more. Whatever. You never know, but this might encourage him to seek help himself.'_

_'I'm sorry, did you just say you almost raped John?' Mycroft asked in concern. 'And what's going on with Ben? Is he alright?'_

_Sherlock paled and glanced away in shame. 'You heard me correctly, yes,' he replied. 'As for Ben, the answer is no. He is not ok in any way. We believe him to be going down the same path as I did in my teenage years. Well, I say believe. Felicity confirmed it this morning. You may have noted his absence earlier.'_

_'I simply assumed he had decided to sit with his friends, or had left with them before I arrived,' Mycroft said softly. 'I don't see him often enough, so I haven't been able to see how he's been holding up. God damn MI6 and the agents can't cope without me it seems.' He politely let the rape issue slide, knowing no one in the room wanted to talk about it at the moment._

_'I'm sorry to hear about Ben. He should be talked to, maybe get some help of his own. How bad is he?'_

_'As bad as I was in the later stages of drug use,' Sherlock swallowed. 'You should have seen how on edge he was, Croft. I assume that I don't help him either. I'm fairly sure he hates me._

_'Which is all the more reason for me to talk to him myself,' Sherlock said in a low voice._

_'I would say that he doesn't hate you, but if he's anything like you on drugs then he probably does,' Myc sighed. 'Sorry to be so blunt, but it's probably the truth.' He rubbed his face with his hands and sat forward, his elbows on his knees._

_'Are you sure you want to speak to him? Because I'm more than able if you want. Or John.'_

_'No. Sorry, but no,' John interjected. 'While Ben is my son, this is not our battle to fight. Sherlock knows more about what Ben is going through, so he should be the one to talk to him.'_

_'He's scared, Croft. He doesn't know what's going on. And as much as you want to help, John's right. I have to be the one to talk to him. Because, no offense Croft, but you really didn't help me. Lestrde did. He knew what it's like and that helped a lot.' Sherlock sighed, resting his hands under his chin._

_Mycroft sighed. 'Gregory told me about that. How he helped you get clean, and his own past. I owe him a great debt for saving your life. And as for Ben–'_

_The front door opened followed by fits of giggles and shushes. Ben stumbled into the house and thanked his friends for dropping him off. He shut the door quietly and ambled inside, freezing when he saw his parents and uncle gathered in the sitting room. His pupils were blown wide and he scratched absently at his arm, doing his best to look sober._

_'Heh– hey guys. Wazzup?' he slurred._

_'Do come join us, Ben.' Sherlock motioned for his son to come into the room. 'You haven't seen your uncle in awhile.'_

_He would discuss this when Ben was sober. Right now it was important to keep him as calm as possible._

_'Um... Hey, Uncle Myc. Howz the James Bond life? I'm not in trouble, am I? Iz that why you're here?' He plopped down onto the chair furthest from everyone, taking in their expressions. He blinked rapidly and swallowed, his heartbeat quickening. God, he hoped Sarah hadn't screwed him over with a bad batch again. Fuckin' Sarah._

_'That would depend on many things, Ben. Do you think there's a reason that you should be in trouble?' Sherlock asked him patiently, taking in how ill and haggard Ben was beginning to look. Ben rolled his eyes up in mock thought. He shook his head slowly, not wanting to make himself dizzy and nauseous._

_'Noooo,' he said slowly. 'Nuthin comes t'mind.' He swallowed audibly, his pulse beginning to skyrocket. Fuckin' Sarah had fucked him over again. Shit._

_'Croft, John,' Sherlock started, voice calm despite his internal panic. 'Grab Ben and shove him in a cold shower.' He looked to his husband and to his brother. 'I'm deadly serious.'_

_'Whut? Whut're you on about? The fuck?! Dad! Dad, let go! Uncle Myc? Please! Where are we going? This is all your fault Sherlock! You son of a bitch! Gah! Jesus fuck! That's cold! Get me out of here! Dad!'_

_Sherlock ran a hand along his face, flinching at his son's screams. The only thing that stopped him from breaking down entirely was the knowledge that what Ben was going through was for his own good._

_'It's fucking cold!' Ben continued to shout, his body quaking with two types of shivers. 'Dad! Myc! I swear to god if you don't pull me out of this right now I'll kill you both!' John and Myc did nothing except hold him more firmly under the spray of water. 'Fuck you all! I hate you!'_

_Sherlock just sat there, helpless, sipping at his water more gingerly now. He began to start planning out a speech for Ben. He was going to delve into his past to stop him from making the same mistakes. At least he hoped he would be able to stop him._

_Ben had finally stopped shouting but he continued to struggle. John held firm, wanting his son to calm down and ease the frantic heart rate he had seen beating in his neck. He and Myc didn't dare speak for fear of inflicting Ben's verbal wrath on them both._

_Sherlock had hated his father._

_Ben hated him._

_Sherlock had started the drugs to fit in with those around him._

_Ben had started the drugs to impress a girl._

_Same difference._

_The truth was he and Ben were painfully similar._

_And god did that scare Sherlock._

_'Dad. Dad, please,' Ben begged quietly. 'I'm freezing. Please. Let me out. Please.' John and Mycroft shared a glance. Mycroft nodded and they pulled Ben out of the water. John wrapped him up in a fluffy towel, letting Myc watch over him while he returned to Sherlock._

_'Sherlock?' he called out. 'Sherlock, what do we do now?'_

_'Search his room and get rid of any supplies he has.' Sherlock paused. 'And though it may seem cruel, lock him in there. I'll go see him once we've both sobered up.'_

_John swallowed and nodded, heading back to the bathroom. Ben was sitting on the floor, shaking so hard he was vibrating against the wall._

_'We need to search his room,' John said softly to Myc. The elder Holmes nodded, standing and helping Ben to his feet. He followed John to Ben's room, setting the shivering boy on his bed and closing the door._

_John and Mycroft searched Ben's room thoroughly, finding needles, coke, heroin, and numerous lighters hidden throughout. John was on the verge of tears at the sight of the drugs his boy was taking._

_'Sherlock said we need to lock him in here,' John said softly, looking at his boy curled in on himself on his bed. 'I'll need to board up his window, because last time he crawled out of it. Keep an eye on him, ok?'_

_Mycroft nodded and John dashed off to the garage, grabbing what he needed and ran outside to Ben's window. He looked inside and saw Myc trying to calm a shaking Ben who was convulsing so badly his limbs were flailing. John quickly placed the board against the window, blocking the sun and Ben's only exit, nailing it to the frame of the house thoroughly before dashing back inside. He returned to Ben's room, pulling Mycroft to his feet and hauling him from the room. He locked the door and collapsed against the wall, taking deep, shaking breaths._

_Sherlock stood to his feet and made his way on his shaking legs to where a collapsed and near crying John lay, his brother hunched over him in an attempt to calm him. He swallowed guiltily and dropped to his knees beside John._

_'I'm sorry that I couldn't have helped more,' he apologised, brushing the back of his hand against John's cheek. 'I can't promise that I can put this right. I can, however, promise that I will talk to him, and I will try to make him listen.'_

_He glanced up at his brother. 'Thanks for all you have done, Croft.'_

_John leaned into Sherlock's touch, pressing his face into his hand. Mycroft nodded, standing to his feet._

_'I'm sorry to leave after such a dramatic moment, but I should get back to MI6 before all hell breaks loose. Good luck to you both. And, whenever you're ready, I'll come pick you up and take you to the facility. John. Sherlock.' Mycroft nodded his leave, walking out the door._

_John huddled closer to Sherlock, grasping his wrist and pulling him close into a tight hug. His buried his nose in his chest and heaved a sigh, gulping down oxygen while trying not to cry._

_Sherlock sat down and pulled John onto his lap, hugging him tightly. 'I love you both too much to let any more harm come to you. Which is why I'll wait till Ben is on the right track before I myself seek help.'_

_He kissed John on the head. 'For now we wait. He'll sober up enough to at least be able to take in what I've planned on saying to him. And then, we support him.'_

_John nodded, clutching to Sherlock's shirt much like a small child._

_'I'm sorry for not letting Myc take you earlier. Maybe we could have avoided all this. Maybe Ben would have stopped if he had seen you getting clean. Maybe he wouldn't have touched the drugs at all. I found coke and heroin stashed in his room. And it kills me that our little boy is doing such hard drugs. And... he nearly overdosed today, didn't he?'_

_Sherlock held John tighter. 'No. I refuse to let you take all the blame. This is no one's fault, ok? And if we're going to play the blame game at least let me take the rap._

_'He did nearly overdose today, yes. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to lie to you. But the fact he turned to drugs wasn't just because of my alcoholism. He did it to fit in. Like I did it to fit in. And look at me. I'm alive still. So don't give up hope just yet.'_

_'He's only fifteen, Sherlock. He's killing himself, and his brain is still growing. He's probably killing brain cells and valuable information and the like. How old were you when you started?'_

_'Do you really want to know the truth of that answer?' Sherlock licked his lips in anxiety and took a deep breath. 'I was younger than Ben. That's all you really need to know.' His eyes went cloudy, fogged up by his past._

_'Younger? Jesus.' John sniffled, burying his face in Sherlock's chest and let out a muffled sob._

_'Shhh,' Sherlock hushed his husband, gently rocking him back and forth. 'If I made it, so can our son.'_

_'But you were younger than him!' John wailed pitifully, huddling into Sherlock's lap. 'How on earth did you survive?'_

_'I don't know. I really don't.' Sherlock's voice was small. 'But that was an awfully long time ago, and I don't want to relive it more than I have to. I'm going to tell Ben everything but right now... I can't tell you. I'm sorry.'_

_John nodded and quietly sobbed into Sherlock's chest._

_'Can we go upstairs? I don't want Ben to overhear us,' he asked in a small voice._

_'Of course.' Sherlock helped John to his feet and wrapped an arm around him. 'You look like you need some sleep. Want a sleeping pill? Might help.'_

_'I could use some sleep yeah,' John mumbled, ambling toward the stairs. 'What are you going to do while I'm asleep? Sort through your memories while you and Ben sober up?'_

_'No,' Sherlock mused. 'I'll save the trip into my mind palace when I have to fetch memories out to tell Ben my past. I'll watch you sleeping for a bit and then I'm going to talk with our son.'_

_John nodded, taking the stairs slowly, his body ached from his punishing speed earlier in bed. He grimaced as he thought about how Sherlock must have felt. When the reached the too John stumbled a bit, but Sherlock's arm around his waist stopped him from falling._

_'Guess I'm exhausted,' John mumbled, opening their bedroom door and nearly collapsing on their bed. 'Don't think I'll be needing a pill.'_

_'Okay,' Sherlock whispered, crawling onto the bed and wrapping John in his arms, dragging him close. 'Love you.'_

_John began to shake violently. Seemed his body was finally catching up with his mind. His pyjama bottoms were soaked from Ben's ice shower and his shirt was pretty wet too. They needed to come off before he was going to even begin to fall asleep._

_'C-c-c-c-clothes,' he shuddered. 'O-off. C-c-c-covers. P-p-please.'_

_Sherlock was swift to remove John's clothes, stripping him down to nothing. He lifted his husband's body up and under the covers before crawling under them himself._

_'I'm just going to stay here to warm you up for a bit,' he ushered down John's ear._

_'Ok-k-k-k-kay,' John stuttered, curling himself into Sherlock's body. He shivered slightly as Sherlock's voice travelled down his ear, pressing himself closer._

_'You're warm,' he noted, nuzzling his chest. 'And, love you too.'_

_Sherlock smirked. 'Obviously,' he growled down John's ear, humour dripping in his voice. He wrapped an arm around John and tugged him close._

_John groaned, wrapping a leg around Sherlock and pulling him against him._

_'Shhh now. Close your eyes, John. Get some rest.' Sherlock rubbed his husband's back soothingly._

_'You tease,' John smirked, nuzzling into his chest._

_'You can have me in any way you want when you wake up. But right now, let's face the fact that if I attempt to do anything intimate you'll pass out during it.' Sherlock chuckled briefly._

_'No I wouldn't,' John mumbled, feeling himself falling asleep despite his words. 'But, when we do, take me from behind. I like it better that way. Well, when it's with you, I like it any way.' He smiled and rubbed against Sherlock's chest, reaching for one of his hands and grasping it tight._

_'Love you,' he whispered, almost asleep._

_'Love you too,' Sherlock smiled softly. 'Now go to sleep.'_

_John merely hummed in reply, his mind already drifting off to sleep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That was a long one! The next is much shorter than this, so don't worry. Sherlock and Ben have a heart to heart, plus more feels on the way. See you all next week!
> 
> TSA + IB


	24. My Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. I had a massive headache all afternoon though I managed to get my temporary license finally! Now just to take the road test and I shall officially be a licensed driver! Also, I saw the new Wolverine movie tonight. Meh. I'm more excited for Thor 2 and X-Men: Days of Future Past. But enough about Marvel. Let's talk Sherlock.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, Ben, Felicity
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: drug withdrawals, gratuitous sex, vomiting, blood, and more sex

_Sherlock waited a few hours before untangling himself from John and crawling out of the warm bed, shivering as soon as the cold air hit him._

_He stood to his feet and tested the strength of his legs. They still trembled ever so slightly but they were nowhere near as bad as they had been before._

_He crept downstairs and to Ben's room, taking a deep breath and turning the handle. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him._

_'How are you feeling?' he asked his son, who was still clearly wide awake and battling the aftermath of drug use._

_'What do you think?' Ben growled, shivering despite being wrapped in the towel, his comforter, and two other blankets._

_'I know exactly how you're feeling round about now. I was just being polite,' Sherlock said bluntly._

_'Well you can take your politeness and kindly shove it up your arse,' Ben spat. 'And you have no idea how I'm feeling. Stop trying to "get me" because it's not going to work.'_

_'Actually, Ben, I know exactly how you're feeling so drop the tough act.' Sherlock walked over to Ben, sitting at the edge of his bed._

_'I'm going to tell you a story. More specifically mine. And you're going to stay quiet throughout it all.' He scowled. 'Don't you dare give me that look, Ben. You will remain quiet because you need to hear this. Because right now your dad is distraught and I am not going to stand by whilst you slowly rip his heart to shreds.'_

_'You're not my dad,' Ben huffed, pulling his blankets over his head. 'You said I had to listen, not look at you,' his muffled voice said. 'So start talking. Illuminate me.'_

_'I was thirteen when I started taking drugs. In some ways count yourself lucky. I was just a child. At least you understand what you're doing to yourself.' Sherlock paused to gauge Ben's reaction._

_Ben blinked. Sherlock had– ? Of course he had. He was his father after all, a genius like him. Probably used them to quell his racing thoughts, much like himself. Only, now he used them because if he didn't he'd get headaches and nausea until he used again. Fuck._

_'Go on,' he said quietly._

_'I suppose it all started with my father. I hated him. Like you hate me. I don't suppose I've ever spoken of my father?' Sherlock wondered how much Ben knew of his past._

_'You never talk about your past,' Ben murmured. 'But, then again, with your condition you probably have a spotty memory anyway. And Dad never brings it up. Out of respect I suppose. I'm just surprised he has any respect left for you after so many years of drunkenness and memory loss. How much of your life with us and Dad do you actually remember? Because you looked so lost and confused before the ceremony this morning.'_

_'In truth, not an awful lot. And yes, I know I don't deserve any respect from your dad,' Sherlock sighed. 'But you're wrong. My memory isn't all spotty. I can remember my childhood vividly. It's ironic that the memories I don't actually want are still there.'_

_He took a deep breath. 'For why would I want to remember my father? The very man who would beat me into a bloody pulp for a laugh. The man who would lock me in a cellar for days on end. The man who put out his cigarettes on my skin just to see me squeal. The hateful creature which tied me up and scratched "freak" into my skin.' He took deep, shuddering breaths and swallowed._

_'So, anyway, that was the first turning point for me,' he continued. 'My father.'_

_Ben swallowed audibly, poking his head out of his blankets to peer at Sherlock._

_'Your father beat you?' he asked in a small voice._

_Sherlock nodded, locking his jaw, and swallowing. 'Yes, Ben. He did. Not that I'm trying to sell you a sob story or anything. I just wanted you to know all the reasons for why I started the drugs. Thought we could compare notes.'_

_Ben huffed a laugh and shook his shoulders free of his cocoon._

_'Comparing notes on drug use and abuse with dear old dad,' he smirked. 'What has my life become?'_

_Sherlock frowned and shook his head. 'This isn't funny, Ben. You nearly overdosed today. I'm trying to help you.'_

_'No, this is hilarious,' Ben laughed. 'You_ _**took**  drugs, I'm  **taking**  drugs, and  **now**  you're an alcoholic. And we're sitting here talking about it like a couple chums in a pub. Do you realise how fucked up this all is?'_

_Sherlock leaned in so he was looming over his son. 'I realise, but your Uncle Greg was a junkie once too. He helped me overcome my drug use. Sometimes it takes one to know one. And if you must know I never planned on becoming an alcoholic. It was your dad who stopped me and my brother's plans to take me away to rehab.' He stared at Ben's shocked expression. 'You see, Ben? It's not as black and white as you like to think it is.'_

_'Greg was a junkie?' Ben whispered, shocked. 'And... And Dad kept you from going away? Dad... Dad's an idiot.'_

_'Yes. Greg was a junkie and therefore we helped each other out of the pit. And yes, I agree completely. Your dad is an idiot,' Sherlock smiled softly. 'But he was a scared idiot. He thought if he let me go then he, you, and Felicity wouldn't see me again.' He looked at Ben sadly. 'I think that would have been in all of your interests, don't you?'_

_'To never see you again? How would that be beneficial for us?' Ben sniffed and turned away. 'I may hate you, but I don't_ _**hate**  you. And, you may not believe this, but I need my dad.'_

_Sherlock chuckled dryly. 'But at least you wouldn't have had to deal with all this. My alcoholism, my memory loss, my distance. At least you would have been protected from that. I don't blame you for hating me. God knows I deserve it. And I hated my father, but for different reasons, and I hoped to god not to follow his path. But I have. So tell me, Ben, in what case how could you possibly need me?'_

_'I don't know,' Ben answered honestly. 'I really don't, but... Geez. I don't even know.'_

_'Ben, I'm asking because... I'm going to be going away soon. To get some help. I'll of course set you on the right path before I do.' He placed a hand on his son's shoulder. 'And there's two options. I either get deemed fit for release back into society, or,' he shivered, 'I live the rest of my days locked up.'_

_'And I won't ever get to visit?' Ben's lower lip trembled despite himself. 'You're my dad. What other reason could I need to convince you that I need you?'_

_'Because I never needed my father.' Sherlock let his hand slide off Ben's shoulder. 'So I'm afraid I don't understand the whole parent sentimentality thing.'_

_'We share genetics,' Ben stated. 'And I realise you also shared genetics with your own father, but he was cruel. You're not. You never beat me, you introduced me to the violin, you actually took me to my first orchestra performance when I was ten. You understood parental sentimentality just fine in my opinion.'_

_Sherlock smiled but that smile quickly turned into a grimace as a sharp pain jolted through his mind. He clutched his head and grunted._

_'Maybe I do understand it a bit.' His voice was strained and small. 'Anyway where was I in my story?' He pressed his face into the palm of his hand._

_'I don't know,' Ben swallowed. 'You ok?'_

_'Err–' Sherlock stuttered. 'Yes, fine.' He clutched at his head tighter. 'Just give me a minute to think.'_

_'If it helps, I think you stopped after telling me Gran– your father beat you,' he said slowly. 'Are you sure you're ok? You look really pale.'_

_'Yes–' He winced as his mind felt a stabbing pain again. 'I am fu–' He almost swore as the pain intensified. 'Fine,' he muttered. 'Ah, yes. My father,' he croaked. 'Yes. He was the first factor. The second factor was my m-m-mi-mind.' He gasped for breath and whimpered, shuddering as a wave of pain ripped through him._

_'You are not fine!' Ben protested, struggling to free himself from his blankets. 'What's going on? Do I need to get Dad?'_

_'Nothing is going on, Ben.' Sherlock attempted a smile but failed. 'And I swear if you get your dad and distress him further–' The threat was unfinished as Sherlock waded through the wreckage of his mind palace, sinking deeper and deeper._

_'Sherlock?' Ben asked, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. 'Sherlock, what's going on? Is this your mind palace thing backfiring?'_

_Sherlock flinched at the use of his name. 'Y-es,' he managed to push out of his numb lips. 'It is.'_

_'Whenever it happens to me I take a deep breath and wade through happier memories,' Ben suggested. 'Like you teaching me violin. Or Uncles Greg and Myc buying me ice cream as a kid. Try finding some happier memories of your own and see if they work.'_

_'I have happy memories. That's half my problem,' Sherlock wheezed. 'Ben, I started to remember a load of things today from way back. They're from the time I spent with your dad.' He heaved a laugh. 'Good times. They were very good times.'_

_His face stiffened in pain. 'And now my brain feels like it's going to bleed out my ears.'_

_'Wait... You're remembering?' Ben asked incredulously. 'But I thought that Jim guy destroyed all your old memories of Dad? How did you get them back? And you_ _**do**  realise it is physically impossible for your brain to bleed out of your ears, right? You're not that stupid.'_

_Sherlock grinned. 'I realise that. It certainly feels like it's going to though. And I don't know why I started to remember but I did. And god Ben does it hurt.' His face fell._

_'Is there anything I can do to help? Beyond silence, I mean.'_

_'No, it's fine. The pain will pass soon enough. It always does,' Sherlock reassured Ben._

_'So it's happened before,' Ben mused, not quite a question or a statement. 'When does it usually happen and how do you cope?'_

_'There's no pattern to it,' Sherlock sighed. 'And I don't cope particularly well.'_

_'Mine is usually after a rather long night mixed with drugs,' Ben admitted softly. 'It's like my mind is fighting back. Like it doesn't want me to take the drugs. But I can't not take them. If I don't... If I don't I get shakes and nauseous and hot flashes and cold flashes. And I just... I want to be able to stop. But I can't.'_

_'Don't say can't,' Sherlock shook his head. 'Because you can. If I stopped taking drugs and I started at thirteen then you can most certainly stop.'_

_'And how long were you on them before Uncle Greg found you and helped you stop?' Ben asked. His arm was starting to itch but he didn't want Sherlock to see his needle marks, nor his other scars. He pulled his blankets around himself again, shivering for two very different reasons._

_'It wasn't until I was in my twenties that anybody noticed my drug use. Anybody that cared at least. Mycroft had his own worries, and by the time my drug abuse had gotten serious he had moved out and was heavily focussed on his job. Not that he didn't care, he just simply wasn't around enough to notice. My father knew but I think he thought it to be some sort of hilarious joke. He had helped to push me into the dark, and that was funny to him. Then mother, of course, was too busy avoiding father to spend much time with me.' Sherlock took a deep breath and ran a hand through his curls, mussing them up._

_'When I met your Uncle Greg, I had overdosed. I had taken enough that would ensure my death. At least I thought I had. It turned out it was just extremely painful. It brought me no escape from the life I wanted to leave behind.' He pressed his hand to his forehead again as yet again he began to feel his mind under vicious attack. 'He saved me. In return, I solved a case for him that had been left unsolved for six years. He saw my potential and offered me a job, on one condition. I had to get clean and fast. It was hard, yes. I mean, I was on drugs for almost ten years of my life. I remember that for a majority of my clean up time I was stuck in my room hating everybody and everything. I imagine you'll be the same.' The curly haired man bit back a smile. 'I took him up on that offer, you know. I became the one and only consulting detective in the world. And that was bloody fantastic.'_

_Sherlock paused slightly, pursing his lips in thought. 'I suppose though, once I became a detective I no longer needed the drugs. I took them to slow down my mind, but whilst I was working on cases I had no need to do that. I was putting my mind to good use. There was also the fact that I didn't speak to my peers anymore. I say peers, but I mean fellow junkies. They were all idiots. The only reason I chose to be part of their group was because I wanted to stop them calling me "freak." And they did, once I'd started taking drugs with them. However, I found I didn't need friends after I became clean.' Sherlock laughed lightly._

_'Then I met your dad, and I realised I only needed one.'_

_'I don't have any friends either,' Ben said softly. 'Apart from the kids who give me the drugs. And I'm never buying anything from Sarah again. She's fucked me over too many times. You know she tried to get me to use a dirty needle once? But I've read enough medical textbooks to know what they look like and how dangerous they can be. She was probably trying to give me some blood virus or STD or some shit. Fuckin' Sarah.'_

_Ben stopped to scratch at his arm again. He'd probably nicked something and it was healing, but he still didn't want to pull his arm out of his blankets to check. Sherlock didn't need to see all those scars. And frankly, Ben didn't want to see them either. They just confirmed how fucked up he truly was._

_'So, Greg got you clean and you became the world's only consulting detective,' Ben mused softly. 'And that kept you off the drugs? Did you ever relapse?'_

_'That's the thing about junkies. You can't trust them. You can't really trust yourself even,' Sherlock contemplated. He glanced across at Ben who was clearly scratching at his arm continuously beneath the covers but decided to remain quiet about that certain subject for now._

_'Once your Uncle Greg had put me on the right track I had no need to go back to drugs. It was hard at first, extremely so. I smoked heavily for a while to cope with my cravings, but I even managed to cut that old habit out after awhile.' He smiled to himself._

_'Ask your dad about my three patch problems. I really don't think he was all impressed at me when I used the nicotine patches. Still, better than smoking as apparently smoking is bad for breathing. To which I said breathing was boring.' He let out a weak laugh._

_'However, as I got to know your dad – as I began falling in love with him,' he took a deep breath, 'I started to make my own drugs. Safer than street drugs, and at least I could monitor what it was I was taking. I thought I could avoid my feelings, avoid rejection, avoid the pain of losing my one friend. As it was, it was those damn homemade drugs that sealed our relationship and brought us closer than ever. Not that you should get any ideas about creating your own drugs. Your dad would quite literally kill me.'_

_Sherlock held his face against his palm, kneading at his eyes to try and stop the intensifying pain. It had gone away for awhile whilst he had been going through some better memories but now the pain was back, and worse than ever._

_'Maybe I could get Greg to help you out too?' he asked, voice wavering. 'That is, of course, if you are prepared for a severe dry spell, and the awful withdrawal symptoms.'_

_'I would rather not drag Greg into this,' Ben said softly, his arm starting to hurt from all the scratching. Why was it so goddamn itchy?_

_'I'm not looking forward to the coke bugs,' Ben frowned._ _**If they haven't already started** , a small voice told him.  **Fuck off,**  he told it.  **You're detoxing,** it said, louder now. **I'm not going anywhere.**_

_'Fuck,' Ben whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking violently. Sherlock pulled his hands from his face and blinked at his shaking son. The itching was far clearer now. Sherlock sighed heavily, pushing his own problems as far away as possible. He crawled closer to his son and gently pulled him up from the covers and into a hug. Ben was too weak to fight it._

_'Ben, listen to me. I know you're scared. I know that it seems impossible, but it is possible. You can do this.' Sherlock began rubbing circles on his son's back in the hope it would calm him down._

_'It'll be hard. You'll face a lot of challenges on the way, but I swear I'm not going to let you do this to yourself. You're slowly killing yourself, your mind along with it. I will not watch you bring yourself to your death. Do you understand me?' He gripped Ben tightly to him. 'I don't want you to die, please._

_'As for your Uncle Greg, the likelihood that your Uncle Mycroft has spoken to him is quite high. So, you either let Greg help you, or I'll get him to turn you in to the police.' He grabbed at Ben's arms and gasped at the scars and track marks littering them._

_'You have to let me help you, Ben,' he whispered hopelessly. 'With everything.'_

_Ben struggled to get his arms out of Sherlock's grasp. Why did he have to pry? Why did his own body have to betray him? He was mortified and felt betrayed at the same time. The track marks were the least of his worries though. The razor slashes weren't._

_'I don't want to go to the police,' Ben grumbled, going limp in Sherlock's grasp. He continued to shake though._

_'Oh, so you'd rather die then?' Sherlock questioned. 'Because that's exactly where you'll head if you don't do something about this pronto.' He ran a finger along the scars and sighed sadly._

_'I used to do this too, Ben,' he said, 'And I managed to stop. I managed to get on with my life. And believe me when I say giving up the drugs will be the best decision you'll ever make. Things make so much more sense when you're sober. We don't have to involve the police, just Greg. He's family.'_

_'Our entire family is fucked up,' Ben grumbled. 'Greg was a junkie, Myc is bipolar and depressed, you were a junkie and a cutter and probably suicidal... I swear, Felicity is the only sane one. Not sure about Dad, but I doubt his life was perfect and stress free after being discharged back home.'_

_'We are not fucked up. We are human, Ben,' Sherlock muttered. 'And I don't feel all that comfortable talking about your dad's past without his consent.'_

_'Knew he wouldn't have been sane,' Ben muttered. 'What was he gonna do? Shoot himself with that handgun he has? Yes, I've seen it. Well, broke into the drawer he keeps it in. And, before you ask, yes, I've considered using it myself.'_

_'Your dad was a soldier. He'd seen good men die. That gets to people after awhile. At least it gets to normal people.' Sherlock dragged Ben tighter against him. 'I–' He hid his face in Ben's hair. 'Just don't. Please, just don't. I can't lose you. Not like that.'_

_'This is the most care and emotion you've shown me in years,' Ben whispered, his shaking easing as Sherlock held him tight. 'I... I don't really know how to process this.'_

_'I am so sorry for that. I could shrug it off as my dementia's fault, but it isn't. I've never been good with emotion. I find it almost painful to show affection. I've always been like that. I just–' Sherlock nuzzled at his son's hair. 'I'm just a terrible sort of person. And I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I apologise for everything. My alcoholism, my distance, my constant memory loss, and my most probable depression I've been fighting. I am sorry.'_

_Ben swallowed and tentatively draped his arms over Sherlock's shoulders in an awkward hug._

_'Ben, I can never make this up to you. I don't ever expect you to forgive me. I just want you to know I was never intentionally cruel.' Sherlock leaned into the hug his son was giving him. He too was shaking now, from both emotional pain and the physical pain brooding within his mind that he was trying his hardest to ignore._

_'Ok,' Ben whispered. Both he and Sherlock were shaking violently, and in his state he found it sort of funny._

_'We both need help,' he said softly._

_'Yes we do,' Sherlock agreed gently. 'You at least have a chance of pulling through this to better days. Not too sure about me.'_

_Ben swallowed thickly and moved closer to Sherlock._

_'Don't wanna think about that,' he said softly, his eyes suddenly wet with unshed tears._

_'No, and you shouldn't have to. I'm sorry, again.' Sherlock sniffed loudly. His tears, unlike his son's, began to fall, and heavily._

_'I don't like thinking about it,' Ben mumbled, resting his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder. 'And it's been popping up a lot. You dying. And... It just makes me really sad even though we haven't been particularly close the past few years. But, you're still my father, and I don't want to think about you not being here permanently.'_

_'Then why can't you see that I don't want the same fate for you? I love you, Ben. I don't care that my memory's fucked up. I love you. And if you died then I would be beside myself. Lord knows what your dad would do, what we'd all do.' Sherlock ran a hand through Ben's hair gingerly, sobbing loudly as his tears fell uncontrollably down his face. 'So please let me help you. Let us all help you.'_

_Ben's lower lip trembled and he held Sherlock close. He nodded frantically, burying his face in Sherlock's neck, his tears finally breaking free._

_'Shh, Ben. Shh,' Sherlock hushed through quaking lips. 'Everything will be ok.'_

_Ben whimpered and pulled himself into Sherlock's lap, cuddling up to him like he did when he was a child. He clutched onto Sherlock's shirt and sobbed into his chest, shaking as the cold air hit him and his emotions spilled over. Sherlock was terrified by the sheer amount of emotions clinging to the atmosphere in the room they were in. Ben was shaking, crying, a puddle of thin limbs and curly hair on his lap. Whilst Sherlock had so much buzzing around his mind, causing him painful turmoil that he felt like he was going to pass out. He took terrible, shaky breaths and willed himself to both keep his cool and to stay conscious. His efforts were rather feeble as more and more black clotted his vision. He shook his head and blinked as fast as he could, biting back a few awful screams._

_Ben could feel his father's inner turmoil radiating off him in waves. His body was tense, his shaking all the more intense by how much he was trying not to. He could feel his head lolling as he tried to stay awake, battering the war inside his mind. His mind palace was betraying him, fighting him as he remembered. Ben knew what that was like. It happened often as he tried to remember what had transpired while he was high. But he couldn't imagine what Sherlock must be going through. So many memories, years of information, decades even, flowing back all at once. He was shocked Sherlock was still conscious. But it appeared he was losing that battle as well. So, Ben decided to ask something of his father. Something he hadn't asked since he was nine._

_'Stay with me?' he asked in a small voice. 'Please? My bed is big enough to hold us both. Stay. Please?'_

_Sherlock's heart skipped a beat at the question and he just about managed to raise his head to nod. He readjusted their positions, gently placing Ben back under the covers before moving to crawl under them himself. His head fell to the pillow with an audible thud and he groaned. Every fiber within him was fighting to stay awake for this moment. For every time he came anywhere near unconsciousness he saw his father._

_He turned his head so he was looking into Ben's eyes. His cobalt blue eyes shimmered with terror and sorrow, and so many more awful and stomach churning emotions, and his son looked back in a slight understanding._

_'Talk to me,' he practically begged. 'I can't go to sleep. Talk to me.'_

_'How did you meet Dad?' Ben asked quickly. 'He says a mutual friend introduced you, but I want more details. Please.'_

_'Mike Stamford. He worked at Saint Bart's,' Sherlock breathed out heavily. 'It just so happened we had both discussed our need for a flatmate on the same day. John was a soldier on low pension and I... I was a rather difficult person for people to like. Hence, my own difficulty in finding a flat.'_

_'But Mrs Hudson let you in, and Dad stayed,' Ben smiled softly. 'Dad will always stay. Stubbornly loyal as he is.' Ben scrambled closer to Sherlock, wanting his body heat more than anything. And if he so happened to pull him into a hug, he wouldn't complain._

_'Speaking of which, why did Dad stay? What solidified that friendship between you two?'_

_Sherlock wrapped an arm around Ben._

_'Oh, I wouldn't have called what we had between each other a friendship. More of a mutual understanding. When I say understanding... hmmm. Maybe that's the wrong word. I shot at walls whilst dying of boredom whilst he scolded me. He shouted at self checkout machines and I laughed in great amusement. He asked me to get the milk and I ignored him. I think, however, from the moment your dad saved my life and I saved his we always had a special connection. I think even back then I knew that John was the one I was destined to spend the rest of my life with.' He grinned, his pain lessening ever so slightly as he delved into the happier emotions buried beneath his surface._

_Ben snuggled closer, his hand clutching Sherlock's shirt. He hummed and rested his head under Sherlock's chin._

_'When did you realise you were in love with him?' he asked softly._

_'Love.' Sherlock thought about it for a moment. 'Love was a strange concept to me,' he continued. 'I wasn't sure what love was. However, I knew something was off when I began to feel almost protective of him. Whenever he was out on a date I'd try my hardest to interrupt it. Somewhere in my mind I thought that if he ever got into a serious relationship with a woman then he'd leave me for a better life. I wanted him all to myself.'_

_'Selfish,' Ben laughed, nuzzling into Sherlock's neck. 'No. Not selfish. You fancied him, you just didn't understand it. So, when did you figure out it was love you were feeling? When did you tell him?'_

_'I'm not proud of this fact, Ben.' Sherlock took a deep breath. 'But I was high as a kite when I realised and I blabbed it to him straight away. In fact, that's when he told me his feelings too. And in the morning...' He smirked. 'Let's just say my homemade drug had some rather unexpected side effects that you most definitely don't want me to go into detail about.'_

_'Ew. Gross,' Ben scoffed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. 'Sorry, but I don't want to hear about your activities with Dad. Just, no.' He shuddered and pressed himself closer to his father's body heat. He wasn't sure if he was cold because of the shower or if he was detoxing. Maybe both. He just needed heat, and Sherlock was practically a space heater to his cold, clammy skin._

_'Ok, off to another topic. Um... You mentioned your first case was a cold case of six years. What was your first crime scene case?'_

_'A brutal murder,' Sherlock said with a tad more gusto than would be seen as acceptable by most people. 'It was the brother. Wanted to inherit her side of the family's assets as well as his own. Solved it within ten minutes.'_

_'That's... impressive,' Ben smiled against Sherlock's neck. 'Very impressive. Astounding, even. Wow.'_

_'So I've been told a thousand times. It's nothing though, really. It's a talent of mine. It just comes naturally to deduce the world around me.' Sherlock was glowing despite his insistence of his talent being nothing. 'Besides, I'm a little out of practice. Doubt my skills would be quite up to the same standard these days.'_

_'I'm pretty good at deductions myself,' Ben beamed. 'Maybe one day we could go to the park and just sit on a bench and deduce people as they walk by.'_

_'Ah, the good old deduction game,' he hummed. 'Invite Uncle Mycroft too. Together we shall make a formidable team against him. He won't know what hit him. Daft sod,' he snickered. 'Though he is a rather lovable daft sod all the same.'_

_'I look forward to it,' Ben grinned. 'Maybe that can be our thing when we're better. We can go out and deduce people.'_

_'I like the sound of that.'_ _**If I ever get better** , he thought to himself spitefully. 'Maybe you can take my place as the only consulting detective, too. I'm sure Greg still has contacts at the Yard.'_

_'I don't know what I'm going to do,' Ben sighed. 'After school, I mean. I want to go to college, but I don't know what I want to study. And, no offence, but I don't think I'd be able to be a consulting detective. I don't deal well with dead bodies. Biology was proof of that, even if they were only frog corpses.'_

_'It's only decomposing matter.' Sherlock shrugged a little. 'I don't see everyone's problem with the dead. They're only gone off meat. Sorry. I meant–' He snorted. 'You know what I meant.'_

_He mulled over what his son could do. 'What do you enjoy doing? I mean really enjoy.'_

_'I like chemistry,' Ben said softly. 'And, and my violin. And art. I discovered I can draw. Really well, actually. But I see my art as more of a hobby.'_

_Sherlock clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 'You could become a violin teacher, or an orchestra instructor. Maybe you could become a chemist. And why give up hope on becoming a successful artist? There's always hope, Ben, always.'_

_'Yeah, I know. But... my art is really personal. And... I don't want critics looking at it and telling me it's shit because it would be like they're telling me I'm shit. And I don't have the patience to be a teacher. Normal people are idiots; I'd probably kill them all for being stupid. Besides, I want something to do that exercises my mind. That lets me use it to its full potential, you know? Like was being a detective did for you.'_

_'I understand that perfectly. It's like my violin playing. It's entirely personal and I hate it when people overhear me playing. I prefer to play at night, as you may have noticed,' Sherlock said, feeling even more like his son by the moment. 'We'll work something out with you. I swear we will. If it's the last thing I do.'_

_'I've still got a year to figure things out,' Ben said softly. 'I'm sure we'll come up with something.'_

_'I don't care what you do. Just know that I will be proud of you no matter what. As long as it makes you happy.' Sherlock placed a kiss on Ben's head. 'Even if I lose more memory. Please don't forget that.'_

_'Ok,' Ben said softly. His body finally warm, his mind was beginning to fall asleep. Not so unusual after he'd used. He was always tired after a trip, but after nearly overdosing he was outright exhausted. He snuggled closer to his father, a hand searching for one of Sherlock's and grasping it._

_'Do you mind if I sleep?' Ben asked through a yawn. 'I don't want you to think you're boring me. It's just, I had a bad trip and my mind wants to repair itself. It's easiest when I'm asleep.'_

_'Go right ahead.' Sherlock cuddled Ben against himself, squeezing his hand to let his son know that he was there for him._

_Ben hummed and nuzzled his head against Sherlock's neck._

_'I... I'm sorry for what I said this morning,' he said softly. 'It was mostly the lack of drugs in my system. And, I just want you to know that I don't hate you. I don't. I just wish you were a bigger part of my life. But I don't hate you.'_

_'I'll try to be. I promise,' Sherlock ushered against Ben's curly hair. 'I love you, son.'_

_'Love you too,' Ben mumbled before falling asleep._

_As Sherlock watched his son sleep peacefully he found himself longing for sleep himself. However, the vicious and terrifying image of his father's fists flying at him scratched underneath his eyelids every time he tried jolted him back awake._

_So instead of sleep he was left to tend to his thoughts. They ran to his memory loss. He wondered if there was a pattern to when he forgot things or if it was completely random. He supposed the latter. But the more he thought about it the more he began to question it._

_Every time he'd forgotten things it had been after falling asleep. It was like he slept through the entire time missing in his mind. Maybe his brain gave off chemicals when he slept to encourage his dementia?_

_He blinked as a small whisper in the back of his head began to devise a plan to rid himself of memory loss._

_He would simply rid himself of sleep._

_He squeezed Ben impossibly tight to him and let out a defeated sigh. That plan would never work, and besides, who knew if his theory was right?_

_Ben grunted when Sherlock squeezed him tight, but he slept on. His dreams were full of stupid decisions, girls, and his father. They were all things he regretted, and he was disappointed to find his father among them. Maybe he was only there because he regretted what he'd said to him. Ben shrugged in his sleep and pressed his face closer to Sherlock's neck, closer to his body heat._

_He could experiment and see what sleep deprivation would do to his mind. Whether it stopped the memory loss or did nothing to quell it. It wouldn't hurt. A long time ago he'd run on very little sleep._

_A long time ago being the thing of importance. He wasn't as youthful as he had been when his sleep levels had been low._

_John wouldn't agree to it anyway so this plan of his was becoming harder and harder to pull off._

 

_**…::-::…** _

_John woke slowly, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets. He cracked an eye open, noticing that Sherlock was gone. Probably left to talk to Ben, he told himself. He stretched as he woke up, his muscles sore from not moving for hours, especially after being wrapped in a cocoon of blankets._

_He disentangled himself from the cocoon and made his way to the wardrobe, pulling on a fresh pair of pyjamas. He looked down at the alcohol and sighed. He wasn't sure what to do with it, but he wanted it out of the house. He grabbed the bottles and made his way downstairs. He padded into the kitchen and stood in front of the sink, contemplating. He opened a bottle and began pouring its contents down the sink before he could change his mind._

_Once all the alcohol was gone he put the bottles in the recycle, hidden under the rest that was in the bin. He didn't want to risk Ben or Felicity finding them. Not that they didn't already know about Sherlock's drinking, but he still wanted to protect them._

_He moved down the hall to Ben's room, listening for any indication that they were having a civil conversation. Nothing but silence came from behind the door, and for a brief moment he wondered if they'd knocked each other unconscious. He shook his head of the thought, telling himself that Ben was probably asleep and Sherlock had left him to sleep in peace. He opened the door slowly and quietly, his heart nearly breaking at the sight in front of him._

_Sherlock and Ben were cuddled together, Ben holding onto Sherlock tightly. John felt a few tears fall down his cheeks at the beautiful sight. Maybe there was hope for them yet._

_Sherlock lay perfectly still as John glanced into the room, hoping to look as though he'd fallen asleep. He shifted slightly so that his nose was buried in the crook of his son's shoulder._

_He held his breath._

_He somehow really didn't want to have to face John right now. Especially with the kind of ideas going through his mind currently. He just wanted to think in peace. Something he knew Ben could sympathise with._

_When he heard the door shut he sighed in relief._

_He could go back to his planning._

_John padded out to the sitting room and turned on the telly. If Sherlock and Ben were sleeping then he would have time to watch the movie he'd been putting off for a while. He flipped through the DVR recordings and selected the film, curling up clutching a pillow as the opening credits began._

_Tea. I need tea, he thought absently. And biscuits. He paused the movie to start the electric kettle and searched for some Jammie Dodgers. He opened a packet of Earl Grey and placed it in his mug, waiting for the water in the kettle to boil while munching on a Jammie Dodger. After he'd poured the tea he brought his mug and the box of biscuits with him to the sofa, plopping down and starting the movie again. He sipped at his tea, dipping a biscuit into it as it cooled, and enjoyed his film._

_Absently, he sent a quick text to Mycroft._

**Sherlock and Ben talked it out. Apparently it went well as they're both comfortably asleep. In Ben's bed. –JW**  
  
Mycroft's reply came a minute later.

 **Good. Then they can start recovering. And take pictures. They may need a reminder that they actually love each other. As they say, 'Pics or it didn't happen.' –MH**  
  
John laughed and paused his movie again, popping a biscuit in his mouth before quietly moving to Ben's room again. He eased the door open, phone at the ready. They were too damn adorable while they slept. So alike. John took a couple pictures and closed the door, sending one to Mycroft. Mycroft sent a smiley in reply.

_Sherlock held his tongue when John came in again. There were a couple of flashes and the sound of the door closing once more._

_He was half tempted to ask John for a drop more alcohol to carry on through the rest of the day. He was beginning to feel the urge to drink the liquid once more. Instead, he just settled for sighing loudly in annoyance and glanced at Ben, wishing that the boy was awake to talk._

_He didn't care what they talked about but god damn it he needed to stop his thoughts._

_Ben grumbled and pressed closer to his father. He could feel his father's turmoil, it was penetrating into his dreams. He moaned and stretched his neck, his curls rubbing against Sherlock's chin._

_'Mmm, Da? I can feel you thinkin'. You ok?'_

_Sherlock snorted. 'No,' he muttered. 'I'm not ok.'_

_'Wanna talk about it?' Ben mumbled. He stretched out like a cat, almost purring as he slowly woke up._

_'Do you really want to discuss my problems?' he asked gently._

_'We pretty much share the same problems,' Ben pointed out. 'So, what's up?'_

_'Need some alcohol,' Sherlock stated bluntly. 'And I have a few things going round in my mind.'_

_'Well, I can't help with the alcohol bit. Dad may just kill me,' Ben stated, a small smile pulling at his lips. 'But I'm willing to listen if you want to talk.'_

_Sherlock smiled back. 'I imagine he would, yes.' He would kill them both several times over._

_'I'll talk, but you're going to think of me as idiotic when you hear what I have to say.'_

_'I always think you're an idiot,' Ben smiled fondly. He budged up so he could look Sherlock in the eye, study his face as he spoke. 'Go ahead. What's on your mind? Doctor Holmes is in.'_

_Sherlock grinned. 'Well, doctor, I've come to a conclusion about my memory loss. I've also thought of a plan to stop it from happening. But, this plan may cause more harm than good.'_

_'Ok,' Ben nodded. 'And what conclusion have you drawn?'_

_'Sleep.' The word rolled off his tongue heavily. 'I need to cut it out of my life. It all comes down to sleep.'_

_'Oooookay?' Ben said slowly. 'What's wrong with sleep?'_

_'Whenever I lose time it's after I've fallen asleep. Always. It's like I sleep through those years missing in my mind. Conclusion: no sleep, then no memory loss.'_

_Sherlock sighed. 'Told you it was idiotic.'_

_'No, actually. I don't think it's idiotic at all,' Ben said. 'It makes sense. In a crazy sort of way, but it makes sense. If you don't go to sleep, you don't lose memories. And if you don't lose memories then maybe you can be a bigger part of my life. And then we can get clean together.'_

_'It makes sense but I have no idea how I'll avoid sleep.' Sherlock ran a hand down his face. 'I'm no spring chicken and I need sleep. It could make me painfully ill at my age.' He frowned. 'And there is no way your dad would let me carry it out. I suppose it makes it easier that I can't sleep at the moment anyway.' He gestured towards his eyes. 'Too many bad memories.'_

_'I hate to say this, but maybe you should... No. Ignore me. Drink a lot of caffeine. Those Monster drinks are really good. Avoid Red Bull though. Too much sugar for someone your age.'_

_'I feel insanely energised already. It could work short term of course. But long term? And I'm sure your dad will notice something is up when I start bouncing off the walls,' Sherlock laughed gently. 'I'll have to go cold turkey on the alcohol front, too. Shit,' he cursed and huffed. 'Shit.'_

_'I'm going cold turkey too, then,' Ben stated. 'We'll ride this out together. Ok?'_

_'Okay. God, I'm already feeling fucked over,' he moaned softly. 'What about you? How are you holding up?'_

_'Tired and quaking,' Ben said, his shivering picking back up as he awoke. 'Maybe I should sleep and you should spend some time with Dad? I'm sure he's wondering about me. Go. Talk. And... do whatever it is you do when I'm not here. Trust me. I won't hear anything. I sleep like the dead after a trip. I'm pretty much comatose after a bad one.'_

_'Will you be ok?' Sherlock questioned him. 'Because if you begin to feel really bad and you're conscious just come and find me. Though you should probably yell up in warning so I can make myself presentable.'_

_Ben shuddered but grinned. 'I'll be fine. And, if I start to feel like shit, I'll call for you. Promise. Now, go to Dad. Let him know I survived and am willing to get help.'_

_Sherlock nodded and crawled out from the covers, tucking them tighter around Ben to keep him warm. He slowly walked over to the door, his head still slightly light and his legs still trembling. He looked back and smiled._

_'Night Ben.'_

_'Night,' Ben mumbled into his pillow. 'And... Dad?' He looked up at Sherlock, his aquamarine eyes meeting Sherlock's grey ones._

_'Thanks. For everything.'_

_'It's quite alright, Ben. I'm glad that I was able to help. Even if it was just me rambling on.' He went to leave but looked back one more time._

_Ben snuggled into his cocoon further, humming at the warmth. He looked back at Sherlock and smiled._

_'Go. I'll be fine. And if I'm not, I'll come find you. Promise.'_

_Sherlock nodded and reluctantly took his leave._

_'And Dad?' Ben called suddenly, sitting up straight._

_Sherlock froze, swallowing down hard. 'Yes?' he questioned._

_'I... I don't hate you,' Ben said softly. 'I really don't. I'm just... angry. And... I love you. A lot.'_

_'I love you too, Ben. I understand your anger. Believe me when I say I spent my teenage years being pissed at the world.'_

_Sherlock's heart warmed to the core._

_**He doesn't hate me, he doesn't hate me, he doesn't hate me,**  a voice began to chant._

_Ben smiled and settled back into bed, wrapping his sheets around him tightly. 'Night, Dad.'_

_'Night Ben.' Sherlock slowly shut the door._

_John was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, completely absorbed in his movie. He sipped at his tea and nibbled on his biscuit, too engrossed in the film to drink and eat them properly. He saw motion in the corner of his eye and looked up. Sherlock was standing under the arch._

_'Oh. Hey, love,' John said, pausing the movie. 'Thought you and Ben were sleeping? How is he?' He patted the cushion next to him, offering Sherlock a seat._

_Sherlock plopped down besides John. 'He's a little shaken up from his trip but I think he'll be ok.'_

_'Good,' John sighed in relief. 'Thank goodness. And, it was nice to see you two like that. Curled up on his bed like you used to. It was quite a comforting sight. Jammie Dodger?' He held up the tray of cookies and smiled weakly._

_Sherlock shook his head politely. 'I'm not hungry. Thinking. Digestion slows my thought process.'_

_John's smile brightened. 'Now there's something I remember quite well,' he said. 'You never eating because you were thinking.' He set the cookies on the floor. 'Do you mind if I ask what you're thinking about?'_

_'I said I'd go cold turkey.' Sherlock pursed his lips. 'We made a pact we'd clean up together.'_

_'Ok. Good. That's good. Although, I don't know if both of you going cold turkey at the same time would be very pleasant. Especially for me. And when he starts getting the coke bugs you won't be any help at all because you'll be seeing god knows what while you're drying out.' John frowned and sighed._

_'But I know you two need to do this. I... I would just like you to do it in a proper facility with proper medical care should you need it.'_

_'No,' Sherlock replied, his voice harsh and verging on a snarl. 'I made a promise to our son. I said that I wouldn't go anywhere till he's on the right track.'_

_'Ok. Ok,' John said, holding up his hands. 'I didn't say you had to go. I was just telling you what I thought would be the better course of action. We could always get a live-in nurse or something. Or just get one that visits every day. But a live-in one might be better.'_

_'Fine,' Sherlock agreed, folding his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. He just hoped having a nurse wouldn't stop the plan he had devised to stay awake. That would be most irritating._

_'Hey.' John rested a hand on Sherlock's back, rubbing circles onto it. 'I'm glad you two are cleaning yourselves up. I am. But, what's with the pensive look? You look like I ruined one of your experiments.'_

_Damn and blast. Why did John have to know him so well?_

_'Sorry.' He composed his face. 'I'm beginning to dry out, and my head still hurts immensely. Still, at least I didn't pass out in Ben's arms. I nearly did.'_

_He hadn't lied to John. So why did he feel so guilty?_

_Because you didn't tell him the truth either you dimwit, a snide voice spoke aloud in his mind._

_'Understandable,' John said softly. 'And glad you were able to stay awake. Do you want a drink? Nonalcoholic. Like water or tea.'_

_'Coffee?' he asked, his eyes hopeful. 'Caffeinated. That decaffeinated stuff is wretched.'_

_Stage 1 of his plan: Get fixed on caffeine as quickly as possible without raising suspicion._

_'Ok, but not too much. You know how you are when on caffeine,' John grinned. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a steaming mug of coffee._

_'Careful,' he said passing it to Sherlock. 'Fresh and hot.' He sat back down on the sofa and grabbed the remote. 'Mind if I continue my film?'_

_'Go ahead.' Sherlock smiled through his guilt, sipping and blowing on the coffee impatiently to cool it down. John continued to watch the movie. Sherlock could just about tell it was one of those sappy love story films. He smirked as he consumed his coffee._

_**Oh John. My predictable, lovable John.** _

_It was exactly ten minutes after he'd finished his cup that he was hit with a bolt of energy. He grinned like a mad man as he wiggled in his seat, eyeing up John like a cat eyes up its prey. John did his best to ignore Sherlock, feeling his caffeinated energy seeping out of him and infecting the air. John was getting a contact high, and they weren't even touching. He tried to pay attention to his film, he did, but when he could feel Sherlock undressing him with his eyes it was very hard. And it didn't help that the main couple in the movie were about to get it on._

_John's pyjama bottoms suddenly felt very tight. Sherlock wriggled his last wriggle before finally pouncing at John, falling into a bundle on his lap with a seductive growl. John let out a squeal and laughed, wriggling in Sherlock's grasp._

_'Oh the wonderful things caffeine does to you,' he laughed joyfully._

_**Get used to it, John.**  He bit his lower lip. He'd almost said that out loud._

_Sherlock rubbed himself over John, shaking with energy like a blender mixing food. 'Oh, you have no idea,' he mumbled against John's neck. John moaned, his head leaning against the back of the sofa. His hands shot out and grasped Sherlock's hips, pulling him down and moving him against his clothed erection._

_**Oh, so** **now** **it decides to play nice,**  he cursed inwardly. He groaned and rut against Sherlock, not even bothering to pause the movie. The sounds coming from it were spurring him on._

_Sherlock gasped and grinned. 'Well hello.' He wriggled his eyebrows. 'Mini John decided to come and play,' he cooed. Panting and groans were coming from the film in the background and they only encouraged Sherlock to rut in return to John's rutting. His trousers were hot and tight and god did it feel good._

_'Want you,' John groaned, moving hard and fast against Sherlock. 'Inside. Please.'_

_'Flip over,' Sherlock ordered. 'Now.'_

_John followed Sherlock's order as best he could with Sherlock straddling him. He managed really well actually and sat on his knees, spreading his thighs and presenting his arse to Sherlock. Sherlock tugged John's trousers down and smiled maliciously. He licked his fingers rapidly and was quick to ease one inside John before adding another._

_'Don't yell out. Ben might be sleeping like a baby right now but you don't want to disturb him for life if he hears this.'_

_John nodded frantically and whimpered, pushing back on Sherlock's fingers. He clutched the edge of the sofa and moaned, sinking further onto his knees and purposefully on Sherlock's fingers._

_Sherlock hummed and curled his fingers. 'He said I had to comfort you, John. Basically said I could shag you long and hard to show you things are ok now. Want that? A long, hard shag?'_

_John nodded frantically again, not trusting his voice to be quiet at the moment. He pushed back on Sherlock's fingers, whimpering when they dragged along his prostate._

_'Long, hard shag,' he managed to rasp out. 'Yes. Yes, please. God, yes.'_

_'Then say bye to my fingers and hello to The Master.' Sherlock removed his fingers before slowly pushing his member into John. 'The Master shagging The Doctor. Mmm. Hell yes.'_

_'Yes! God yes! Fuck me, Master! Fantastic! Brilliant! Allons-y!' John cried, rocking back on Sherlock's perfect cock._

_Sherlock began at a tortuous pace, only speeding up his movements when he himself couldn't take it anymore. He covered John's mouth and tutted. 'No more shouting. Quiet down.'_

_'Sorry, sorry,' John mumbled into Sherlock's hand. He moved his hips to match Sherlock's pace, their skin slapping with a satisfyingly wet smack. He opened his mouth and licked Sherlock's palm, coating it with saliva, hoping it would get him to wank him to completion._

_'I know what you want, John. I'm just not sure we have a mutual understanding.' Sherlock thrust harder, running on the caffeine flowing through his veins. John whimpered in confusion, ceasing to lick Sherlock's hand in favour of turning to look at him, pleading with his eyes. 'Tell me. Tell me what you want,' was written all over them._

_Sherlock grunted and slammed himself into John. 'I'll help you out soon, dear. I just want this to last as long as possible.'_

_John nodded and thrust back, biting back screams as Sherlock hit his prostate relentlessly._

_'Keep... Keep that up and I... I won't last long,' John groaned out, barely managing to bury his face in the sofa before he cried out in pleasure, muffling it just in time._

_'Is the Master making the Doctor feel good?' Sherlock purred, slamming against John's prostate again and again._

_'The Doctor feels brilliant, Master,' John groaned out. 'Bloody brilliant. Ah! Fuck!' He squirmed and whimpered as Sherlock continued to pound into him, hitting his prostate with perfect precision every time._

_Sherlock hovered a hand over John's erection. 'Are you ready to cum, sweetie?'_

_'Yes! Yes!' John cried into the sofa. He was trembling and so close. It wouldn't take long, a few strokes. He nodded frantically and shifted his cock closer to Sherlock's waiting hand. Sherlock gripped John's erection tightly and began to stroke his hand up and down in time with the erratic beats of his heart. John's breath hitched and his heart rate skyrocketed. He thrust into Sherlock's hand, pushing back on his cock, and was cumming within seconds. His entire body shook, his back arched and pushed his cock further into Sherlock's hand, and he was pretty sure he felt his heart skip a beat or two as well. Sherlock hid his face against John as with a stuttering breath he felt himself cum. He placed kisses along the broad width between his lover's shoulders and sighed happily. John was struggling to catch his breath but arched into Sherlock's kisses all the same. He gulped down lungfuls of air, trying to calm his speeding heart rate. He managed to breathe out a 'thank you' before having to gulp down more air._

_'You're welcome. You deserved that after today.' Sherlock pulled away and tugged both his trousers and John's back up. He twisted his lover back around and sat in his lap._

_'Jesus Christ,' John heaved between breaths. 'I think... No, that was the most powerful orgasm I've had in years. Jesus. Wow.' He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair and breathed, finally catching his breath._

_'I think the extra noises on the side helped my drive.' Sherlock touched foreheads with John. 'What was that movie anyway? It sounded like a bad porno.'_

_'Don't judge me on the answer,' John said softly. 'But it was a_ _Sex and the City remake.'_

_Sherlock looked on at John gleefully. 'Trying to bring mini John out for a few fun and games were you?' He kissed his lover on the lips gingerly. 'It's much appreciated.'_

_'Not at first, no,' John smirked. 'But then you came out and had coffee and I know how you are on caffeine. And it was simply a happy coincidence that the sex part had started as soon as you jumped me.' He grinned and blushed, Sherlock's raised eyebrow making him laugh._

_'Ok, ok! So I skipped back to have some sexy background noises! Sorry, but it had spurred Little John on and you liked it too.'_

_'Mini Sherlock certainly liked the added sound effects,' Sherlock chuckled. 'And–' He hummed in thought. 'I want another coffee.' He kissed John's neck in urgency, knowing full well John would give him what he wanted._

_'Energy for another round?' John chuckled, arching his neck into Sherlock's kisses. 'I may have a cup myself. But you'll have to get off my lap so I can make it. Or you can join me in the kitchen.'_

_'I'll come with you and watch that beautiful arse of yours wiggle.' Sherlock grinned, getting off of John, pulling him to his feet, and slapping him on the right butt cheek._

_John laughed and leaned back against Sherlock's lanky frame. 'I want you to fuck me on the island,' he whispered against Sherlock's jaw._

_Sherlock laughed and shook his head. 'How about no. Make me.'_

_'I could always fuck you on the island,' John purred. He began to move to the kitchen, keeping his body connected to Sherlock's the entire way._

_Sherlock groaned. 'But you're so delicious. Little Sherlock's already popped out to say hello.'_

_'Mmm. Hello,' John purred, rubbing his arse against Sherlock's hard cock. 'Sure you want coffee first? Because I could take you right now. Ride you until you cum screaming.'_

_'I'll take the coffee,' Sherlock growled, pushing himself closer to John. The sooner his body got used to regular caffeine intake the better. As delightful as John's offer was._

_'Energy first, fucking after?' John asked with a smile. He pressed back, wriggling his arse against Sherlock's very hard and prominent erection._

_'Mmm. Please.' He poked out his tongue and ran it along John's neck. 'If that isn't too much to ask, dear.'_

_John's head lolled back onto Sherlock's shoulder and he moaned in pleasure, shuddering at how Sherlock's tongue felt against his skin. He moved almost drunkenly as he put more coffee in the filter and more water in the pot, turning it on and listening to it hum to life. John hummed himself, wiggling against Sherlock's cock as his husband's lips and teeth and tongue marked his neck._

_'I wuvv you,' Sherlock whispered. 'I love the way you make me feel, the way you catch me when I fall, and most importantly I love that throughout everything you didn't leave me to rot.' Sherlock nipped at John's skin. 'You are my other half, the one who completes me, and I can't thank you enough.'_

_'I wuvv you too, Sherlock,' John smiled. 'I love your brilliance, I love how perfect you make me feel, and how you're there for me and the kids even when you can't remember us. I love that you're helping Ben, supportive of Felicity, and now with little Mark.' John sighed and pressed himself to Sherlock's chest. 'I would never leave you to rot. I will always be here for you, no matter what. I love you too much to just up and abandon you all of a sudden for no apparent reason. I could never do that to you. You are my better half, and you make me better, you made me whole when I felt so empty, and I will always thank you for saving me. I love you so much.'_

_'Yes, but that loyal heart of yours is so damn beautiful.' Sherlock wrapped his arms around John tightly. 'It's what makes you so lovable. You're all heart, John. Unlike me. I was all mind and no heart. Now my mind is crumbling. And I need your heart more than ever. Does that sound silly?'_

_'No. It makes perfect sense,' John sighed. He wrapped his hands around himself, linking his hands with Sherlock's. 'And I promise to be here for you, always. Mind, body, heart, and soul.'_

_'I wish I could remember our wedding in detail,' Sherlock sighed heavily. 'It hurts that I missed out on giving you my vows. But I'm telling you now you have all of me, and you always will.'_

_'And you have all of me, whenever you need me, no matter what,' John smiled. He pulled Sherlock in for a soft kiss, their lips moulding together perfectly. The coffee maker beeped but John didn't pull away. He was perfectly content with kissing his husband at the moment._

_Sherlock sucked on John's lower lip before releasing it with an audible pop. 'Coffee, John?' he questioned after a minute of his husband simply staring at him giddily._

_'Hrm?' John grunted, still dazed from Sherlock's kiss. 'Oh. Coffee. Right. Yes.' He disentangled himself from Sherlock's arms and grabbed a pair of mugs, pouring the coffee into them and some creamer before passing one to Sherlock._

_Sherlock sniffed the coffee experimentally before raising the liquid to his lips and swallowing it as fast as he could despite the burning sensation in his mouth and throat caused by the scalding hot beverage. John merely raised an eyebrow as Sherlock gulped down his coffee. He sipped at his own, waiting for it to cool before he swallowed it in large gulps._

_'What's with the sudden caffeine intake?' John asked. 'Please don't replace one addiction for another.'_

_Sherlock removed the cup from his lips._

_'I'm not,' he lied coolly. 'I've simply had a tiring day and want my levels of energy to be high enough for when we resume our activities. Do you think me foolish enough to pick up a new addiction when I'm barely recovering from an old one?'_

_'No. I don't think you would be that idiotic,' John said softly. He drank the last of his coffee and sat his mug on the counter, taking Sherlock's and sitting it next to his._

_'So, where shall we resume our activities?' John purred, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck. 'Because now that I think about it maybe fucking on the island wouldn't be the best nor most comfortable idea.'_

_'Bed,' Sherlock said softly, glad John had bitten into the lie. He pressed his lips to his husband's and skimmed a hand down his side. John giggled slightly, squirming as Sherlock's hand went down his ribs. He could feel his heartbeat quickening, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the caffeine or Sherlock's actions._

_'Yes, bed,' he agreed between Sherlock's kisses. He tangled his fingers in Sherlock's curls and pulled, his tongue reaching for Sherlock's when his mouth opened in shock._

_The kiss was intense and energised. The two men didn't take their lips off of each other. They stumbled out of the kitchen, and by some miracle made it to the stairs and up them without injuring themselves. John walked backwards to their bed, leading Sherlock with his lips until he felt the back of his knees hit the mattress. He quickly flipped their positions, Sherlock falling onto the mattress and John landing on him, still snogging._

_'God,' Sherlock panted, breaking free. 'Coffee certainly spices things up a little.'_

_'Yes, it certainly does,' John panted, his eyes wide from the caffeine. He began placing kisses down Sherlock's body, pushing up his shirt so he could lick and suck at his chest and nipples._

_Sherlock began to pant heavily, placing kisses to the underside of John's jaw. 'Love you John,' he breathed. Those words were as meaningful as the first time he'd said them, if not more so._

_'Love you too,' John purred. 'So, do you want to take me again? Or do you want me to take you?'_

_'Take me! Take me!' He bucked upwards boisterously. 'Take me!'_

_'Oh the wonders of caffeine,' John laughed. He snaked a hand down Sherlock's torso and cupped him through his trousers. 'How do you want to be taken?'_

_'I don't care! Just take me!' Sherlock yelled at the top of his lungs, his erection throbbing like hell._

_'Take off all your clothes,' John ordered. 'And get the lube.' He sat up and stripped off his own shirt, easing his trousers down agonisingly slowly. His erection bobbed free and he heard Sherlock groan at the sight. He grinned like a mad man and wiggled his hips, his erection wagging like a happy dog's tail. Sherlock pulled his clothes off at lightning speed. He crawled across the bed and grabbed the lube from the bedside table. He lay on his back, legs spread wide._

_'Go ahead, dear.'_

_John crawled up Sherlock's lanky frame, kissing him passionately for a long time. When he finally pulled away he snatched the lube from Sherlock's hand and coated three fingers in the gel. Sherlock was still open from John's brutal pounding earlier, so he easily pushed the three inside, going slow in case Sherlock's arse was still sore._

_Sherlock hissed as John entered him, biting his lip hard. He shook his head at John's concerned expression. 'Just a tad sore. It's ok. Continue.'_

_John nodded and moved his fingers in deeper, searching for Sherlock's prostate. He dragged his fingers across it gently once he found it, prodding it every now and again. Sherlock's pain was replaced by a bout of utter pleasure and he found himself floating into paradise. He arched upwards and uttered a string of incoherent words._

_'You're babbling, love,' John grinned. 'My babbling brook.' He removed his fingers and quickly placed the head of his aching prick at Sherlock's entrance. He slicked himself with his lubed hand and gently pushed inside, smiling as Sherlock's babbling increased._

_'I can't help but babble. You completely fry my brain.' Sherlock managed to piece together a coherent sentence at last. He pushed backwards against John and moaned. 'You make it impossible to think.'_

_'You have no idea how that makes me feel,' John grinned, thrusting into Sherlock with gusto. 'That I, ex-Army doctor John Hamish Watson, can turn the great Sherlock Holmes into a babbling idiot.'_

_'Am not an idi–oh fuck!' Sherlock shuddered around John's member. 'Ok. Maybe I am. I'm your idiot.'_

_'Yes, that's exactly what you are,' John purred, thrusting faster. 'You're my beautiful idiot. And I love you.'_

_'Love – eh – you,' Sherlock grunted, rocking backwards. 'Touch me. Please?'_

_John's lubed hand groped Sherlock's prick, stroking slowly. 'Like that?' he asked with a smirk._

_'Faster!' Sherlock barked, rutting up into John's hand. John fucked Sherlock faster, wanking him in time to his thrusts. Sherlock was tight and hot; Sherlock was home. But god, he felt fucking fantastic around John's cock, his hot prick throbbing in his fist. John wanted more, wanted him every day, but with him getting clean those days wouldn't happen very often._

_So, John fucked Sherlock harder, flesh meeting with loud slaps, bodies warming and sweating in exertion. John bent down and kissed Sherlock soundly, tongues sliding together, fucking him like there was no tomorrow. Sherlock couldn't think, could barely move, or keep up with John's fast and forceful movements. His breath was barely making it out of his lungs. His mouth lay open, a victim of John's lips. His body was burning up as his heart pounded relentlessly in his chest. He felt hot, flustered, and out of control. But most of all he felt bloody brilliant. John continued to pound into Sherlock, his heartbeat racing from more than exertion now. He squeezed Sherlock's prick, wanking him just a little faster, focusing on the most sensitive parts to make his sweetie come undone. He released Sherlock's lips with an audible pop and gasped for air, bending down to suck and nip at one of his nipples as soon as he caught his breath._

_**Come on, come on. Cum for me love. Cum for me. Let me know I can fuck you without hurting you. Cum for me. Please.** _

_As John twirled his tongue around Sherlock's nipples the ex-detective could feel himself coming undone completely._

_'Yes!' he cried out loud as John continued to pump him in time with his manic thrusts. 'Nearly there. Nearly there.'_

_'Is the Master going to cum for the Doctor?' John purred against Sherlock's chest. He shifted slightly, lifted Sherlock's hips, and found his prostate, hitting it in a steady rhythm as he moved to Sherlock's other nipple. He clamped his mouth around it, sucking on it while swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak._

_Sherlock's eyes grew wide as John found all of his sensitive spots at once. He nodded eagerly and arched upwards. 'Yes! Yes Doctor! What was that saying of yours? Allons-y!' he called out as he came. The orgasm that hit him was powerful and shook him to the core._

_John felt Sherlock's cock throb and pulse as he came, felt his cum spurt out onto his chest in hot, excited streams. When Sherlock had caffeine every part of him was affected, and John loved that little fact._

_'Yes. That's my saying. Allons-y!' John said, fucking Sherlock furiously. 'Nearly there myself. You feel so fantastic, Master. Oh, I love being up your arse. So tight and hot, stretched solely for my cock and no one else's.' John gasped slightly, his prick threatening to cum._

_'Bite me?' he asked gently. 'Gently, of course. Or, you could play with my own nipples. Please, Master. Help me cum into your tight, warm, arsehole.'_

_Sherlock frowned as a memory of John almost bleeding to death because he had bitten him sprang to mind. That had been a long time ago but he still didn't want to risk that happening again. Instead he leant forwards and began to suck John's right nipple, swirling his tongue around it, and squeezing his lips tightly around it. John gasped and writhed under the power of Sherlock's tongue. He thrust faster, his hips stuttering as he neared his release._

_'Ugh, yes, yes!' he cried. 'Oh. Oh, fuck! Yes! God, yes!'_

_Sherlock sucked harder on John's nipple. He was close, he could tell. John's hips froze and he gasped sharply. His eyes popped open and his thrust once more before he came hard._

_Sherlock cried out sharply as John came within him. 'Oh god! Hmmm.' He licked John's nipple one more time before letting his head rest on the mattress._

_'Oooooh,' John moaned, sinking down onto Sherlock's chest. He hummed and nuzzled his husband's neck._

_'Glad that my prick decided to behave this time,' he mumbled._

_'Me too,' Sherlock sighed happily. 'Don't pull out just yet. Just want you to stay inside me for a bit,' he smirked._

_'Ok,' John smiled. He wiggled slightly, post-orgasm shivers travelling down his spine as he did._

_Sherlock ran a hand down John's chest. 'Still so sexy after all these years,' he chuckled. 'I believe before I met you I didn't know the meaning of sexy, nor was I particularly bothered by that fact.'_

_'I find that hard to believe because you were a walking marble statue,' John laughed softly. 'How could you not know what it meant to be sexy when you were a living personification?'_

_'Yes, well no one was ever brave enough to tell me. So how was I supposed to know?' Sherlock shrugged. 'I think that the human parts in the fridge tended to put them off.'_

_'Or you were too gorgeous people were mystified by you and we're too nervous to approach you,' John smiled softly. 'And maybe the body parts were a tad creepy for normal humans.'_

_'Are you saying you're abnormal?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow in amusement._

_'Yes, but in a good way,' John smiled. 'Or I'm a special kind of person. One who can tolerate your quirks. And I love them all.'_

_'You're definitely special,' Sherlock agreed. 'Any specific quirks of mine that you love more than others?'_

_'It's too difficult to choose,' John smiled. 'But I do like how you would talk to the skull when you thought I wasn't around. I swear I heard you call him John instead of Billy once or twice.'_

_Sherlock blushed crimson in colour. 'You must have misheard me.'_

_'Your blush just confirms it,' John grinned. 'It's ok. I find it kind of sweet. That you still talk to me even when I'm not there. Just proves how deep our bond runs.'_

_'Yes, or it just shows I'm insane,' Sherlock retorted._

_'There's nothing wrong with being insane,' John said softly. 'Your brand of insane is, while sometimes infuriating, was exciting and dangerous and fun.'_

_'Fun?' Sherlock giggled. 'Hmm, but we both know what you find really fun.' He wriggled his arse slightly, John still seated fully in him._

_'Oh yes. This is quite fun,' John sighed, moving with him. He was starting to get hard again, and he wasn't totally against that. 'Do you want me to take you again, or do you want to take me?'_

_Sherlock was just about to say that he wanted to be taken again when he heard a noise downstairs akin to a crash and someone groaning in pain._

_'It would seem neither. Ben's awake,' he sighed heavily in a brief lit of sexual frustration._

_'Shit,' John whispered. 'Go check on him, ok? I'll be down as soon as I can. And, you may want to clean up first. You smell like coffee, cum, and sex. And I don't think our son wants to smell that on you right now.'_

_'Let me hop in the shower... That is if I can move.' Sherlock looked down and smiled. 'And if you get out of my arse too.'_

_'Ugh. Don't wanna,' John pouted. He rolled off Sherlock though, settling on his back and frowning at his half hard prick._

_'Suddenly it decides to cooperate,' he mumbled. 'I'm blaming the caffeine.'_

_'Oh dear,' Sherlock snickered. 'What are you going to do?' He heaved himself up off the bed, kissing John and squeezing his member playfully for a brief second. He threw a grin at John before walking towards the bathroom as fast as his sore arse would allow._

_John groaned when Sherlock squeezed him, his prick going from only half hard to almost full on erect at the contact. He grinned and stood, following Sherlock into the bathroom._

_'I'm going to join you,' he purred. 'And, hopefully, you're going to suck me off.'_

_'I will not.' Sherlock shook his head in amusement. 'I plan to clean up as quickly as possible before Ben does something stupid.'_

_'But... What about Little John?' the bigger John pouted. 'He loves your mouth. Especially your tongue.'_

_'Little John will have to cope for now,' Sherlock purred, turning on the shower and stepping inside._

_John pouted but followed Sherlock into the shower._

_'Can you at least wank me for a little while?' he asked in a small voice. 'I know you should be tending to Ben, but Little John is clouding my judgment. 'And, when you do tend to him, please try to be quick and efficient. Because I'm not going to make myself cum unless I'm seated in your arse. Or you are in mine.'_

_Sherlock looked down at Little John. 'Very well, dear.' He wrapped his fingers around big John's member and began squeezing tightly as he twisted his hand around Little John._

_John moaned and sighed, closing his eyes as Sherlock touched him._

_'Thanks, love,' he breathed, rutting his hips slightly._

_'No problem. I'd hate to leave you in such a hard situation.' He laughed loudly. 'Now let's make this quick, ok?'_

_John nodded frantically, bracing himself against the shower wall as Sherlock's hand moved faster._

_'Come on, dear. You can do it,' Sherlock cooed, groping John tighter._

_John groaned and arched into Sherlock's touch, panting at the glorious sensations running through him._

_'Yes,' he whispered through gritted teeth. 'Yes. Come on, yes!' He came sharply and quickly; not very satisfying. But he knew that his and Sherlock's activities would continue soon enough, so he was fine with a simple filler orgasm._

_'Mmm. Thanks, love,' he sighed, resting against the cool tile of the shower._

_Sherlock nodded in understanding. 'It's fine, dear. Now let's get cleaned up, yes?' He let go of Little John and stepped fully into the water spray._

_'Yes. Let's,' John smiled, finally opening his eyes. While Sherlock worked on washing the smell of cum and sex off his body, John decided to wash his hair. He hasn't for quite some time and he felt Sherlock would enjoy it immensely. He picked up Sherlock's shampoo, poured a sizeable amount into his palm, lathered, and began working the pads of his fingers on Sherlock's scalp._

_Sherlock purred. 'I thought I said quick, John. Did I say turn me into a puddle of goo at your fingertips?' He hummed. 'I must have. Damn.'_

_'Haven't done this in a while. Decided to seize the opportunity,' John said softly. His fingers moved along Sherlock's scalp, massaging gently._

_'But Ben might–' Sherlock was cut off by a yell from downstairs from the boy in question. He groaned. '–need my help,' he finished, paling a little._

_'Shit,' John cursed. He moved Sherlock's head under the spray, rinsing the shampoo out before ushering him out and into a towel. 'Dry off quick and get dressed. I'll join you in a moment. Just need to clean myself up.'_

_Sherlock stumbled out of the shower and hurried to the wardrobe, chucking on a pair of dark blue pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt, not even bothering to dry off._

_He practically sprinted out the bedroom and down the stairs, ignoring the stinging of his arse, running on fear alone. 'Ben?!' he questioned, calling out to his son. 'Ben?'_

_'Fuck!' came his reply. 'Help!'_

_He stormed into Ben's bedroom and swore as he saw his son sprawled out on the floor, shaking like he was possessed. He was quick to reach him and pull him into a tight embrace. 'It's ok, Ben. I've got you now.'_

_'What... What's happening?' Ben asked, looking up at his father with fear in his eyes._

_'Your body and mind are rebelling against the lack of drugs in your system. It'll hurt. I'm sorry.' Sherlock cradled his son in his arms, rocking back and forth._

_'Does it normally happen this fast?' Ben asked, still quaking in his father's arms. 'I've never had it happen so fast before.'_

_'You've been giving your body more drugs than usual lately, yes?' Sherlock asked softly. 'You've made yourself dependent on them.'_

_'Fuck,' Ben spat. A violent shudder ripped up his spine suddenly. Ben whimpered at the intensity of it, stiffening in Sherlock's arms._

_'Shhh.' Sherlock ran a hand through Ben's hair. 'You're going to have to ride through it. I'm not going anywhere, ok?'_

_'How long will it last?' Ben grit out, gasping as another shudder ripped through him._

_'It depends on the person and how frequent your drug use was. There's no way I can tell.' Sherlock swallowed. 'I can remember it lasting for a while for me though. Again. I am so sorry. You've just got to stay strong.'_

_'How long did it last for you? Gah! Fuck!' Ben's spine curved back and he gasped at the intensity of it all. Tears were shining in his eyes but he refused to shed any._

_'I don't think you want to know that.' Sherlock hugged Ben tighter. 'I don't want to make your situation seem more dire.'_

_Ben whimpered and cried out as his body tried to twist itself in painful positions. Now Ben was crying. It was too much._

_John arrived then, out of breath as he had run the entire way. His hair was mussed from drying it quickly, his shirt on backwards, and his trousers hanging low on his hips._

_'Is he ok? What do we do? Should I start a hot bath or shower?' he asked frantically._

_Sherlock continued to clutch to his son. 'A hot bath,' he nodded. 'Is that ok, Ben? It'll make you feel better, promise.'_

_Ben nodded slowly, his eyes clenched shut._

_'Make it stop,' he rasped. John dashed off to the bathroom, plugging the drain in the tub and running the hot water. He didn't care if it was scalding hot or not, he just wanted Ben to feel better._

_Sherlock scooped Ben into his arms. 'I'll try my very best,' he whispered gently. He carried him to the bathroom and placed him on the floor. He removed his son's clothes, leaving his boxers on to save his dignity._

_'Come on.' He raised him again and placed him into the water carefully. He gulped, glancing at John who had clearly seen their son's scars. He shook his head and mouthed, 'Don't ask him.'_

_John paled and swallowed, nodding his head. Ben continued to shake in the water, splashing it around as his limbs flailed beyond his control. They started to relax as the hot water registered, his flailing easing slightly._

_'Do you mind leaving for a few minutes, John? I want to talk to Ben. Alone,' Sherlock asked his husband gingerly. John looked slightly hurt but nodded. Sherlock knew what he was doing, had the most experience in the area, so he should be the one to care for Ben. He left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He moved to the sitting room, curling up on the couch, staring at the telly. His movie was still paused on the screen. He sighed and turned off the television, turning to face the back of the couch._

_Sherlock let out a sigh and turned to Ben. 'How are you holding up?'_

_'Better,' Ben managed. 'Shakings not so bad.'_

_'Good,' Sherlock smiled weakly. He let out another sigh. 'I've started detoxing as well. Won't be long till my shakes start too. Your dad isn't looking forward to that. Us both shaking and fending off our demons.'_

_'Wish he didn't have to go through dealing with us,' Ben muttered. 'He's gonna hate us.'_

_'No he's not.' Sherlock shook his head. 'He's just worried about us.'_

_'Still wish he didn't have to deal.' Ben shuddered again, though it wasn't as intense as before. 'Wish he didn't have to go through this with us.'_

_'I know. Which is why we have to stay strong. For him.' Sherlock glanced away from Ben. 'I've already started my caffeine intake so I can help you through this without... you know.'_

_'Without skipping it entirely?' Ben offered._

_'Yes,' Sherlock replied. 'Without that.'_

_'Ok. And how's it going so far? Hyperactive nerves on fire?' Ben smirked._

_'You could say that,' Sherlock returned the smirk. 'I've already had two cups. I think your dad's suspicious already.'_

_'Dad would be,' Ben laughed. 'But if you've been using your energy for... other activities–' A shudder ripped through him for an entirely different reason. '–then maybe he isn't as suspicious as he would normally be.'_

_'And hopefully I'll be able to distract him for the duration of this whole, erm, experiment,' Sherlock chuckled. 'And if he does notice I'll simply sulk. That usually works.'_

_'He's a sucker for puppy eyes,' Ben smirked._

_'He is,' Sherlock grinned. 'Whenever I wanted a smoke I'd give him those puppy eyes. He'd always hide them from me,' he pouted. 'Said I was doing well on my patches. But in the end I always won.'_

_'So, how long are you planning on staying awake for?' Ben asked softly. 'And don't say forever because that is physically impossible. The human body can't survive without sleep. And I think the longest anyone has stayed awake at one time is two weeks.'_

_'Then let it be two weeks. And if I last longer then so be it.' Sherlock puffed out his cheeks. 'Because I'm not going to close my eyes. Not by choice. I'll sleep when exhaustion takes me.'_

_'Don't be stupid about this,' Ben scolded. 'I don't want you dying from sleep deprivation, especially during a detox. If you feel like you can't keep your eyes open, go to sleep. If you wake up and it's a few months later, so be it. You can talk to me since you've told me what you think is going on. I just don't want you to die from a stupid cause. Understood?'_

_'It's not a stupid cause, Ben. It's for you.' Sherlock's brow creased. 'I want to be there for you.'_

_'I realise that,' Ben said. A hand eased up out of the water and grasped Sherlock's, squeezing tight. 'But I don't want you to be an idiot about it. Yes, I want you to be there for me while I'm going through all this. But I also want you to take care of yourself while you detox. Ok? Don't forget about yourself and don't focus solely on me.'_

_'That's going to be a challenge.' He attempted a smile, squeezing Ben's hand back. 'How can I focus on myself when I know you're going through hell?'_

_'I'll have Dad,' Ben offered. 'Or, you get Dad to take care of you while you take care of me.'_

_Sherlock nodded but slowly. 'About your dad,' he sighed, frowning. 'I don't think he's coping with any of this at all. I don't want to rely on him too much.'_

_'How do you mean?' Ben asked softly._

_'He was really quite distraught earlier when he found your drugs and supplies. I think he blames himself for everything.' Sherlock looked at Ben with sad eyes._

_'Dad always does,' Ben sighed, sinking into the water. 'I wish he didn't. I didn't start because of him. I started because... I, uh, wanted to impress a girl.'_

_Sherlock pursed his lips together. 'I know. Felicity told me and your dad the whole story earlier.' He exhaled through his nose harshly. 'So, my son is a hit with the ladies?' He raised his right eyebrow. 'Though apparently ones whom are of the wrong crowd.'_

_'Oh yes,' Ben grinned. 'The ladies love Bad Boy Benedict Holmes. And while they may be of the "wrong crowd" they're good everywhere else.'_

_Sherlock blushed and looked away from his son awkwardly. 'I'm glad you at least have somewhat of a love life in your teenage years.'_

_Ben laughed. 'Yeah. Somewhat. But you must have been a hit too. I mean, come on. If I'm your son and I look anything like you did at my age, I mean you must have had some offers.'_

_'No,' Sherlock said a little too quickly. 'I mean... No,' he said slower than before, shaking his head. 'I was told that caring wasn't an advantage, that emotions would bring about the fall of the man, and I was branded as a freak by both my father and the rest of society. The only two words spoken to me through university were "piss off" and to be honest, with my drug use and higher intellect I wanted nothing to do with other human beings. The first and only relationship I have ever been in is with your dad.' His blush turned darker and he continued to look away from his son._

_'Wait. Was... Was Dad your first?' Ben asked incredulously._

_Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose as shame swallowed him whole. 'Yes. He was my first everything, Ben.'_

_'As... embarrassing as that is, I have to admit it's actually kind of romantic,' Ben smiled. 'That you two were each other's first, in many ways, and you're still together. Not a lot of people can say they married their first. But you two can.'_

_'I suppose if you put it that way it doesn't make me look completely hopeless.' Sherlock turned back to Ben with a small smile playing at his lips._

_'Just say you were saving yourself for the right person,' Ben said. 'I only wish I'd done the same.'_

_'At least you'll have a bit of experience behind you for when you do find the right person,' Sherlock tried to reassure his son._

_'Yeah, sure,' Ben sighed. 'It wasn't even that good, ya know?' He looked up at Sherlock and blushed. 'I mean, it barely lasted two minutes. And then she left. Just up and got dressed and left.'_

_Sherlock snorted. 'Forget her. If she's going to treat you like that then she's not worth it. Not that I approve of her getting you into the drugs even if she had treated you right.'_

_He smiled to himself. 'Because the first time with your dad was bloody fantastic. Don't get me wrong. It wasn't perfect. It was far from perfect. I was high on a homemade drug and inexperienced and your dad had only been with women before.' He chuckled at how mortified his son looked._

_'Sorry,' he apologised. 'It was a good memory. I don't have nearly enough of those up in my mind palace.'_

_'I was high as a fucking kite too,' Ben admitted. 'Honestly, I don't remember much. I don't remember the girl or her name. All I remember is that she bedded me and left as soon as it was over.'_

_'My high wasn't a high that would affect my memory... it did however effect my body quite severely.' He blushed again. 'Anyway, you don't want or need to hear about that.'_

_'No, I really don't,' Ben blushed._

_Sherlock chuckled. 'Saying that I can at least tell you about the day previous. The chemicals were quite slow working you see. The effects on my mind happened the day before. I can tell you that fairies, unicorns and Leprocorns were all involved in my hallucinations.'_

_'I don't see anything like that,' Ben said softly. 'I wish I saw fairies and peaceful stuff like that.'_

_'That's only with my homemade chemicals, Ben. With the hard stuff that you're on right now–' He made a sharp noise in the back of his throat. 'I saw shit so terrible that it made me want to–' He stopped mid-sentence. 'I'm not going to finish that.'_

_'Yeah. Same here,' Ben sighed. He took a deep breath and sunk under the water, letting it surround his pounding head. The warmth was quite welcome but it only made his head pound harder. He resurfaced, gasping for breath, cringing at the sharp pains pounding away in his skull._

_'It feels like someone's beating my head from the inside out,' he grit out. 'Like there's something trapped inside and is trying to escape.'_

_Sherlock nodded, knowing full well how much it hurt to detox from drugs. 'I'm sorry that there's nothing I can do to stop that.' He leant forwards and placed a light kiss upon the top of Ben's curls._

_Ben groaned and rested his pounding head against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall._

_'Why did I have to be such a bloody idiot?' he groaned in frustration._

_'It runs in the family, sorry,' Sherlock chuckled lightly._

_Ben returned the light chuckle._

_'Could you get me some aspirin?' he asked softly._

_'Yes, sure,' he said softly. 'I'll have to ask your dad where they are though. Blasted memory.'_

_'They're in the cupboard behind the mirror,' Ben said, pointing to the mirror above the sink._

_'Oh.' Sherlock felt truly idiotic. 'Of course.' He opened the cupboard and pulled out a box of aspirin. 'Are you ok swallowing them dry or shall I fetch you a drink?'_

_'I can dry swallow,' Ben said softly. 'Had a bit of practice on... other things.' He blushed._

_Sherlock raised an eyebrow, blushing a little too, but enjoying the fact that his son was so embarrassed. 'So, a hit with the men too?' He was beaming from ear to ear as he passed two white pills over to Ben._

_'A bit, yeah.' Ben blushed further. He tossed the pills in his mouth and swallowed harshly. 'I mean, I haven't gone that far with another bloke before. Just... oral stuff.'_

_'It's fine, Ben,' Sherlock told his son. 'It's all fine.'_

_'Hey, that's Dad's line,' Ben smirked. He settled down into the water, stretching his legs out until his toes surfaced. He was getting too long for the bath. Damn._

_'What? And I can't borrow it?' Sherlock joked. 'It's a good line.'_

_'It is a good line,' Ben smiled. 'And it can mean so many things too.'_

_'He always used it on me,' Sherlock said with a soft sigh. 'Often once we'd cooled off from having arguments like an old married couple.'_

_'Ah. So he used it in the "it's all fine I forgive you" way,' Ben nodded slowly, not wanting to disturb his head. 'He used the "it's all fine, I accept you for who you are" on me when I told him I was bi.'_

_'There's nothing wrong with being bi,' Sherlock snorted. 'Today's society has to categorise everything. I know that I certainly can't put my and your dad's relationship into a category.'_

_'I thought you were gay?' Ben asked, confused. 'And Dad was bi?'_

_'Oh here we go. Categorising. I told you.' Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'It's far more complicated than that.'_

_'How is it more complicated?' Ben asked, peering over at his father. 'You only like men, Dad likes men and women. How is that complicated?'_

_'Ben, before I met your dad, the only sexual attraction I felt towards someone was myself. I was one hell of an asexual bastard. I suppose that's one of the reasons I was scared to tell him how I felt. I suddenly wasn't asexual anymore. Except I was. It was just him. As for your dad...' Sherlock shrugged. 'I don't know. But I at least know that he wasn't a true bisexual. No, he was far too nervous and jittery for our first time. He hadn't been with another man before. Try and put that into a category Ben. Go on, try.'_

_Ben stared back, flabbergasted. He blinked and shook his head._

_'Ok. I get it. I just... Well, I guess things aren't all black and white. There's a multitude of grey areas in between.'_

_Sherlock nodded. 'Remember that and apply it to life in general and you may go places, Benny.' His eyes widened and he swallowed. 'I, uh, Ben. I apologise.'_

_'No, it's ok,' Ben sighed, settling back in the water. 'You can call me Benny if you want. I just didn't want you to this morning because I was on edge and needed drugs.'_

_'You're still in need of drugs and it won't be long till you're on edge once more,' Sherlock pointed out. 'I'd really rather not get yelled at again,' he mumbled._

_'Well, when I'm in good moods feel free,' Ben said. 'All my friends – well, I say friends. But they call me Benny.'_

_'Ok, Benny,' Sherlock replied in a small, experimental voice._

_'Thanks, Dad,' Ben said softly._

_'No problem. How's the head?' he asked softly. 'Have the pills started working their magic yet?'_

_'Sort of,' Ben groaned. 'It's probably be better if I had a scalp massage. Could you do that?'_

_Sherlock nodded and reached forwards tentatively, moving his spidery fingers in small motions on Ben's scalp. 'I'm afraid it's your dad that gives wonderful head massages, not me,' he smirked. 'He's fascinated with my curly locks even after all these years.'_

_'I always liked it when he washed my hair,' Ben sighed. 'I always felt weak in the knees afterwards, but in the best possible way. You aren't doing too bad though.'_

_Sherlock hummed. 'I mentioned the asexuality thing, yes? I was quite used to giving myself head massages. I bloody enjoyed it too. I half thought I was attracted to myself.' He continued to work his fingers through Ben's hair._

_'Narcissist much?' Ben joked, smiling up at his father. He hummed and pressed closer to Sherlock's fingers. 'This feels pretty bloody fantastic, too.'_

_'There's nothing wrong with loving yourself,' he huffed before nodding._

_'Good.' Sherlock worked his fingers methodically along Ben's skull. 'It should help a little. At least I hope it will.'_

_'Yes, but you can also love yourself a little too much,' Ben mumbled. His head lolled towards Sherlock's magical fingers, wanting more contact._

_'Too much?' Sherlock questioned. 'You can never love yourself too much. I loved being the most brilliant man in the room at all times.'_

_'I do too, but there's a fine line between being brilliant and being a smug, know-it-all prick,' Ben groaned. 'I had to learn that the hard way.'_

_'Let me guess. Someone punched you in the face? Or – wait, no.' Sherlock studied Ben closely. 'Worse than punched.' He licked his lips in clear agitation and sighed. 'I know what that feels like. Beaten and treated as an outsider just for being a show off. It's not our faults. We're show offs. It's in our blood. It's what we do.'_

_'They threw me in a dumpster and locked the lid,' Ben sniffled. 'Now, not only do I hate the smell of tuna sandwiches, but I'm also claustrophobic.'_

_Sherlock shuddered. 'Bastards,' he muttered angrily under his breath._

_'As for the claustrophobia I can sympathise with entirely. My cellar was quite a tight spot to spend your nights in.'_

_'How did you survive that?' Ben asked softly. 'Why didn't you just end it all?'_

_'To tell you the truth Benny, I barely did. I became a sickly child as a result of spending my nights in the cold, damp cellar. Sometimes my father would beat me hard enough to make me pass out cold. Other times I thought I would bleed to death from my wounds.' He paled, his eyes turning stony and his head feeling heavy with the weight of his past. 'I suppose that's why I started the drugs and the cutting. I wanted to end it all, I really did. However I was such a coward. I was terrified of the thought of dying.' He frowned deeply. 'Sorry. You probably don't want to be hearing such things.'_

_'I probably don't, but I want to hear them anyway,' Ben said softly. 'Because if I know how you survived, maybe I can too.' He looked down at his arms, the needle marks littering the inside of his elbows and the razor slashes covering nearly every inch of his lower arms. He frowned and cursed himself. Why did he have to do such stupid things?_

_Sherlock's gaze wandered to where his son was looking. He sighed, feeling nothing but compassion for Ben. 'If it helps, my scars are much worse. And I survived and pulled through.'_

_'What? The scars on your arms? Because I've seen those and they aren't nearly as bad as mine.' Ben frowned and placed his arms behind his back, sinking into the water until his nose was just barely above water level._

_'Those faded a long time ago,' Sherlock agreed. 'Nothing but faint reminders. However, my back is a battlefield and tells a thousand stories.'_

_'Oh,' Ben mumbled softly from under the water. He looked up at Sherlock with sad eyes._

_'Are you curious about what they look like even after all this time?' Sherlock questioned, his voice a little miserable. 'Because it's ok if you are. I could show you if you like.'_

_'I don't want to see them unless you're comfortable showing me,' Ben said softly, raising out of the water so his chin was above the water level._

_Sherlock brought his hands to the soft material of his t-shirt. They were shaking terribly so and it took him far longer than it should have to pull off the item of clothing. He took a deep breath, still facing forwards in the direction of his son._

_'Ready?' he asked, voice holding an unusual tremor to it._

_'As I'll ever be,' Ben answered in an equally small voice._

_Sherlock turned swiftly around, going for the ripping off a band aid as quick as lighting theory will be far less painful than slowly peeling it away. He stood there, his back to his son._

_Some of his scars had faded but for most of the deep lacerations, cuts and burns time had angered them and they had reddened with irritation and age. Some were thick, and some were spidery thin. They criss-crossed each other, entwining together. The word freak was still vibrant and visible and littered around it were an array of cigarette burns that seemed to sizzle on his flesh even now. His natural milky colored skin was marred and completely hidden by different shades of reds._

_He simply stood there, hardly daring to breathe._

_Ben stared at Sherlock's back, his eyes sweeping over the scarred surface, deducing and observing. What really captured his interest was the word 'freak' etched into the skin. It was a name he had been labeled for quite some time, had felt like he had been branded with it. Sherlock actually had. He gingerly lifted his hand from the water and placed it over the word, the warm water dripping down Sherlock's back in thick droplets._

_'I'm sorry,' Ben whispered. 'I'm so sorry.'_

_Sherlock hissed in pain and coiled back. 'It's fine,' he muttered sadly. He continued to stand with his back to him, not wanting to have to look him in the eyes. Ben quickly removed his hand like Sherlock's skin was on fire. He shoved it under the water and drew up his knees, resting his forehead on them, clenching his eyes shut._

_**You hurt him. You hurt Sherlock. Your own father. Why would you do that? How could you do that? You swore you would never hurt anyone again. After what happened with Melody? And David? Why would you do that?** _

_'Shut up,' Ben mumbled aloud. 'Shut up. Go away. Go away!'_

_'What?' Sherlock asked, his throat constricting, now even more terrified of facing his son. Did his son find his scars that disgusting that he wanted him to go? A tear flickered down his cheekbone._

_'The voice,' Ben sniffled. 'Go away. Make it go away.'_

_Sherlock frowned and finally turned around. 'Oh, Benny,' he whispered sorrowfully. He crouched by the bath and looped his arms around his son. 'Can you try and focus on my voice? Forget everything else. Just my voice.'_

_'It's too loud!' Ben screamed, his hands flying to cover his ears. 'It's too loud! Shut up! Shut up! Go away! I don't want you here!'_

_'Benny!' Sherlock shouted, shaking his son harshly. 'Just focus on me! Block that voice out. Lock it away. Just focus on me!'_

_'Don't yell!' Ben sobbed, grasping for Sherlock's arms. 'I don't like it when you yell.' He wasn't sure if he was talking to Sherlock or the voice at that point. John heard shouting coming from the bathroom and lifted his head, alert and his heart pounding in his throat. He uncurled himself from the couch and dashed back, bursting inside without knocking. Sherlock was clutching Ben, whom was sobbing and demanding that someone or something shut up. But that wasn't what scared John._

_What scared John was that Sherlock's back was to him and he was shirtless, and John had full view of the scars on his back. They were as red and angry as he first remembered them, if not more so. He stood there, confused. Hadn't those faded years ago? He could have sworn they had. Because he gave Sherlock massages after he woke up with hangovers and they had never looked so bad before. Why were they suddenly back?_

_'John, if you came in to help please do so. Don't just stand there.' Sherlock turned his head to face John and saw that he was staring at something. No, not something. His back._

_'You look like you've never seen my scars before,' he said, voice dripping with hurt._

_John shook his head. Best save that for another time. He made his way over to Ben who was clutching his head in his hands and rocking back and forth, muttering, 'Shut up, shut up,' under his breath._

_'Ben? It's Dad,' he said softly. 'Can you hear me?'_

_Ben nodded, still rocking and muttering._

_'Ok. Focus on me for a moment, alright?'_

_Ben nodded again._

_'Ok, now listen. That voice? I want you to shrink it down. Not just in volume but in size. Ok? Shrink it until it's the size of a mouse.'_

_Ben stopped muttering, listening and imagining._

_'Good. Now, pick up that voice and put it in a jar. Screw the lid on tight so you can't hear it.'_

_Ben stopped rocking._

_'Now, sit back and watch it suffocate.'_

_Ben grinned and laughed slightly. He gulped down lungfuls of air, giggling as he watched the voice die._

_Sherlock looked gratefully over to his husband. 'Thank you,' he smiled. That smile soon turned into a frown however when he saw John's eyes were flickering to his back once more. 'Can you stop that?' he spat defensively, turning his back away from him._

_John swallowed and looked away, blinking away tears of confusion and hurt._

_'Are you two going to be ok for a while?' he asked softly. 'Ben, would you like to go back to bed?'_

_'No,' Ben said softly. 'I mean, yes, I'll be fine but no, I don't want to go to bed. I want to stay in the bath for a little while longer if that's ok.'_

_'Sure, Ben. That's fine.' John placed a soft kiss to his forehead. 'Remember the suffocating thing for later if that happens again, ok?'_

_'Ok,' Ben smiled softly. John stood and looked down at Sherlock, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head, indicating he wanted him to follow. He looked back to Ben and smiled softly, taking his leave and going to the sitting room._

_Sherlock frowned and glared in the direction John had gone. 'What in God's name was that all about?' he muttered to himself, sitting fully on the floor now._

_'What was what about?' Ben asked, lounging back in the tub._

_'Your dad couldn't stop staring at my back. You'd think he'd be used to my scars by now.' Sherlock continued to frown in contemplation._

_'Maybe he hadn't seen them in a while,' Ben offered. 'Like, you guys haven't been... intimate in a while, so maybe he was just like, "Whoa, I forgot those were there."'_

_'No, that can't be it,' Sherlock shook his head. 'Because we have and he didn't focus on them then.'_

_'Ok, so... Earlier today he was fine with seeing them but now all of a sudden he isn't. What changed between the first time you were intimate today and now?'_

_'Nothing,' Sherlock said, confused and hurt. 'Well, I suppose you came home and we discovered your drugs and supplies. And then there were my flashbacks to my father trying to kill me. And we discussed my drug habits a little... But still, why would any of that change the way he sees my scars?'_

_'Maybe his view of them didn't change. Maybe your scars did.' Ben sat up slightly. 'Like, you know how some memories can cause physical aches and such? Maybe when you started remembering things about your father your scars flared up. I know I've had some of my scars do that when I remembered specific memories attached to them.'_

_Sherlock's mouth swung agape. 'Can scars really do that? Fade and then come back with a vengeance?'_

_'Honestly? I don't know.' Ben shrugged. 'But it's the best guess I've got.'_

_Sherlock swallowed thickly. 'Are they really quite bad?' he questioned, turning to try and get a look at his scars._

_'Honestly, Dad? They look like they're brand new, not faded and old,' Ben said softly. 'They're red and raw and they look like they hurt really bad.'_

_'They are rather sore,' he nodded._

_Sherlock turned himself into an awkward position, desperate to catch a glimpse of the raw feeling scars. However as he did so he felt his muscles spasm and a fierce some pain travel along his spine._

_'Fuck!' he yelled out, eyes watering as the pain continued to raid his back. The pain was so hot and intense that it was beginning to irritate his already irate scars. He tried to move but found himself stuck in a horrible position and unable to move a muscle. Waves of nausea began to rock through his body._

_After that things seemed to go into slow motion for him. His mouth opened and pure liquid began spilling out to the ground. It reeked of alcohol and caffeine and by the time all of it had been purged from Sherlock's stomach it had covered practically the entire bathroom floor. It was a vile brown color but had no solidity. His stomach suddenly felt very, very empty, and he realised to his shock horror that he was starving. There had been no food whatsoever in his system stating that he'd probably gone without for a good few days._

_As his brain finished deducing the contents he had just vomited up he fell painfully hard onto the floor and into the mess he had created. His entire body shook, purged of all its alcoholic contents, and all its contents full stop. As the smell of the alcohol based bile drifted up his nose he groaned. He wanted nothing more in the world to lap it up, which of course was wrong and repulsing, but to him in that moment it was as good as drinking the stuff first hand. Forgetting his son was watching, probably already terrified and horrified by the turn of events, he stuck his tongue out. Just one little taste. It wouldn't hurt. It couldn't hurt. It would make things better._

_'Sherlock, I swear to god, if you take one taste of that, forget rehab, I'll just kill you,' John said sternly from the door. He looked to Ben who was trembling again, covering his face so he wouldn't see the disgusting image of his father lying in a pool of his own bile. If only he hadn't heard what happened. John sighed loudly through his nose. He stepped into the bathroom and hauled Sherlock up, wiping him down with a towel before sitting him on the toilet._

_'Stay there,' he instructed, his inner captain coming out for the first time in years. He went over to Ben; he was still shaking and hiding behind his hands._

_'Ben, I'm sorry you had to see and hear that,' he apologised softly. 'But it's a normal thing during detox for an alcoholic. But that doesn't make it any better. If it's alright with you, I'm going to take you back to your room and put your father in here, alright?'_

_Ben nodded slowly. John hauled him up, carrying him in his arms, and took him back to his bed. His towel from earlier was on his floor, so John wrapped him in that._

_'Go ahead and get in some dry pants. I'll be back later to give you something to help you sleep.'_

_Ben nodded again and John went back to Sherlock. He stripped off his trousers and helped him into the lukewarm water, taking a damp washcloth and washing the bile from his skin. He didn't say anything, he didn't know what to say really, but he also knew Sherlock's head was probably pounding and he wanted silence for the time being. John just hoped he wouldn't pass out on him before he got him into bed._

_Sherlock's head was a pounding, throbbing mess. It felt too heavy for his neck to hold up. His throat hurt from throwing up so violently. And then his back, of course, the idiotic thing that had left him crippled, kept on twingeing._

_'Of all the time for my back to play up,' he rasped, glancing at John through glazed over eyes._

_John still didn't speak. He continued to wash Sherlock, going so far as to give him a scalp massage in lieu of washing his hair. Sherlock's back hadn't played up, his scars had returned. And they looked fresh, not old and faded like they should be. John was too confused to voice his worries, so he just massaged Sherlock's aching head instead._

_'Your silence is unnerving me, John,' Sherlock muttered weakly. 'Say something, anything, please.'_

_'You're a berk,' John huffed, continuing to massage Sherlock's head. He could feel his pulse beating in Sherlock's temples and he frowned._

_'I am not.' His head swayed to the side slightly. 'I couldn't have predicted this. There was no way to stop me from expelling the liquid in my stomach.'_

_'You said say anything,' John frowned. 'And you could have predicted this. With that much alcohol in an empty stomach? You should have seen this coming. When was the last time you ate, if you can remember?'_

_'I was unaware of how bad my situation had gotten. I was too focused on Benny I suppose. I don't know when I last ate. Don't I usually eat with you and the children?' Sherlock rubbed his stomach and, as though replying, it growled. 'I feel like I haven't eaten for a while though.' He looked over to John sadly. 'My muscles pulled in my back when I tried to look at my scars. The pain made my scars feel like they were on fire and I became nauseous. So I threw up before I could stop myself. I apologise.'_

_John sighed, his fingers stilling on Sherlock's head._

_'I'm sorry, love,' he apologised. 'I just... I've never done anything like this before. Helped someone through detox. And having to take care of two of you at once? It's going to be hard, and I'm going to need help. So, why don't you clean yourself up for a bit? I'll get Ben back into bed, then mop the floor in here. And then maybe I can get some toast in you. Does that sound ok?'_

_Sherlock nodded dumbly. 'Ok. Can you get me some coffee too? Water's dull.'_

_'No. The caffeine will only dehydrate you,' John said. 'You'll have milk or juice. No caffeine.'_

_'Don't care. I want a coffee,' Sherlock whined, pouting._

_'And I said no,' John said forcefully. 'While you're detoxing you need to take better care of yourself than you usually do. That means more hydration, more food, and more sleep. You can have caffeine during the day, but you've already had two cups and you threw them up all over the floor. I am not giving you more and that's final.'_

_Sherlock frowned at John moodily. 'Fuck you,' he snarled, not able to stop those two words fleeing from his mouth. He needed the caffeine. He didn't need sleep._

_'Fuck you too. Stupid git,' John mumbled under his breath. He left the room to tend to Ben, grabbing the sleeping pills from the kitchen medicine cupboard on the way._

_'Here,' he said, giving Ben the bottle. 'Take two of these and curl up in your blankets. You should be conked out within fifteen minutes.'_

_'Ok,' Ben nodded, taking two pills and handing the bottle back to John. He crawled into bed in clean pants and a sleep shirt, wrapping his blankets around him like a cocoon. 'How's Dad doing?'_

_'Being a berk, as always.'_

_'Be nice, ok Dad? He's having a rough time.'_

_'So are you, but at least you aren't demand caffeine from me.' Ben frowned, knowing why Sherlock wanted and needed the caffeine._

_'Why can't he have at least one cup of coffee?' he said softly. 'I imagine you're going to try to get some food in him, so why not let him have eggs and toast and juice and coffee? It's not like one little cup will hurt him.'_

_John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Why do you always have to be the rational one?' he smiled gently. 'Ok, I see your point. I'll let him have one cup, but only one. Now, go to sleep and we'll see how you feel in the morning, alright?'_

_'Alright.' Ben snuggled down in his blankets and hummed. John pressed a soft kiss to his forehead._

_'Love you,' he whispered._

_'Love you too,' Ben whispered back._

_John closed the door behind him and went back to the bathroom, Sherlock still sulking in the bath._

_'Ok, you can have the coffee,' he started. 'But only one cup and you have to eat all the food I give you. Understood?'_

_A smile crept along Sherlock's face. 'Thank you. I'll try my best to eat all you lay out for me.'_

_'Good,' John sighed. 'I'm sorry for being a stubborn idiot.'_

_'I'm sorry for being such a dick,' Sherlock apologised in return._

_'Clean up now, I'll mop, then you can watch me cook,' John smiled softly._

_Sherlock nodded. 'Can I ask you something first?'_

_'And what's that, love?'_

_Sherlock turned gently so his back was facing John. 'Do my scars disgust you?'_

_John blinked. He hadn't been expecting that._

_'No, love. Not at all,' he said softly. 'I've just never seen them so... inflamed and irritated before.'_

_'I don't believe you,' Sherlock replied in a small voice. 'Touch them.'_

_John blinked again. 'I am, well, I was a doctor, Sherlock,' he said gently. 'I've seen things far worse than this in the clinic. And in the war. Have you ever seen how mangled and torn the flesh is after a limb has literally been blown off a body? Because that looks a lot worse than your back.'_

_He gingerly raised a hand and placed it over the word 'freak,' same as Ben had. 'There. See? I'm not disgusted. Just concerned.'_

_Sherlock's breath hitched. 'They may not be the most terrible scars but fuck do they hurt.'_

_'They look really painful,' John observed._

_'They are,' Sherlock sighed tiredly._

_'They also look brand new,' John mused. He ran his thumb over a raised scar experimentally. It started to bleed under his touch._

_Sherlock yelped as he felt blood surge from one of his scars. 'J-ohn,' he stuttered. 'Make the pain stop.'_

_'Shit. I'm sorry, love.' John scrambled to get some cream and bandages. He gently washed Sherlock's back, more scars opening and bleeding as he did. He patted the cream on Sherlock's back in thick patches, wrapping the bandages around him to trap the blood._

_'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' he apologised profusely._

_'It's... ok,' Sherlock swallowed. 'Just bloody clean that mess up on the floor and then get in here to make me feel better.'_

_'Ok,' John sighed. He kissed the back of Sherlock's neck and stood to grab the mop. He cleaned the floor quickly, soaking the mop in warm, soapy water afterwards. He stripped from his clothes and climbed in the bath with Sherlock, sitting in front of him and offering him a small smile._

_Sherlock gestured for John to come closer. 'Cuddle me?' he asked gently._

_John scootched closer, his legs sliding around Sherlock's side and pulling him close. He gently wrapped his arms across Sherlock's lower back, resting his head on his chest, listening to his heart._

_Sherlock nuzzled John with his nose. 'I want you, John,' he whined in a needy voice. 'I want you to take me.'_

_'I could sense that, yeah,' John smiled softly. He shifted slightly, Sherlock's hardening cock rubbing against his thigh. 'But I'm not taking you here. Not in the tub. The last time we tried that, well, that's how you sprained your back. And I'm not risking that again. Especially with your scars having flared up so badly too.'_

_'Can you carry me?' Sherlock asked, puppy dog eyes coming out to play. 'My legs won't be able to carry my weight. Not now at least. I feel weak. Probably from the lack of food in my system.'_

_'I could, yes,' John sighed. 'I wish you would eat first, though. But I know you won't. Where do you want to go?'_

_'The sofa.' He wriggled his eyebrows. 'I believe I have a few frisky movies myself that we could ride each other too.'_

_'Ooo,' John purred. 'Looking forward to that.' He unplugged the tub's drain and climbed out, drying himself off before helping Sherlock out and doing the same but gentler._

_Gently, he picked Sherlock up in his arms and carried him to the sitting room. 'How do you want us?'_

_'Lay me on the sofa and I'll tell you what DVD I want,' Sherlock growled, placing a kiss on John's jaw._

_'Oh, so we're adding background noises are we?' John purred. He laid Sherlock on the sofa, kissing him thoroughly once he was comfortable._

_'Mmm, yes,' Sherlock chuckled after John broke away. He scanned his eyes over the DVDs, searching for something erotic that would help John along. He sighed in thought, chewing on his lip. Nothing matched up to the memory of his and John's first time that he had by some miracle retrieved from his mind palace. However, his eyes caught a glimpse of a DVD with a blank cover, no title. He didn't know why, but he was drawn to that one._

_'That one, there.' He pointed to the chosen DVD._

_'Huh. Never seen that one before,' he mused. He grabbed it from the shelf and studied it. 'I really hope this isn't anything of one of the kids.' He popped the DVD into the player and waited for it to start. Much to his embarrassment it didn't belong to the kids._

_It was a tape of him and Sherlock and their first time together._

_Sherlock moaned. 'I wasn't aware that you filmed us, John. Though I'm glad that you did.'_

_'I... I didn't,' John gulped. He watched his younger self crawl on top of the younger Sherlock and began rutting over him like an animal. The memory of Sherlock busting through his pants surfaced just as it happened in the video. Both Johns groaned, the present John blushing crimson as his cock responded to the sound._

_'Well you must have taped it, John.' Sherlock let out a low wolf whistle as his younger self burst through his pants. 'Blimey. What were we? Horny teenagers?'_

_'Didn't tape it,' John mumbled. 'Mycroft–' He stopped when he recognised the signs of himself cumming. The him on the screen cried out, screaming Sherlock's name as he came. The real John whimpered in his seat, his cock hardening as he listened to himself cum._

_Sherlock shuddered at the thought of his brother taping his and John's activities. 'I don't want to think about that.'_

_He glanced over to John and grinned. 'Shall we copy our younger selves?' he questioned. 'Do a little role playing as ourselves?'_

_John was panting and he was achingly hard. He hadn't even touched himself and he was already leaking. He whimpered his agreement, not trusting his voice to form coherent sentences._

_'Come on then, John. Come and get me,' Sherlock challenged. John jumped Sherlock, mashing his lips on his, grinding against him, rutting like a teenager. Sherlock groaned loudly against John's hot lips pressed to his. The noises in the background were only growing in volume and he could tell that his husband was close._

_'If I remember correctly,' John groaned, 'this is about the time I gave you your first ever blow job. Do you want an accurate play-by-play representation role play?'_

_'God, yes,' Sherlock moaned in a low, gravelly voice. 'Make me into a whimpering mess. Make me into my past self.'_

_'Can't make any promises, but I'll do my best.' John kissed his way down Sherlock's chest, sucking his nipples into flushed peaks before nipping down his abdomen._

_Sherlock blew out his cheeks and shivered. 'Mmmm. Show me how much you love me, John.'_

_'Mmm, yes,' John moaned. He nipped at Sherlock's stomach before moving down to his engorged cock. He grasped the base and stood it straight, swirling his tongue around the head before sucking on it loudly._

_Sherlock groaned and thrust his hips upwards manically. His brow creased as he felt himself expand within John's mouth rapidly to the point of actually paining him. He gasped out and grunted. 'What the–?'_

_John moaned around Sherlock's engorged cock, bobbing his head along the amount he could swallow. He rose up and gasped for breath, panting over the head of Sherlock's cock._

_'God damn that fucking drug,' he gasped before swallowing a little more of Sherlock's massive cock._

_'John!' Sherlock exclaimed through gritted teeth. 'What the hell is–' His member throbbed, stretching to an even more abnormal size. '–going on?' he finished breathlessly._

_'That damn Viagra drug is what's going on, Sherlock,' John gasped, releasing Sherlock's prick with a pop. 'And I promised to give you a fucking fantastic blow job to help you out.'_

_Sherlock frowned. 'I'm not–' His breath shuddered. '–roleplaying right now, John. But I'll still take you up on that offer. I desperately need your help.'_

_John's lip twitched downwards. 'Then how the hell did your prick get so large? I thought that maybe you had somehow tricked your body into thinking you'd taken the drug. I wouldn't put it past you.'_

_'I've been rather preoccupied today, John. I haven't had time to do such a thing.' Tears shone in his eyes as he looked down at his member. 'Help me out with my problem, John. Now.'_

_'Do you still want the blow job or do you want me to take you? Because, if I remember correctly, the blow job took too long and was rather painful. But the taking you bit you seemed to enjoy more.'_

_'I just–' His entire body tensed up. 'Please can you just take my pain away?'_

_'I can try,' John murmured. He sealed his lips with Sherlock's, kissing him soundly. He held his fingers up to Sherlock's lips when he moved away, dragging them across his Cupid's bow until his lips parted._

_'Suck.'_

_Sherlock took John's fingers into his mouth, sucking them harshly, rolling his tongue over them. He moaned erotically and locked eyes with his husband. John stared into Sherlock's eyes, listening to their moaning coming from the telly. He'd never been so aroused in his life, nor had he ever thought that listening and watching a secret sex tape of him and Sherlock would be so erotic. He removed his fingers from Sherlock's mouth with a sickeningly sweet pop, moaning at how obscene the sound was. He swirled his two fingers around Sherlock's entrance, pushing against it slightly before easing them inside slowly._

_Sherlock rocked backwards on John's fingers. He looped his thin legs around John tightly. His eyes were heavy with lust and he was panting furiously. John licked his palm and grasped his prick, slicking himself up before he pushed the head of his prick against his fingers._

_Sherlock trembled and clutched to John tighter. 'Get... in,' he grunted. 'Get in now.'_

_'Yes, love,' John grunted. He pushed inside, his fingers spreading as he did. It felt weird having his fingers and his cock inside Sherlock at the same time, but it wasn't entirely uncomfortable._

_Sherlock's entire body shook. It felt strange with John's fingers and throbbing member in him at the same time. His arse felt like it was on fire. A number of gurgling sounds formed in the back of his throat._

_John thrust into Sherlock, scissoring his fingers slowly as he did._

_'Well this is... interesting,' he grunted, panting heavily. The Sherlock on the telly screamed John's name, the real John's cock pulsing at the sound of it._

_'It most certainly is,' Sherlock agreed with a loud moan. 'Do that again.'_

_'Hmm? You mean this?' John asked playfully, spreading his fingers and thrusting into Sherlock again._

_Sherlock nodded vigorously, closing his eyes and tilting his head to listen to the TV. 'Yes,' he gasped. 'Do that but faster.'_

_'Mmm, yes,' John growled. He thrust faster, scissoring his fingers wider, listening to the delicious moans coming from his Sherlock and the one on the telly._

_'Harder,' he demanded. 'Go deeper inside me.' He pushed backwards on John._

_'Gonna have to remove my fingers to do that,' John groaned. He glanced over to the TV. Their younger selves were still fucking, only Sherlock was the one giving the pounding now._

_'Do it.' Sherlock looked over to the TV and whimpered. 'Oh god. Just–' The sentence was lost on the tip of his tongue. John swiftly removed his fingers and tangled them in Sherlock's hair. He gave him an open-mouthed kiss as he began to pound into him ruthlessly. Sherlock closed his eyes as John began to make relentless love to him. However, that turned out to be a grave mistake. His father was waiting for him behind his eyelids. He opened up his eyes with a startled cry. His scars burned on his back and he threw his arms over John's neck as he writhed in a mixture of pain and pleasure._

_'Shh, love. Shh,' John said softly. He placed soft kisses along Sherlock's throat and jaw, his fingers kneaded softly at the base of his scalp, trying to relax him before he started moving again. 'It's ok. It's ok. I'm here. I'm here.'_

_Sherlock whimpered, nodding against John. He rocked in time with John's thrusts at a satisfying rate. John scraped his teeth over Sherlock's collarbone, sucked on his Adam's apple gently, and licked, bit, and sucked nearly every inch of his throat. He thrust a little harder, listening to the moans and groans coming from the TV while focusing on his own Sherlock's needs. His hands moved to Sherlock's lower back, pushing him up slightly so he could reach a different angle. Now he was managing to stimulate his husband's prostate, which he seemed to really need._

_Everything was heated. Their bodies fit perfectly together, like two pieces of a jigsaw. They moved their bodies against each other with perfect precision and care._

_Sherlock needed a distraction from the scars, from his father, from life._

_John made the perfect distraction._

_When his husband finally found his pleasure spot Sherlock threw his head back and began mumbling things in Gallifreyan under his breath. John looked down at Sherlock, confusion etched on his face. His hips never faltered in their pace, even going so much as to go faster and harder._

_'Sherlock? Are you... are you speaking Gallifreyan?' he asked incredulously._

_Sherlock laughed, a little out of breath. 'Yes. I was speaking the language of the Timelords.'_

_'Mmm, say something again,' John purred. 'Say something sexy. Talk dirty to me in the language of the Timelords.'_

_'Hei'Mase Senda!' Sherlock growled down John's ear, gripping his shoulders firmly. 'Krva'Styg!'_

_'God. I have no idea what you're saying,' John moaned, his hips stuttering at the guttural, beautiful sounds coming from Sherlock's lips. 'But I love it!'_

_'Kantan'Dialaen!' Sherlock roared as he rocked back on John's member, a wide grin wriggling across his face._

_'Hnng, yes!' John cried, thrusting faster. 'Yes! Oh fuck!' Suddenly he was so close to a release it hurt. He loved Sherlock's words, wanted them to push him over the edge, never wanted them to stop._

_Sherlock was like an excitable pup as he searched for more words in Gallifreyan that he could say to turn John to an even more whimpering mess than he already was._

_'Maerdy!' He knew that that word was so appropriate for this perfect moment between he and John that he was lost within._

_'More,' John moaned, thrusting deep. 'Close. More, please.'_

_Sherlock caressed the base of John's neck with his lips. 'Kuila,' he whispered gently into his ear, watching as the tiny word unraveled his husband completely._

_John made a sort of choked sound in his throat, the word seeming to travel through him and straight to his groin. He buried himself deep in Sherlock and let out a strangled cry as he came, burying his face in Sherlock's shoulder as his hips stuttered and the erotic noises from the TV spurred him on._

_Sherlock cried out as John came deep within him and he found his own blissful albeit long and ever so slightly painful release. He placed his chin on John's head and began muttering in Gallifreyan, 'Nemiar,' over and over._

_'Mmm, I think I know what that one means,' John hummed. 'Nemiar you too. And you're very welcome.'_

_Sherlock hummed and pressed his lips to John's. 'Thank you,' he repeated, this time in English._

_John smiled and pressed his lips to Sherlock's again. He kissed him slowly, savouring his taste, dipping his tongue between their parted lips and licking the outline of Sherlock's Cupid's bow._

_Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair. 'You're beautiful,' he said in a hushed voice against his lover's lips. 'And bloody amazing.'_

_'You're pretty amazing yourself,' John smiled as he placed kisses along Sherlock's jaw. 'And you're downright gorgeous.'_

_'This downright gorgeous man is downright hungry.' Sherlock pulled his puppy eyes for the second time that day._

_'And does my puppy-eyed husband want me to make him some food?' John purred._

_Sherlock ran his hands down John's chest. 'If that isn't too much to ask, dear. I'd love you forever and ever if you did.' His puppy dog eyes grew and his lower lip quivered playfully._

_'I can't deny my puppy his food,' John smiled. He brought his lips to Sherlock's for a chaste kiss before pulling out and standing up._

_'Do you want to get dressed and join me in the kitchen? Or shall we simply remain nude?' John smirked._

_Sherlock tried to sit up, testing how far his back would allow him to move. He barely moved an inch before one of his deeper scars protested and the muscles beneath it clenched painfully together. He feel back onto the sofa with a grunt._

_'This puppy isn't going anywhere anytime soon.'_

_'I could carry my puppy to the kitchen,' John suggested. 'Would my puppy like that?'_

_Sherlock nodded eagerly. 'Your little puppy likes that idea a lot.'_

_John smiled and sat Sherlock up gingerly. He bent down to place a kiss to Sherlock's forehead, sliding his hands down and under his bum._

_'Hold onto me, Puppy,' he smirked. He slowly stood up, lifting Sherlock up off the couch. The taller man's lanky legs wrapped around his waist, his arms flying to wrap around his shoulders._

_'Weren't expecting that now, were you Puppy?' John smiled broadly._

_'No, your puppy certainly wasn't expecting that,' Sherlock breathed out in shock. 'But it wasn't an unpleasant surprise.'_

_'I thought it'd be easier on your back,' John explained. He adjusted his hold slightly, Sherlock bouncing in his arms. 'Now, shall I make my puppy some food?'_

_'That was very thoughtful of you,' Sherlock's voice rumbled. 'Now make your puppy some food.'_

_'My, my. Puppy is very demanding,' John smirked. He carried Sherlock into the kitchen, setting him on one of the stools at the island. 'What does my puppy want to eat?'_

_'Food,' Sherlock replied, his sarcasm thick. 'And a hell of a lot of it.'_

_'How about breakfast for dinner?' John asked, kneading Sherlock's thighs absently. 'Eggs, bacon, toast, whatever. Sound good?'_

_Sherlock's stomach growled at the prospect of food. 'Everything on the menu. I'm starving.'_

_John plucked a banana out of the fruit basket and passed it to Sherlock. 'Start with this. Good source 'o potassium and it should ease the grumbling in your stomach.'_

_'I like bananas. Bananas are good!' Sherlock exclaimed, peeling the yellow fruit before sucking it into his mouth and savoring the taste._

_'Bananas are very good,' John smiled. He moved to the stove, placed a pan on a burner and turned it on. He moved to the fridge and got out eggs, bacon, and the bread._

_'How do you want your eggs, 'Lock?' he asked, turning to face his husband._

_'Hot,' Sherlock replied through a mouthful of banana. 'Just like you.'_

_John blushed. 'You know what I mean,' he said. 'Scrambled, sunny side up, whatever. This is your breakfast, I'm making it specifically to your orders. So, I'll ask you again. How do you want your eggs, sir?'_

_'Scrambled, because that's what your brain is right now as you watch me eat.' Sherlock waggled his eyebrows._

_'Watching you deep throat a banana definitely has my mind scrambled,' John admitted, not ashamed in the least. He cracked three eggs into a bowl and started whisking them with a fork, breaking the yolks and mixing them all together. He set some bacon strips on the pan, humming as they sizzled and cooked._

_Sherlock chuckled as he swallowed the last of his banana. 'I love the view, dear.'_

_'It's a lot better up close,' John smirked, wiggling his arse teasingly._

_Sherlock licked his lips and groaned. 'Teasing little bastard, aren't you?'_

_'It's one of the many reasons why you love me,' John grinned, licking his lips and winking at his husband._

_'Is it now?' Sherlock asked in clear amusement._

_'From my observations, yes, yes it is,' John grinned. 'You've taught me a thing or two about observing and not just seeing. Well, I've observed that you like my teasing. It frustrates you, makes you feel what's happening to your body, it helps you leave your mind and helps you live in the moment.'_

_Sherlock hummed his approval. 'It certainly does make me feel. And how can I not live in the moment? I'm with you. That's all that matters.'_

_John smiled and flipped the bacon, listening to it sizzle and pop. 'Yes. When I'm with you, all I can do is be in the moment. Nothing else exists when we're together.'_

_'Nothing else exists in my world when you are with me,' Sherlock stated honestly. 'You are my world.'_

_John blushed and puffed his chest forward. Sherlock had never gone so far to say that before, although John had known it for years._

_'I remember when I was simply your conscience,' John smiled fondly. 'Then it grew to moral compass, then friend, then heart, and now I'm your world. You're quite the romantic.'_

_Sherlock smiled genuinely and found himself blushing too. 'Perhaps all it took was the right person for me to explore that aspect of myself.'_

_'And I was the right person,' John stated simply. 'I'm honoured.'_

_'It's always been you, John, always,' Sherlock whispered, hanging his head shyly._

_John blushed, his heart hammering in his chest. He turned to Sherlock and saw he was hiding behind his hair. He sighed and walked over to him, the bacon would be fine for a few minutes._

_'Hey,' he said gently. He tilted Sherlock's chin up so they could see eye to eye. 'There's nothing wrong with me being the only one. Absolutely nothing. You were my first as well, only you my first male experience and not my first everything. And let me tell you this: you are a far better lover than any of the women I have ever bedded.'_

_Sherlock smirked smugly, his shy awkwardness washing away. 'Of course I am! I'd be offended if I wasn't.' He grabbed John and pulled him closer, kissing him as rapidly and harshly as he could._

_John grabbed Sherlock's curls and tangled his fingers in them, pulling him closer while they snogged. His tongue delved into Sherlock's mouth, tasting the roof of his mouth, that little fold of skin underneath his tongue, even running it under his upper lip and against his teeth._

_Sherlock let out a harsh pant when he broke away from the kiss, leaning his head against John. 'I'm glad that you were my one and only, John.'_

_John hummed in agreement. 'I'm glad you let me get close enough to become that,' he murmured softly._

_'I'm glad too, because look at our lives now. They may not be perfect but we still have each other,' Sherlock smiled. 'Whereas before we weren't really living, were we? We were drifting, alone, and living for the sake of it. At least I know I was.'_

_'We were both so alone,' John mumbled. A hand moved to tangle in Sherlock's curls, comforting him. 'I was an empty shell of the man I used to be, carrying on for the sake of being a war hero. But I was so empty inside. Until I met you. You made me whole again, Sherlock. And I owe you so much.'_

_'And I was alone also. I was a freak, I was friendless, my heart was made of stone, I was reckless, and most of all I was in constant pain. At least now my emotional pain is more easily managed. You seem to be able to calm me.' Sherlock leant into John's touch and hummed._

_'You became my friend, made me feel a little more normal, melted my heart, and stopped me from being reckless. You made me a better man.'_

_'God, Sherlock,' John breathed. 'When you speak you say the most beautiful things. How am I supposed to compete with that when your words sound like poetry?' He tilted Sherlock's head up so he could gaze into his eyes again._

_'All I can say to that is you are the best man, the most human... human being I've ever known, and I promise to love you until the end of my days and beyond.'_

_'If I am a good man, if my words are beautiful, if I am human, it is because of you.' Sherlock placed a hand on John's cheek. 'And I will love you for as long as my mind is intact.'_

_John's happy mood instantly fell, his smile turning into a frown._

_'I'd rather you not say it like that,' he said in a small voice. 'Because, for all we know, your memories could be gone by tomorrow. And that doesn't give us a lot of time to be in love.'_

_'Oh, I wouldn't worry about my memory loss for a while, John. I think I've got a way of keeping it under control,' Sherlock smirked before realising what he had just said. He stumbled for a way to cover his tracks._

_'Is that the bacon burning?' he questioned quickly._

_'What? What are you–' He sniffed the air. Shit. The bacon was burning. He rushed to the stove and grabbed the pan's handle, lifting it off the hot burner and setting it on a cool one. Once the crisis was averted he ran a hand down his face, taking deep breaths. He grabbed a plate and a paper towel, setting the towel on the plate before putting the bacon on it._

_'Well, at least it's still edible,' he laughed slightly. 'Hope you like your bacon extra crispy. Oh, and don't think I forgot about that "keeping it under control" bit. I still want to talk about that.' He put more bacon on the pan and returned it to the hot burner, listening to the calming sizzle and pop._

_'I just meant that I feel like I've got more control as of late,' Sherlock lied. He had no control over his situation. Or at least he'd had no control but now that he had formed a plan to not sleep by keeping up his caffeine supply he had a little control so perhaps it wasn't such a lie._

_'Oh? And how have you been doing that?' John asked, pressing a piece of bacon down so it cooked thoroughly._

_'Maybe my mind is becoming more settled in my old age,' Sherlock joked lightly._

_John frowned slightly, continuing to poke at the bacon._

_'Turn that frown upside down,' Sherlock smiled softly. 'It doesn't suit you.'_

_John's lip twitched upward slightly, not really having it in him to smile fully._

_'I've upset you,' Sherlock stated, frowning himself now._

_'No,' John frowned, flipping the bacon over. 'I've just depressed myself. Thinking about you losing your memories and your mind and not being able to remember me–' His voice cracked and a sob escaped his throat._

_'Hey now, stop those tears in their tracks. It won't happen for a long time to come.' Sherlock was even more determined to stay awake now. He had to stop his memory loss for not just his son but for John, and Felicity, and everyone else who was important to him._

_John nodded and clenched his eyes shut, trying to stop his tears. 'Want... Want you,' he choked out. 'Hold me.'_

_Sherlock nodded. 'Of course, dear.' He got to his feet and began making his way over to John. He ignored the way his back muscles protested, he ignored the way his scars itched and burned and threatened to bleed underneath the bandages his husband had wrapped around him earlier. He made his way to John and tugged him into a tight hug._

_'Everything is fine right now. We're having breakfast. We've just made love. It might be a good idea to hide that DVD in case the children find it. We can use it at another time if you like. Live in the now, John. Not the what could be.'_

_John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders, grasping him tight. He nodded, breathing in Sherlock's scent along with the smell of bacon. It was an interesting combination, and it made him laugh._

_'Care to share the joke?' Sherlock asked. 'Not that I don't prefer that adorable laugh of yours over tears.'_

_'Just... It smells like you and bacon. And I like it,' John smiled._

_Sherlock sniffed deeply. 'Funny, it smells a lot more like your scent and bacon.'_

_'Sex and bacon,' John laughed._

_Sherlock licked his lips. 'My two favourite things.'_

_'Sex with you is my favourite thing,' John purred._

_'Oh, I bet it is,' Sherlock purred back. 'You can't get enough of me.'_

_'When I'm with you I'm insatiable,' John growled against Sherlock's throat._

_Sherlock chuckled. 'It would seem that way, yes.'_

_'I should get back to the bacon before it burns,' John said softly. 'Here.' He grabbed a piece from the plate and held it up to Sherlock's lips. 'It will probably be really crispy, so let me know what you think.'_

_Sherlock bit into the bacon with an audible crunch. Despite the fact that it was burnt it tasted sensational on his tongue. He hummed._

_'Yum!' he exclaimed like the overgrown child he was._

_'Really?' John asked. He popped the remaining piece into his mouth, chewing it with quite the audible crunch. 'Hmm. Despite being burnt, that actually isn't that bad.'_

_'More, more, more,' Sherlock chorused, opening his mouth wide and looking at John with expectant eyes._

_'Oh, so are you a baby bird now?' John joked. 'Because I don't think that's a good idea. You do know how birds feed their babies, right?'_

_Sherlock shrugged. 'Why would I want to know something as mundane and unimportant as that?'_

_'I'm not sure you want to know,' John said. 'Here.' He gave Sherlock the plate of bacon. 'Go sit. I'll put the fresh bacon on there soon. But leave me some, ok? And I'll get started on the eggs too.'_

_Sherlock took the bacon gratefully from John. 'Thank you,' he nodded curtly before making his slow and painful journey back to where he'd been sitting previously._

_'You are quite welcome, love.' John turned back to the last few pieces of bacon, moving them around the pan, listening to them sizzle._

_Sherlock gobbled his bacon greedily, nearly forgetting to leave John some but not quite. When he was finished he just stared at John, his John, his world._

_John deemed the bacon cooked enough. He turned the burner down so he could scramble Sherlock's eggs without burning those too. He grabbed the pan's handle and a set of tongs, turning to Sherlock so he could out the bacon on his plate. Upon seeing him staring he couldn't help but smile, and he laughed loudly when he saw he had saved him one lonely little piece of bacon._

_'Thanks, love,' he smiled brightly. He grabbed the one piece and popped it into his mouth, chewing it loudly. He put the fresh bacon on Sherlock's plate._

_'Don't gobble those down as fast as the last. They're fresh and hot and will burn your tongue. And I don't want your tongue to be in pain when I bite it later,' he winked._

_'Biting? Why you violent man,' Sherlock smiled, chewing on his lip. He stabbed his fork in the new bacon and began nibbling at it cautiously._

_John growled and clicked his teeth together, grinning at Sherlock. He went back to the stove and poured the eggs into the pan. He set the pan back on the burner and began pushing the eggs around with a spatula._

_With John's back turned Sherlock grinned and began to wolf down his bacon, filling his stomach nicely. It felt good to be able to eat, to have food sliding down his throat and into his belly._

_The eggs were cooking nicely. John risked leaving them to pop some bread in the toaster, making sure to set it to a low temperature. With Sherlock in the kitchen while he cooked, it could be dangerous. Sherlock was quite the distraction._

_Sherlock swallowed the last of the bacon with a guilty gulp. He hadn't even left John one measly piece that time. He shook his head. Where had this damn hunger come from? And why hadn't he eaten in so long?_

_The toast popped up and John spread some jam on the pieces. He offered Sherlock one and ate the other one himself. When he noticed the empty plate of bacon he laughed._

_'Hungry, were you?'_

_'Incredibly so,' Sherlock replied quickly before crunching down on his toast._

_'Hey, slow down,' John said. 'Don't eat so fast or you might get sick again.'_

_'But I'm hungry,' Sherlock complained. 'And my stomach needs it. It's been empty for god knows how long!'_

_'I realise that, love, but please slow down. At least try.'_

_Sherlock slowed down but glared at John grumpily. 'How come I didn't have food in my stomach anyway?'_

_'Oh, so it's my fault you haven't been eating?' John asked._

_Sherlock shrugged. 'You know how I am. My memory and my old habits. I just thought you'd at least ensure that I sat down and ate something.'_

_'You haven't exactly been around for me to ensure you're eating,' John said sadly. 'You've been going out to pubs every night and I can only hope that you're coherent enough to remember to eat.'_

_'Oh,' Sherlock mumbled, frowning. 'In which case, who knows how long it's been since I've had food or how I haven't collapsed because of the lack of it in my system.'_

_'Yeah,' John sighed. 'I'm just glad you're eating now. Better late than never. Here.' He passed Sherlock a glass of orange juice. 'Drink that first and then I'll make you that coffee, ok?'_

_Sherlock perked up at the sound of the coffee John was going to make him. He took the glass and lifted it to his lips, drinking it slowly as he could manage._

_'Good job,' John smiled. 'Thanks for drinking it slowly.' He set up the coffee maker and turned it on, turning back to cook the eggs. Sherlock found his anticipation for the coffee frankly a little startling. He'd only started drinking coffee today and that had been two cups. Two cups that had left his system rapidly. Maybe it was the need and want to stay awake or maybe he really was replacing one addiction for another._

_The eggs were cooked, the coffee was brewed. John poured himself a cup and gave Sherlock the plate of eggs and his own cup of coffee. He turned off the stove burner and leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee and watching Sherlock eat, making sure he wasn't eating too fast. Sherlock instantly turned his attention to the coffee, eating only a few of his eggs before leaving them to allow his stomach a little break. He picked up his cup and took a large sniff of the steaming fumes coming off of it. He sipped it gently, savoring the taste, and allowing it to work its magic on him. John hummed and swallowed a nice gulp of his coffee. It warmed him to the core, the taste exotic on his tongue._

_'Finish your eggs,' he said gently. 'And if you eat everything I'll reward you after it has had time to settle and digest.'_

_Sherlock was quick to drink his coffee so he could return to his eggs. 'I look forward to it.' He slammed his cup onto the table and picked up his fork, twirling the scrambled eggs before popping them into his mouth. John hummed and drank more of his coffee. He probably didn't need it so late at night, but he was going to need the energy soon anyway._

_Sherlock finished his eggs with a satisfied sigh. 'That tasted as good as the man who made it does.'_

_John blushed and swallowed the rest of his coffee._

_'So, shall we convene to the sitting room and watch some Doctor Who while you digest your food?'_

_'I'd like that.' Sherlock's face lit up. 'What Doctor? What episode? You decide.'_

_'Nine, the first one with Rose as the official companion. Where they travel to see the end of the world,' John smiled fondly. 'Do you want me to carry you again?' He waggled his eyebrows._

_'Don't think I could move if I tried.' Sherlock patted his belly in satisfaction, smiling at John._

_'At least it's because of a full stomach and not injury this time,' John stated. He moved to stand between Sherlock's legs, his hands groping his ample bum._

_'Hold on tight, love,' he smirked._

_Sherlock grunted and held onto John tightly. 'Watch those hands of yours or I will find a spectacularly inventive way to punish you.'_

_'Then punish me,' John purred down Sherlock's ear, groping him tighter. 'You know I'll enjoy it.' He lifted Sherlock off the stool and carried him to the sitting room, placing him down carefully onto the sofa. He laid over him, hands still groping his arse, and kissed him passionately._

_'Maybe I'll punish you by not punishing you,' Sherlock whispered against John's lips, wiggling beneath him._

_'Oh?' John smirked, wiggling against Sherlock in return. 'I rather like the sound of that.' He brought his lips to Sherlock's again, licking his bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth._

_Sherlock's lips worked methodically against John's. 'I'm glad, because this is all you'll get from me,' he teased before mashing his lips with his husband's once more._

_'Mmm, this is fine for now,' John hummed. His hands slid up from Sherlock's arse to his hair, tangling his fingers in his curls. 'Doctor Who and a nice, long snog. Mmm. Perfect.'_

_'And maybe a little rutting?' Sherlock mused as he began rocking upwards against John._

_'Y-es,' John stuttered. 'Rutting is excellent.' He moved his hips against Sherlock's, their cocks hardening as they moved together. John managed to switch the TV channel and start playing the Doctor Who episode, quickly turning his attention back to Sherlock's lips._

_Sherlock moaned and hummed, rutting harder. 'I've noticed something, John. A pattern to our activities,' he panted._

_'Oh?' John moaned, rutting faster. 'Is this a good or a bad pattern?'_

_'Both,' Sherlock said breathily. 'I'll tell you later – gah! Maybe when I am more coherent.'_

_'Yes, later,' John moaned, moving faster. He moved a hand from Sherlock's curls and grasped their pricks and squeezed._

_Sherlock whimpered and placed a hand over John's, helping him squeeze their members tightly._

_'Speak Gallifreyan again, love,' John gasped, threading his fingers with Sherlock's and moving their hands along their pricks. 'Please.'_

_And so Sherlock began to chant Gallifreyan words. Some words were big and complicated whereas some were small and soft and simple._

_'Beautiful, gorgeous,' John moaned, moving their hands faster. 'Just like you. Fuck, yes!'_

_Sherlock closed his eyes but again his father was there waiting for him. 'Oh god!' he cried out in both emotional turmoil and the fact that he was impossibly close._

_'God! Yes! Fuck!' John cried, burying his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck as he came sharply._

_Sherlock whimpered as he felt his prick throb in John's hand. He wanted a release and he was close, but his body was too tense to receive one._

_'Come on, love,' John crooned. 'Come on. I've got you. It's alright. Come on.' John released his prick and focused solely on Sherlock's, keeping their fingers twined._

_'You're beautiful, gorgeous, and sexy as hell. I can feel how close you are, can feel it in the pulse of your prick, and here.' He snaked his free hand down and gently tugged on Sherlock's balls, letting them snap back with a slap. 'So, are you going to cum for me, my beautiful, gorgeous, sexy as hell husband?'_

_Sherlock thrust desperately up into John's hand, breathing heavily laboured. 'Oh–' He froze as he came, eyes widening a little. 'Oh, John.' It wasn't a yell, it was a hushed whisper._

_'Gorgeous,' John breathed, his hand still squeezing Sherlock slightly. He brought his lips to Sherlock's, kissing him heatedly and comfortingly. Sherlock let John take control of the kiss. He was too focused on how irritated his scars had become. He groaned and shifted awkwardly beneath his husband. John hummed softly, breaking the kiss and releasing Sherlock's prick._

_'What's going on, love?' he asked softly. 'Is it your scars?'_

_Sherlock nodded and winced. 'I think one is beginning to bleed again.'_

_'We'll get you cleaned up and then we can relax for a bit, alright?' John said softly. He sat up slowly, not wanting to upset either of their backs, and stood up. He held a hand out for Sherlock, giving him time to situate himself._

_Sherlock shifted into a sitting position with a lot of difficulty and grabbed John's hand tightly. 'Actually, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind getting my violin? I just want some time alone to play her.'_

_John raised an eyebrow. 'You don't want to tend to your back? Are you sure? Because it's no problem.' He turned to grab the violin anyway, knowing what Sherlock's answer would be. He paused once he grabbed it, slowly turning back to his husband._

_'Wait. What were you going to say earlier about the pattern of our activities? About how it was both good and bad? I'd like to know before you start playing and get lost in the music.'_

_'I'll be fine for now,' Sherlock reassured John. The curly haired man's face then creased as he frowned._

_'I was just going to say that we turn to sex when emotions are running high, and bad situations have occurred. It's basically our cure for everything. A very welcome cure at that.'_

_'We tend to use sex as a coping mechanism, yes,' John agreed. 'And to comfort one another too. Is that necessarily such a bad thing?' He handed Sherlock his violin, watching as he tuned the strings._

_'Oh no. It isn't a bad thing at all.' Sherlock smiled giddily at John before focusing on his violin._

_'Oh, my poor baby,' he cooed. 'Daddy hasn't played you in awhile. I'm sorry.'_

_John cracked a smile. 'I can honestly say that I've missed listening to you play. And I think she's missed being played as well.'_

_Sherlock laughed. 'I can tell that's it's been a long time, yes.'_

_'What are you going to play?' John asked. 'Is it alright if I stay and listen? Or do you want to be alone with her?'_

_Sherlock cradled his violin. 'Would it be ok to leave us alone?' he asked. 'I promise to play to you another time. What I'm going to play is a little... personal.'_

_'Of course, love. Work out your thoughts.' John placed a small kiss to Sherlock's forehead before placing a soft kiss to his lips. 'I'm going to go to bed. It's nearly midnight and I'm beat. And please try not to stay up too late, ok?'_

_Sherlock lips tugged upwards, almost taking on a life of their own, laughing at some joke. Sherlock wouldn't sleep tonight. Sherlock wasn't going to sleep for a very long time._

_'Of course. I might fall asleep here though. If I'm not in bed in the night then don't worry yourself.' He paused. 'Would you mind retrieving me some pyjamas? I would hate someone to walk in on me stark naked whilst playing the violin.'_

_'Alright, love. But if you need anything, anything at all, do not hesitate to call.' John placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 'I'll get some pyjamas for you, then I'm going to bed.'_

_Sherlock shook his head fondly. 'I'll be fine, John. What's the worst that could happen?'_

_'Well, you could vomit all over the couch, yourself, and your violin,' John answered._

_Sherlock wrinkled up his nose in disgust. 'Yes, I suppose that could happen.'_

_'So, like I said, if anything should happen, or even if you just don't feel well, call me and I'll take care of you. Even if you just want to cuddle. But, maybe in that case you could come up to bed? It's better for cuddling... among other things,' John winked._

_'A cuddle... and other things. Sounds appetising.' Sherlock licked his lips hungrily._

_'We're insatiable, aren't we?' John smiled. He quickly sashayed off to grab a pair of pyjamas and Sherlock's blue dressing gown. There were so many memories attached to that gown. He returned to Sherlock and offered him the clothes._

_Sherlock took the clothes, running his finger and thumb along the slightly worn down material of the blue dressing gown. 'Time just flies by, doesn't it?' he asked softly._

_'Yes, but we've stood the test of time and we won,' John said softly. He gently carded his fingers through Sherlock's curls, his hand stopping to cup his cheek._

_'I love you,' he whispered. 'So much.'_

_'I know,' Sherlock said, giggling like a schoolgirl despite himself. 'And I love you just as equally in return.'_

_'Good,' John smiled. He brought their lips together in a final kiss, lingering slightly when he pulled away. 'If you need anything, ok? Mundane or not, I don't care.'_

_'Actually, I could use your help to get into these clothes.' Sherlock looked up at John with softened eyes. 'My back is going to be a bitch, I just know it.'_

_'Alright,' John nodded. 'Shirt or trousers first?'_

_'Trousers, since my back will be the trickiest and most painful part for me.' Sherlock lifted his legs so they waggled aimlessly in the air._

_John couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous sight. He grabbed the trousers and stuck Sherlock's legs in the appropriate holes, easing them up until Sherlock had to put his feet on the floor to lift his bum so the trousers would sit on his hips. John grabbed the shirt, looking at Sherlock and sighing._

_'Here comes the tough part. Try to raise your arms and we'll see how this is gonna go.'_

_Sherlock lifted his arms, an easy enough task. However, when John moved to slide over the t-shirt he couldn't help the startled yelp that escaped his lips as he was overcome by a flash of hot pain. He shuddered as he felt one of his scars bulge and a thick, warm liquid spread down his back._

_'Shit, shit, shit!' John swore, abandoning the shirt on the floor. 'Let's clean that up first, get some fresh bandages on it, ok? Please?'_

_'I have to agree that that would be the best option, yes.' Sherlock shifted and winced. 'Told you my back would be a bitch.'_

_John's lip twitched upwards in reminiscence of a smile. He helped Sherlock up and they hobbled toward the bathroom. He sat Sherlock on the edge of the tub, running off to get the medical kit before returning._

_'I'm going to have to cut your old bandages off,' John said. 'It might upset your scars further and it might be painful.'_

_'Just get it over and done with,' Sherlock said, bracing himself for more pain than he was already in. John gently snipped the edges of Sherlock's bandages, trying not to hurt him anymore than he already was. He grabbed a flannel and rolled it up, offering it to Sherlock._

_'Bite down on this,' he instructed. 'And prepare yourself. I'm going to remove your bandages now.'_

_Sherlock bit down on the offered flannel, breathing heavily through his nose. His whole body tensed but he managed to stay calm enough for John to start taking his bandages off. His eyes watered as more and more of his scars became agitated and threatened to bleed. John peeled the soiled bandages off slowly, Sherlock's back becoming red and agitated as his scars threatened to crack and bleed. John frowned and swallowed when he saw the scar that had broken open. It was bleeding profusely, cracked open along its whole length._

_The remaining bandages came off easily and John tossed them in the bin. 'Keep biting that,' he said. 'I need to wash your back now and I may upset more scars. I'm sorry, love.' He turned the tap on and soaked another flannel in warm water. He squeezed the excess water out and held it to the open scar, wincing at Sherlock's pained reaction. Sherlock screamed against the flannel, his teeth sinking into the white, fluffy material deeper and deeper. Tears leaked from his eyes as John dabbed at his scars, upsetting them and spilling more blood. His body jerked and writhed as he tried to escape the pain but it was useless, the pain wouldn't leave him._

_John clenched his jaw shut, holding back the streaming apology threatening to spill forth. He dipped the flannel in the water, slowly turning it red as he cleaned Sherlock's back. He dipped the flannel in the bloody water and squeezed it over Sherlock's back, the water dripping down and rinsing his back. He patted it dry as gently as he could manage, dabbing the anti-infection cream over his back before wrapping him up again._

_'I'm going to give you some pain pills, ok?' He said gently, removing the flannel from Sherlock's mouth. 'They might make you a little drowsy but you should still be able to stay awake to play your violin.'_

_Sherlock pursed his lips, a protest at the ready, but it died on his lips. His back was making it almost impossible to think and he wanted nothing more for his pain to stop. He nodded, licking his now incredibly dry lips and attempting to remove the fluff left on his tongue from the flannel. He shivered and sighed, hoping that John was right and that the pills would make him nothing more than a little drowsy. John rummaged around in the medicine cabinet until he found the pills. He pulled out one and offered it to Sherlock along with a cup of water. Sherlock plucked the pill from between John's fingers and popped it on the tip of his tongue. He then proceeded to take a few sips of the water and managed to swallow the tablet. John sighed and sat on the toilet, rubbing at his temples._

_'I'm so sorry, love' he finally apologised. 'If I hurt you too much, I'm sorry.'_

_'It's not your fault.' Sherlock gave John a 'stop blaming yourself right now or I swear in the name of science I will make you myself' look. 'My scars are just quite... agitated.'_

_'I know it's not my fault, but I tried to be as gentle as possible and I still caused you to bleed.' John ran his hands over his face and sighed. 'I was never like this at the clinic. But, then again, everything is different with you.'_

_'How is it different?' Sherlock quizzed, brow furrowing. 'I am still your patient and you are still my doctor, and your hands are very capable... at many things.'_

_John blushed at Sherlock's comment. 'It's different because I know you personally,' John stated. 'We're married, we know each other inside and out, and when you're in pain I see it as my fault because I'm your own personal, live-in doctor and I should be able to prevent your pain.'_

_'You're my own personal idiot, that's what you are,' Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. 'I am only human. I will of course feel pain during my life. Stop blaming yourself this instant!'_

_'You could kiss me and make it better,' John said softly._

_'Come here then you daft sod.' Sherlock beckoned his husband over._

_John moved from the toilet to stand over his husband, bending over to bring their lips together in a soft kiss. Sherlock lowered his husband onto his lap with a huff and kissed him tenderly. John hummed and sighed, breaking their kiss and resting his forehead on Sherlock's._

_'I'm sorry I'm such an idiot,' he smirked._

_'It's quite alright, John. You are my idiot after all.' Sherlock ran his thumb over his husband's cheek and sighed. 'Now can you do me the kind honour of putting me back where I was so that I can begin to give my violin some tender care and much needed attention?'_

_'Of course,' John smiled. 'And, if it's alright with you, I think we'll leave your shirt off for now. Don't want to risk upsetting your scars again so soon.' He slid off Sherlock's lap and stood, helping Sherlock get to his own feet._

_'Yes,' Sherlock shuddered as John held onto him. 'We would not want a repeat of what has just happened.'_

_'Definitely not,' John agreed. He shuffled back to the sitting room, sitting Sherlock on the sofa and handing him his violin back. The poor girl had been sitting on the floor._

_'It's alright, Daddy's going to make everything better,' Sherlock whispered, holding his violin across his chest and rocking her like she was the most fragile and precious thing in the world._

_John simply laughed. 'Now, like I said before, don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything.' He placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 'I love you. Now, enjoy your time with your violin.'_

_'We shall enjoy our alone time indeed. Now go to bed John, now.' Sherlock batted John away playfully._

_John mock pouted and moved away. 'Love you.'_

_Sherlock smiled, his eyes soft. 'I love you too. Now go.'_

_John smiled softly and disappeared up the stairs. He pulled on a pair of pants before he crawled into bed, his eyes closing as he was enveloped in the warm sheets and his head was cradled by his pillow. He sighed in content, rolling over onto his stomach and drifting off to sleep._

_Sherlock let out a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding._

_He brought his bow to the strings of his violin and began to play._

_His music was long and waning, a painful sound that filled the night air, filling the entire house. It was his soul bleeding out. It was his sadness, his confusion, his anger, his hatred, and it was physically hurting him. Everything hurt. Everything was wrong._

_John slept soundly, the tortured sounds of Sherlock's violin playing entering his dreams and twisting them. His brow creased in his sleep but he couldn't be bothered to wake. If Sherlock needed him he would, but for the moment he was content to sleep his troubles away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the last of the coma dream. Sherlock will be waking up soon (yes, he's going to be ok, relatively speaking). And for those of your who are wondering what the Gallifreyan means, here's the translation. I am afraid I've forgotten where InvisibleBlade got this, so with the next update I'll post it there. See you all next week!
> 
> TSA + IB
> 
> Gallifreyan translations:
> 
> Hei'Mase Senda! = You are an animal.  
> Krva'Styg! = Fear me  
> Kantan'Dialaen = I am a king!  
> Maerdy = lost in time  
> Kuila = love  
> Nemiar = thank you


	25. Coping. Or Not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Sorry for posting so late. I've been pretty busy today. I made cookies! XD
> 
> For those interested in the Gallifreyan used last chapter, the source can be found here: http://forums.syfy.com/index.php?showtopic=2290974
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Beary  
> Me: Felicity, Ben, John
> 
> Trigger Warnings for this chapter: blood, lots of blood, unintentional spousal abuse, suicide at the end of the chapter  
> Warnings for this chapter: mental issues, drug withdrawals, caffeine abuse, sleep deprivation, dramatic arguments
> 
> Just a heads up, the end of this chapter gets really dark and depressing, so be aware for possible triggers and such. And maybe keep a box of tissues close by.

_Sherlock played his music through the night, bow never faltering. The notes were still emitting from his violin when dawn broke. By this point his eyelids were beginning to droop and he was in desperate need of more caffeine. However, in the night his scars had started feeling particularly sore and the muscles beneath them clumped in great knots from where he'd been awkwardly sitting on the sofa. He was barely able keep his head up because of exhaustion, his shoulders slumped, and his fingers quaked. He would have to wait for John to make him a cup because there was no way he himself would be able to make it to the kitchen, let alone the kettle._

_Felicity drove up early. She had spent all night with her friends celebrating their graduation. She hadn't slept but she didn't feel tired. She supposed it was because she was still running off the graduation high combined with all the fun she and her friends had had. She opened the door quietly, holding her shoes in get hand so as not to make any noise. But it would seem she wasn't the only one awake. She could hear violin music coming from the sitting room._

_**Probably Ben not being able to sleep again,**  she mused, shaking her head. She set her keys on the table and her shoes on the mat by the door. She padded her way to the sitting room and saw Sherlock sitting on the couch, much to her surprise._

_'Dad?' she said softly. 'Are you feeling alright? Oh my god! What's with the bandages? What happened?'_

_Sherlock looked up at Felicity a little shocked, his music faltering for the first time since he'd started. His lips hovered open to say something but he wasn't quite sure of what to say. In the end he simply shrugged before turning his attention back to his violin, gliding the bow across the strings violently. Felicity moved over to the couch, trying to determine what had happened to cause her dad to need bandages. She could tell anything from what she could currently see._

_'Dad?' she tried again. 'I know you tend to get lost in your music but I'm going to try anyway. What happened, are you feeling alright, and why are you still awake?'_

_'I am fine,' Sherlock replied robotically. 'I'm only here because my back is playing up, thus, my lack of sleeping. Now, I apologise, but would you please allow me to be alone? Unless you would do me the kind favour and grab me a coffee that is.'_

_'I can make you a coffee, sure,' Felicity agreed. She padded off to the kitchen, setting up the coffee maker and setting it to brew._

_**Dad's back is playing up?**  she mused to herself.  **I hope it wasn't because of yesterday. I know stress can cause it to act up sometimes.**_

_The coffeemaker beeped and she poured her dad a cup. She brought it to him slowly, not wanting to spill any on her clothes._

_'Here,' she said softly, placing the mug on the table beside the sofa. 'Since you want to be alone with her I'll just go to bed. Feel better.' She placed a gentle kiss to his cheek and stroked his hair, smiling gratefully that he was ok at the very least._

_Sherlock beamed at her. 'I've been alone with her all night,' he told her. 'You're welcome to join me for a little while.' He placed his violin to one side and struggled forwards to grab the coffee. Even that little movement set his back on fire and he winced as he sat back against the sofa. 'If not, thanks for my coffee and night.'_

_'I'll stay,' Felicity smiled, sitting next to him on the sofa. 'I was just going to go if you wanted to be alone.' She idly traced the outline of her dad's violin with her finger, the wood warm under her touch._

_'You've been playing her all night?' she asked softly. 'That usually means you had a lot of emotions to sort through. Hard day?'_

_Sherlock nodded, not looking his daughter in the eye. 'Exceptionally hard day, yes.'_

_'I'm sorry,' she said softly, still tracing along the violin's edge._

_'Whatever for?' he questioned, reaching out his hand to stop Felicity's in its tracks._

_Felicity turned her palm over and laced her fingers with her dad's._

_'Sorry about the things Ben said, sorry you had a tough time at the ceremony, sorry that your back played up.' She sighed. 'I know I shouldn't be apologising the things that aren't my fault and are beyond my control, but I am anyway. So, I'm sorry for that too.'_

_Sherlock squeezed Felicity's hand tightly. 'All of that doesn't matter now,' he said gingerly._

_'How?' she asked softly. 'How can all that not matter?'_

_Sherlock shrugged and ran his other hand through his curls. 'Because everything is going to be ok.'_

_'Oh?' Felicity perked up slightly. 'Did you and Ben talk? Is he getting off the drugs? Are you going to stop drinking?'_

_'Yes to all three,' Sherlock laughed joyfully. 'So yes, things shall be ok. You just watch this space.'_

_Felicity squealed in delight and wrapped her arms around her dad in a tight hug._

_'I'm so happy for you!' she said. 'You and Ben are cleaning up together and he doesn't hate you anymore! I'm so happy I could cry!'_

_Sherlock froze in Felicity's arms, suppressing a scream that was slowly building in his throat._

_'I thought you would be. I'm amazingly happy too,' he gasped out. He winced as he felt the same scar as yesterday split open from the pressure Felicity was putting on it. He shivered in repulsion as his bandages slowly turned from white to a dark shade of red._

_'You ok, Dad?' Felicity asked in a concerned tone. 'You've gone all breathy and rigid.' At the sight of the blood she let out a shrill shriek and covered her mouth with her hands._

_'Did I do that?' she asked, her eyes swimming with tears. 'Did I hurt you? Did I–' She drew in a harsh breath. 'Did I hurt my daddy?' Her lower lip trembled and a few stray tears fell down her cheeks._

_'No,' he panted. 'This isn't your fault.' He reached out a trembling hand to Felicity to wipe her tears away. 'I probably should have warned you not to touch my back.'_

_'I should have known not to touch it,' Felicity wailed. 'And I hugged you too tight and you bled and I'm so sorry.' More hot tears fell down her face. She removed her hands from Sherlock and covered her face like them, crying into them._

_'Felicity, please stop crying.' Sherlock sank back into the sofa with a hiss. 'You're no use to me if you're crying. Please, can you just get your dad? He'll fix me up.'_

_Felicity nodded, not trusting her voice. She dashed up to her fathers' bedroom, knocking on the door loudly. A sleepy John answered a moment later, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes._

_'Felicity?' he yawned. 'What on earth are you doing up so early? When did you get back?' He finally took in her appearance and instantly sobered from his sleep. 'Felicity, what's wrong? Why have you been crying?'_

_'It's Daddy!' she wailed. 'I broke him!'_

_'What?' John asked, taken aback. 'How did that happen?'_

_'I hugged him too tight and his back spilt open and he's bleeding everywhere!' she cried, holding herself tightly. John wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace._

_'It's ok, Princess,' he said softly, stroking her hair. 'It's going to be alright. You didn't break Daddy. Daddy's back just has scars on it and they got irritated yesterday. They're still healing, it's not your fault.' Felicity nodded and clutched him tightly, still crying._

_'Let me grab some trousers and I'll be right out to help Daddy, ok?' John said in a small voice._

_'Ok,' Felicity whispered. She released John and he dashed back into the room to put a fresh pair of pyjama trousers and a t-shirt on. On one last thought he opened Sherlock's wardrobe and pulled Beary out. He grabbed his full medical kit this time though, planning on stitching up a few of the nastier scars. He handed Felicity her old bear and she squealed at the sight of him, hugging him close. She followed John downstairs and plopped down in the corner of the sitting room, burying her nose in Beary's fur._

_'Sherlock,' John said breathlessly. 'I'm here, Sherlock.'_

_Sherlock glanced up at the sound of his husband's voice and gave him a feeble smile. 'John,' he mumbled, feeling quite drowsy and disorientated. 'When did you get here?'_

_'Just now,' John answered breathlessly. 'I heard your scars opened again. I came prepared this time.' He patted his medical kit and motioned for Sherlock to try to sit up. 'I'm gonna clean you up and then I'm gonna stitch up a few of the bad scars, and then I'm gonna wrap you up again and you are going to bed.'_

_'Mmmm not tired,' Sherlock moaned like a petulant child. He still wriggled into a sitting position and blinked as he stared at the ground. 'Oh,' he muttered. 'My coffee went sploosh everywhere.'_

_John looked down at the carpet and groaned. 'God dammit,' he swore. 'Who made you coffee?' He looked toward Felicity when she whimpered, hiding behind her bear. John closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. Not important, not important, not important, he told himself._

_'Ok, fine, whatever. I'll clean that later. Right now I need to take care of you. And trust me, you will be tired when I'm done with you.' He hauled Sherlock to his feet and led him to the bathroom yet again. Their clothes from their impromptu bath were still there. John shoved them aside and sat Sherlock on the edge of the tub, plugging the drain and turning on the water._

_'I'm cutting your bandages off now,' he said, informing Sherlock of what was going on as he seemed rather out of it. Was the pain really that intense?_

_Sherlock cradled his arms around John limply and whimpered. 'Ok, John, my little baba, my gorgeous Jawn.' He nuzzled John's neck and placed a hungry kiss on it. 'Make me all better.'_

_John grit his jaw and began cutting the soiled bandages off. They were worse than before, more blood pulsing from the scars than the previous times. John put the soiled bandages to the side and grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, dabbing it on the wounds. John could only hope that Sherlock was out of it enough that he wouldn't be able to feel the pinch and tug of the needle as he stitched up the worst of his back._

_'Sherlock, I'm going to stitch some of you worse scars closed so they won't open so easily. It might be a little uncomfortable,' he informed his delirious husband._

_The hot pain of Sherlock's scars was making its way through the thick smog that was filling his brain. His face was wet with tears. He'd lost a lot of blood and so he could only just about hear his husband's voice beating against his eardrums. He swallowed and reached out a hand, clutching John's wrist tightly._

_'J-J-ohn?' he hiccuped. 'What's going on?'_

_'I'm using that,' John said gently, taking his wrist from Sherlock's grasp. 'Your back started bleeding again, so I'm going to stitch up the worst ones. Prepare yourself.' He touched the needle to the worst scar and pushed it through, holding Sherlock tight against him._

_Sherlock screamed and thrashed as he felt something sharp slide into a scar on his back. 'Fuck!' he spat. 'Fucking stop!'_

_'Sherlock! Stop thrashing! You're making it worse!' His scars were bleeding heavily now, the blood oozing down his back in thick stripes._

_'Sherlock!' John managed to get him in a chokehold and held tight. 'Stop moving or I'll take you to the hospital. Where you know they'll want to keep you for observation and ask you questions about your scars. Not to mention your drinking habits. So, are you going to cooperate?' He eased off Sherlock's windpipe so he could breathe easier and so he could answer him._

_Sherlock stopped. 'But it hurts,' he complained. 'My back really hurts. I don't want you to carry on.'_

_'Sherlock, if I don't your back could continue to open up at the slightest twinge or movement. And you lose a lot of blood every time it opens. So, which would you rather cope with?' John paused before giving Sherlock his choices. 'The fogginess and deliriousness of blood loss or the tug and pull of a needle trying to prevent that?'_

_'I suppose the latter,' Sherlock moaned loudly. 'Just bloody get it over and done with.'_

_'Good choice,' John murmured. 'Now, hold still.' He released his hold on Sherlock's neck and grasped his shoulder instead. He continued his work on the worst scar, stitching it up quickly but efficiently. He closed the suture and sighed._

_'That's one,' he said softly. 'Two more to go.'_

_Sherlock whimpered. 'Hurry up,' he complained weakly. John grit his teeth and set to work on the final two. They were smaller than the first, so they didn't take nearly as long. When he was done he rinsed them with the hydrogen peroxide again and put the cream on them again, wrapping Sherlock up nice and snug in the bandages. He'd have to go out and buy more at this rate._

_'Ok, I'm going to get you some pain pills and then I want you to lay down off your back for a bit,' he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a bottle of pills. 'I don't care if you don't fall asleep, you just need to stay off your back. Understood?' He handed Sherlock two tablets and a cup of water._

_'Aye, aye captain,' Sherlock mock saluted John as he popped the pills in his mouth and drank the water. 'May I have some breakfast and a fresh coffee too?' he asked. 'Sorry about dropping my cuppa earlier.'_

_John rolled his eyes and sighed._

_'Perhaps,' he muttered. 'You should go see Felicity first. She was pretty traumatised last I saw her.' He helped Sherlock up and manoeuvred him to the kitchen, sitting him on a stool before searching for Felicity. The poor girl was a wreck, sitting in the same corner hugging Beary to her tightly._

_'Princess?' John said softly. 'It's ok now, I fixed Sherlock's back and he's better now. You didn't break him. Would you like to see him and maybe have a little breakfast?'_

_'Ok,' she said softly. She grabbed John's hand and hauled herself to her feet, hugging him tightly before following him to the kitchen. She sat next to Sherlock, still clutching Beary to her chest._

_'I'm sorry, Dad,' she said into Beary's head. 'I'm sorry I hurt your back. But Dad fixed it, and it's ok now, right?'_

_Sherlock nodded, his head hanging down heavily on his neck, his hair falling across his face messily. 'It's perfectly fine, Princess. I can assure you I have suffered far greater pains in my life. I'm sure I'll pull through.'_

_'Here.' She pressed Beary against Sherlock's arm and smiled gently. 'Beary makes everything better.'_

_Sherlock snuggled Beary tightly, to which he heard an infuriated, 'Ouch!' He loosed his grip and began stroking Beary gently instead. 'Thank you. That's much better,' the voice spoke aloud again._

_'See? I told you Beary makes everything better,' Felicity smiled. John grumbled something about having to clean the carpet and then having to go shopping for food and bandages. He had been up for barely an hour and already his day was full. Ben ambled out of his room, a sheet wrapped haphazardly around him like a toga. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat down next to his sister, trying to quell his shaking._

_'Morning,' he yawned._

_Sherlock was still mulling over the voice he'd just heard. He just about managed to force out a greeting to Ben. 'Morning.'_

_'Morning!' the voice chorused, causing his brow to crease deeper._

_John cracked at least four eggs into a bowl, scrambling them into a yellow soup. He pulled more bacon out and began frying the pieces, making sure not to burn them all this time. He started the coffee maker and made enough so that everyone could have two cups if they chose._

_'How are you feeling this morning?' Ben asked softly, resting his head on his sheet-covered hand. 'Cuz I feel like shit.'_

_Sherlock pursed his lips in thought. How was he feeling?_

_He was hopelessly fatigued. He was still in pain despite the fact John had given him pain medication. His body was beginning to quake from the lack of alcohol in his system. His head was a pounding mess._

_'Alright, considering,' he managed to say in the end. 'Let's just say last night and this morning were quite eventful.'_

_'You can say that again!' This time Sherlock couldn't ignore the voice. He clenched Beary in his hands and glared at him._

_'Shut up,' he growled._

_'Dad?' Are you feeling ok?' Felicity asked, raising an eyebrow. She looked between her father and Beary, a frown threatening to fall._

_'I am fine,' Sherlock grit out._

_'Liar!'_

_Sherlock's nostrils flared. 'I said shut up. Are you a complete idiot?' he hissed at Beary._

_'Dad, you do know Beary's just a toy, right?' Felicity asked softly. 'He can't talk. And he hasn't talked to me since I was ten. But even then it was only in my imagination.'_

_'Of course I know that!' Sherlock exclaimed loudly._

_'In which case, why can you hear me Sherly?' Beary taunted._

_He let out a breathy laugh. 'Maybe I'm just insane.'_

_John paused in his cooking. Sherlock was hearing voices? He turned to see him glaring daggers at the bear in his hands. Hadn't he said he could talk to Beary a while back?_

_'I don't think you're insane, Dad,' Felicity said gently. She clasped a hand over one if Sherlock's and squeezed gently. 'I think you used Beary as a coping mechanism, someone you could talk to and would listen without judging you. Only now, it seems he has turned on you and is digging into your subconscious and making you feel insecure. Is that what happened?'_

_'Most likely, yes,' Sherlock whispered softly. 'If only I could remember.' He clasped his bigger hand in Felicity's tightly._

_'But you can't remember! You'll never remember!'_

_He grit his teeth together. 'Just shut up, Beary. Shut up before I make you.'_

_'Dad, give me the bear,' Felicity said gently. 'I'll take him away and then you won't hear him anymore.'_

_Sherlock shoved Beary into Felicity's hands. 'Take him,' he muttered like a mad man. 'Just take him.'_

_'It will be ok, Dad,' she said softly. She smoothed a hand down his curls and stood, wrapping Beary in her arms. She walked to her room and opened her wardrobe. She set Beary on the floor and closed the door, locking him inside._

_She went back to the kitchen just as the coffeemaker beeped. She poured four cups of coffee, handing one to Sherlock and Ben and set John's off to the side so he wouldn't bump it while he was cooking. She sat down next to Sherlock and clasped his hand again, rubbing soothing circles on his skin with her thumb. She sipped her own coffee and smiled up at him._

_Sherlock cracked a smile. 'Thank you, Princess.' He used the hand that wasn't entwined with his daughter's to pick up his coffee. Inhaling the dark, steaming liquid he moaned in pleasure and began to guzzle at it greedily, desperate to be more awake and to feel a little bit more human than he was currently feeling. He also wanted to show his son that he was sticking to his promise._

_Ben wrinkled his nose at the coffee sitting before him. He hated coffee. He needed a hit, a strong one. But if Sherlock could clean up then so could he. He sniffed at the coffee and managed to swallow the sound of disgust threatening to burst forth from his lips._

_'Can I get some creamer or something with this?' he asked, his voice cracking. 'I can't drink coffee black.'_

_John pulled out a bottle of creamer from the fridge and handed it to Ben, returning to cooking the eggs. Ben poured a liberal amount of creamer into his coffee, stirring it before taking a sip. It was still disgusting but at least it tasted better._

_'How can you two drink this stuff black?' he asked incredulously. 'It tastes like shit.'_

_Sherlock shrugged, placing his cup down momentarily to touch his now scalded tongue. 'I believe coffee is an acquired taste, Ben. Though it does grow on you after awhile.'_

_'What? So you just drink it and drink it until you start to like it?' Ben scoffed. 'That's not an acquired taste, that's Stockholm Syndrome.'_

_Sherlock hummed, looking straight up at his son now. 'Yes, I suppose it's just that.' His lips twitched with a hint of a smile. 'I blame your dad for getting me fixated on the stuff. I used to hate it too. I still don't particularly like it now.' He gave Ben a knowing look._

_'Oh,' Ben said softly, realising what his father meant. The caffeine. He was only drinking it for the caffeine. Right, the whole staying awake for three weeks thing. 'Right.'_

_John turned and placed a page of eggs and bacon in front of all three of them along with a glass of juice._

_'It anyone needs me I'll be trying to clean the coffee stain out of the carpet,' he grumbled. He stalked off to the closet and grabbed the cleaning supplies, snapping on a pair of hideous yellow gloves and pouring a mixture of bleach and soap onto the carpet. He let it soak for a few moments before trying to brush it out._

_'Well, I guess Dad's gonna have a bad day,' Ben muttered, sipping at his dreadful coffee._

_Sherlock sighed heavily. 'Dammit,' he muttered. 'This is all my fault. If it wasn't for my fucking scars your dad wouldn't have to deal with half my shit.'_

_'Scars?' Felicity asked, concern etched across her features. 'What scars?'_

_'I'm not sure it even matters anymore,' Sherlock sighed again. 'They aren't recent so please don't worry.'_

_'Well, when someone says scar they usually mean it's an old wound,' Felicity smiled softly. 'What happened, if I may ask?' She sipped at her coffee slowly._

_'I'd really rather not think about them,' he said, picking at his food with his fork. 'I think I did far too much of that yesterday, and this morning even. It was hard not to think about them when I was slowly bleeding to death because of them.'_

_Felicity's lip trembled. She turned to face her food and picked up a piece of bacon, nibbling on it._

_'I'm sorry about that,' she mumbled, trying not to cry. 'I should have known not to squeeze you so tight. I saw the bloody bandages–' She stopped at her choice of words. 'Shit, sorry. But, I saw you were in bandages and I hugged you tight anyway. What if your ribs had been hurt? Would I have broken any of them? I just... I'm sorry for splitting your back open and that Dad had to give you stitches. I'm sorry.'_

_'I see self blame runs in the family. Your dad is just the same. Keeps on making it out like it's his fault that I'm in pain.' Sherlock chewed on his food but he wasn't terribly hungry now. 'Neither of you were the ones to put my scars on my back so I wish you'd just stop with the blame game.' He glanced sideways to Ben before looking away sadly._

_'But it's my fault you got hurt this time,' Felicity pouted. She stabbed an egg harshly with her fork glaring a it like it had personally wronged her. 'And why do you keep looking to Ben? What are you not telling me? Yes, I can tell. I learned my powers of observation from the best.'_

_Sherlock scowled and picked up his coffee, taking big gulps of the cooling liquid. 'There is nothing to tell, Felicity,' he said rather coldly. 'It wasn't your fault this morning and that is that. Conversation over.'_

_Felicity pouted but dropped the subject. She shoved a large bite of eggs into her mouth, forcing herself to focus on eating even though all she wanted to do was talk with her dad. Ben, on the other hand, had been silent the entire time. He had shoveled his food into his mouth quickly, sipping at his coffee every now and again and wrinkling his nose in distaste each time. He could sense the tension in the room but he ignored it. If he ignored it then he wouldn't have to deal with it._

_Sherlock drained his cup before pushing it aside. He turned his nose up at the rest of his food and instead chose to lay his head on his arms, refusing to look at either of his children._

_Felicity finished her eggs and pushed her plate away, leaving the table without speaking a word. She stalked off to her room, changing into her pjs and climbing into bed. She could feel Beary's dead eyes on her, staring through the wood of her wardrobe and penetrating her soul. She shoved the covers off and opened the door, staring down at her old bear. She plucked him off the floor and closed her wardrobe, pulling the covers around them and cuddling her bear close._

_'Don't say such mean things to my dad,' she whispered in his fluffy ear. 'He needs help and support, not discouragement. Please, be nice to my daddy.'_

_The bear didn't answer but she knew he had heard._

_Sherlock shifted on his seat and turned his head to peer at Ben through his curls. 'How are you holding up?' he asked. 'Truthfully. I don't want the edited version of your answer.'_

_'Ok,' Ben said slowly. 'I just... My head is killing me and my body aches and I can't stop shaking. But otherwise ok.'_

_'It will pass. That I can promise you.' Sherlock let his head loll back onto his arms and groaned._

_'You don't look like you're doing so well,' Ben said softly. 'Do you want the rest of my coffee?' He pushed the mug over to him. 'It might be a little strongly flavoured though. Not sure if you'll like it.'_

_'Don't care,' Sherlock mumbled into his arms, reaching out a hand to clasp the handle of the cup. 'Thank you.' He lifted his head enough to begin sipping at the offered coffee. 'Blah.' He almost spat it back out but managed to refrain himself from doing so. 'And you say having it just black is disgusting?'_

_Ben just smirked. 'It is. To me, anyway. I like my coffee flavoured.' Ben stood and filled the electric kettle with water, turning it on and getting out a fresh mug for tea. He grabbed a packet of English Breakfast and set it in his mug, waiting for the water to boil._

_Sherlock sat up to watch his son. 'I need your help today,' he said delicately. 'I need to pick up some supplies. Some energy drinks and other things that will help me.'_

_'I... Um... I can't drive,' Ben said softly, staring at the kettle. 'And after last night I doubt any of my "friends" would be willing to give us a ride.'_

_'Well luckily for you I can,' Sherlock retorted. 'All I need you to do is convince your dad that it's a good idea and for you to come with me.'_

_'That it's a good idea for you to drive? Or to get caffeine?' Ben asked raising an eyebrow. The kettle turned off and Ben poured himself a cup of tea, letting it steep and cool. 'Or do you want me to say that we're going out to go shopping and we'll be like each other's guide or some shit? Like, if you want alcohol I'll stop you and if I run into one of my dealers you'll stop me?'_

_'That it's a good idea for me to drive, yes,' Sherlock nodded and made a sound in the back of his throat. 'And the shopping thing is a rather good cover, but it will also be the truth. I will not allow any of your dealers to get to you again. I'm fairly sure that your Uncle will have already imprisoned them by the end of this week as it is. You won't be hearing from them ever again and if you do I shall not allow you to take that path.'_

_Ben paled and swallowed. 'Ok, yeah, sure. Can I finish my tea first? And then we both need to get dressed.' He sipped at his tea. It was still too hot. 'Hrm. Maybe I can transfer it to a travel mug or something.'_

_'You finish your tea. I'm going to go through the challenge of putting a top on over my bandages.' Sherlock swilled the awful tasting coffee down his mouth and went to stand up. He managed to but not without a pained grunt escaping his lips first._

_'Oh, and Ben?' he asked, looking back at his son._

_'Yeah?' Ben answered, looking up from stirring his tea._

_'Thank you.'_

_With those two simple words said he went to take his leave._

_Ben smiled warmly and sipped at his tea. He was warmed to the core, and not just from the steaming liquid. He heard John swear from the sitting room and grimaced. He really didn't want to have to face him, but Sherlock needed the caffeine. He set his mug down and walked to stand under the arch._

_'Hey, Dad?' he said softly._

_'What?' John snapped, looking up from his frantic scrubbing. 'Oh, sorry Ben. It's just been a rough morning.'_

_'I know. Which is why I came to ask you this.' He moved closer to John and knelt down to his level. 'Since you're already under a lot of stress, why don't you let me and Sherlock go do the shopping? You could use a breather and maybe the open air will be good for me and him. What do you say?'_

_'I'm not sure I trust him driving, but ok,' John sighed, a load rolling off his shoulders. 'I'll make a list of what we need and you two can go get it, alright?'_

_'Alright,' Ben smiled. That went better than expected. He went back to his room and threw on some clothes, making sure he put a jacket on to cover his arms. He then went up to Sherlock's room and knocked on the door._

_'We're in the clear,' he said to the door. 'Dad is just gonna give us a list of stuff to buy and then we can go.'_

_'Okay!' Sherlock yelled back. 'Just give me a few minutes and I'll be out.'_

_He began to stiffly pull on some blue jeans. With the easy part done he wondered what top he should wear. In the end he plucked out a dark green t-shirt. It was thin and made out of a light material that left plenty of space for his scars to breath._

_Satisfied, he pulled open the door and hobbled out._

_Ben was sipping his tea when Sherlock made it back down the stairs._

_'Hey,' he smiled. 'Dad gave me this.' He held up a slip of paper. 'We need more cleaning supplies, bandages, antiseptic rinse for your back, and then whatever else we want. I think he meant snacks but whatever.' He drank the last of his tea and set the mug in the sink._

_'Shall we go?'_

_'Yes.' Sherlock scanned the air around him. 'Where are the car keys?' he asked a little shyly. 'Because we're going nowhere without those.'_

_'Dad keeps 'em on a hook by the door.' Ben walked over to it and snagged them off. 'Here.' He tossed them to Sherlock without thinking, hoping at the last second that he could catch them._

_Sherlock caught them in one hand and laughed. 'I see I'm not a complete cripple then.'_

_'Never said you were,' Ben smiled. 'Let's go.' He strode off to the door and stepped out into the early morning sunlight. 'Gah! Fuck!' he cried, shielding his eyes. 'It's fucking bright!'_

_Sherlock winced. 'Sorry, forgot about that. Do you want to go back inside? I can do this on my own.' He really didn't want to go alone. Who knew what temptations he might end up giving in to? However, his son's health and well being came first._

_'No, I'll go with you,' Ben grunted. 'Just need some sunglasses.' He grabbed a pair off the dresser by the door and put them on. 'See? Better. Let's go.' He walked to the car and opened the passenger door and sat inside._

_Sherlock slid into his seat and started the engine. 'You know you're brilliant for putting up with my shit, right?' he asked, placing his hands on the wheel._

_'Someone has to,' Ben smirked. He covered his ears when the radio turned on, turning it all the way down before relaxing. 'Much better,' he sighed._

_Sherlock turned on the sat nav, not trusting the map unfolding in his mind one little bit. They drove in silence all the way to the shop. The silence wasn't awkward. It was just the result of two very grumpy people who were detoxing. Ben rested his head against the window, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on willing the pounding in his head to stop. Sherlock noted that his hands were starting to shake, but luckily by this point they were pulling into the supermarket car park._

_'We're here,' he said quietly, aware of how much Ben's head was hurting._

_'Ok,' Ben grunted. He lifted his head slowly off the window, wincing at the throbbing in his head. 'We parked yet?'_

_Sherlock manoeuvred the car into a free spot and cut the engine. 'We are now, yes.'_

_'Ok. Let's make this quick. Because I think I'm gonna be sick.' Ben opened the car door and nearly fell out, righting himself before he faceplanted the pavement. 'I'm good,' he groaned._

_'Are you certain?' Sherlock gave Ben a skeptical look as he got out of the car. 'You don't look good.'_

_He wasn't feeling in top form either but he wasn't going to mention it._

_'I'll be fine,' Ben groaned. 'Let's just go. I'll feel better in the air conditioning. Too hot out here.'_

_Sherlock wasn't going to mention that it was in fact quite nippy outside as he knew what drug withdrawals could do to a person. They entered the supermarket and began picking up the items John wanted. Once all of those had been tossed in a shopping trolley Sherlock took a deep breath._

_'Now for what we really came for: caffeine.'_

_'Ugh, right,' Ben groaned. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering harshly. 'Let's be quick. It's freezing in here.'_

_Sherlock couldn't help but agree with the need to be quick. He was holding back his own withdrawal symptoms and it wouldn't be long before his shaking and his headache worsened. He pushed the trolley down the drinks aisle, Ben dragging himself behind him. He stopped when he reached the energy drink section._

_'Which ones do I pick and how many cans?'_

_Ben squinted up at the shelf. Even behind his sunglasses the building was too goddamn bright. He pointed to a box of Monster._

_'Get that. There's four cans and you only need one because it gives you like seven hours of energy. You can get as many as you want, but definitely get the ones that are mixed with tea and lemonade. It won't burn so bad on the way down. And, if you want some, get some Five Hour Energy shots. They taste like shit, but you can discretely add them to a drink and Dad won't know the difference.'_

_Sherlock tossed several of the monster animal packs into the trolley before adding some of the Five Hour Energy shots too. He didn't care if they tasted like shit. If they did their job of keeping him awake whilst keeping this experiment a secret he was fine with that._

_'That should do,' Sherlock said with a satisfied sigh. 'I can always come back for more if necessary.'_

_'Right, yeah,' Ben groaned. 'Let's pay and get outta here. I need a warm shower.'_

_They quickly paid for the products, using a self check out service so as to not have to deal with people who might pry into why they had brought so much caffeine. Sherlock placed the bought goods into the boot of the car and got into the driver's seat. He was now physically shaking and his head was pounding. He waited for his son to scootch in before starting the engine and heading home. Ben flopped down in his seat and groaned. His head was pounding and his heart was racing and he needed a fix badly. He also needed to throw up but he wasn't going to do that in the car._

_'Get us home, Dad,' he moaned, clutching onto his stomach and head. 'Hurry.'_

_Sherlock couldn't have agreed more with his son's statement to hurry. He tried to make the journey as short as possible without getting pulled over for speeding, upsetting Ben's stomach and head, or his own. Ben was trembling in his seat. He was nauseous, his head felt like something was trying to dig its way out, and his entire body ached. He needed to vomit and he needed to lay down in the cool tub with hot water streaming over him._

_'Home, yet?' he grit out, barely holding back the vomit that threatened to spill forth._

_Sherlock sped up the drive of the house and came to a stop._

_'Home,' he confirmed with a weak nod of his head. 'Go on inside. I'll be right behind you.'_

_Ben barely had his door open before the contents of his stomach spilled out. Thankfully none of it landed on the inside of the car. John would have killed him. John loved the car. More than he loved Ben probably. The thought caused Ben to burst into tears, but also because his throat now hurt and his head was pounding harder than ever and he vomited again at how severe the pain was._

_'It hurts so goddamn much!' he wailed after emptying his stomach again. 'Make it stop!'_

_Sherlock wrinkled up his nose as he got out the car. He stepped around the sick his son had just produced and gingerly moved him away from it. His own head felt like it had been slammed in a door several times over but he ignored his own pain, focusing on Ben._

_He wrapped his arms around his son and kissed his head. 'It'll be ok. You just need to sleep it off. Think you can make it to the house?'_

_'Yeah,' Ben groaned. 'I can try.' He struggled out if Sherlock's grasp and stumbled up the drive, bracing himself against the door. He managed to get it open and he nearly fell inside. Thankfully he didn't fall and he stumbled his way down the hall. He could hear the shower running in his dads' room. John was probably sitting in there crying. He usually did when he had a stressful day._

_He stumbled into his room and pulled the blinds shut, closing his door quietly behind him. He tore off his clothes, leaving his pants on, and crawled into bed. He only remembered to take his sunglasses off when they pinched his nose as he lay his head on his pillow. He tossed the across the room somewhere, drawing his blankets over his head and curling in on himself. He needed his head to stop pounding, he needed some heavy duty aspirin, he needed a fix. He knew his dads would only give him one of those, and it wouldn't be the one he wanted them to give him._

_Sherlock sighed, grabbing the shopping from the boot before making his way inside. He firstly unpacked the things John had asked him to buy before hiding his caffeine supply in a seemingly unused cupboard. His legs threatened to collapse beneath him and his head spun as he made his way up the stairs. The shower was running and as Sherlock crept into the bedroom he could hear sobbing._

_'Oh, John,' he whispered. He unbuckled his jeans and stripped out of them before slipping his t-shirt off. He then proceeded to walk into the bathroom. He silently climbed into the shower and wrapped his arms around a crying John. John turned around in Sherlock's arms and sobbed into his chest. He couldn't form words yet, just cried. Sherlock didn't care that his bandages were getting wet, didn't care that his head felt like it was going to explode, nor did he bother speaking. He just held his husband gently, nuzzling his neck._

_'No,' John sobbed. He shook his head. 'Not this time.'_

_'What?' Sherlock asked softly. 'What do you mean?'_

_'Sex,' John grumbled. 'Not this time. You're sick, I can feel it. You're trembling, you're burning up, and I don't want to hurt you. So, I'm saying no.'_

_'I wasn't suggesting anything,' Sherlock said honestly. 'I just wanted to give my husband a hug. And I'm fine so you can stop worrying.'_

_'I'm just letting you know ahead of time,' John mumbled. He hugged him tighter, inhaling his scent. 'You said yourself we use sex as a coping mechanism and a way to comfort the other. And I'm just letting you know it's not going to happen this time. I want to see if we can have an actual moment without throwing sex into the mix.'_

_Sherlock laughed lightly. 'The sex is so good though. But I can see your point, so I'll try to hold myself back.'_

_'I know it's good, but it can't be healthy to use it like that so much,' John mused. 'I don't want to have needy, emotional sex so often. I want to have passionate, heated, loving sex. Maybe not every time, but it's the sex I prefer.'_

_'Very well,' Sherlock replied, placing a kiss on John's temple. 'We shall wait till the time is right. Now are you going to tell me what your tears are for?'_

_'It's just... It's been a stressful morning. Stitching up your back, dealing with Felicity's raging emotions, you and that damn bear, and Ben's detox. The coke bugs are going to start soon. You know that, right? And, god I feel so horrible for even thinking this, but I'm not looking forward to that at all.'_

_'We shall pull through this. All of this,' Sherlock tried to reassure John. 'Things will be a little bumpy. That's granted with two detoxing people in the same house. Just take a deep breath and imagine the future where Ben and I are better and we're all happy.'_

_'I like that future,' John smiled. He nuzzled Sherlock's chest and hummed. 'I like it a lot.'_

_'And maybe we can all take a holiday somewhere nice.' Sherlock kissed John's neck lovingly._

_'We can go to America and spend some time with Felicity,' John smiled. 'I can't believe she'll be going all the way to America. God. It's so far away. My baby girl's going to college.' Another sob broke free, but it wasn't from stress that time._

_Sherlock held John flush against him. 'And she's going to be so successful. Stop focusing on the bad. The John Watson I know isn't such a pessimist.'_

_'I'm not focussing on the bad,' John sniffled. 'It's a good thing that she's going away to school, that she's going to help people. I'm just sad she'll be so far away.'_

_Sherlock hummed, 'Understandable, but it's not goodbye. Not forever at least.'_

_'I know, I know,' John sighed. 'I'm gonna miss her is all. And I'll write to her and e-mail and call and maybe even try video chatting with her every now and again.'_

_'Of course. Naturally.' Sherlock ran the back of his fingers down John's cheeks._

_John leaned into the gentle touch, humming in content._

_'Sorry I've been so pessimistic lately,' he said softly. 'It's stress, I suppose. Maybe lack of sleep and too much worry.'_

_'It's okay now, John. Let me take that away from you.' Sherlock pecked his husband on the lips._

_John sighed into the kiss, his hands moving from Sherlock's waist to cup his face and pull him down. He intensified the kiss, moulding their lips together, licking across Sherlock's top lip teasingly._

_Sherlock groaned and pulled away. 'Sorry,' he apologised. 'But you cannot expect me to refrain myself when you kiss me like that.'_

_'Maybe I don't want you to right now,' John answered hazily. 'You said you would take it away, so take it.' He brought their lips together again, snogging his husband like it was their last day on Earth._

_Sherlock moaned and snogged John back greedily. His head was beginning to swim and he had to pull away again._

_'Maybe I lied when I said I was fine.'_

_'I thought as much,' John mused. 'Do you want to sit in the shower for a bit and let the water run on your head? I can put fresh bandages on you after.'_

_Sherlock nodded and pressed his forehead to John's. 'That may be a good idea, yes.'_

_'Ok, love.' John pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 'Before I go, do you want me to wash your hair?' he asked with a soft grin._

_A fond smile momentarily replaced the pained frown that had been pinching at Sherlock's features. 'I would love to have my hair washed. We were quite rudely interrupted yesterday.'_

_'Yes, but it was for a good cause,' John said. He manoeuvred them around so Sherlock's head could be under the spray if water while John reached for the bottle of shampoo. Once Sherlock's hair was plastered to this head and face, looking all the world like a wet cat, John began to work the shampoo in, starting with his scalp before moving on to the sides. Sherlock carefully leant his head on his husband's shoulder, proportioning his weight just so. He didn't close his eyes in fear of what lay beyond them. However, he did find that his entire body was going from tense to visibly relaxed. He hummed as John's fingers worked through his curls. They seemed to hold some sort of magic within them as his headache and fatigue floated away into nothingness._

_John continued to massage Sherlock's head well after he'd rinsed the shampoo out. Sherlock was enjoying it immensely, and John didn't want to break the connection just yet. He moved to work at the spot just above Sherlock's neck, humming when Sherlock did at the touch. Sherlock melded his body further against John's and placed a kiss on the side of his neck, encouraging him to continue his work with his wonderful fingers._

_'Feeling better?' John smiled against Sherlock's neck. His fingers travelled to the top of his head by his forehead, massaging in larger but gentler circles._

_'A little.' Sherlock moved his head against John's shoulder and let out a long sigh. 'I best be getting out now so that you can replace my bandages.'_

_'Yes, we probably should.' John placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's neck and shut off the water. He helped Sherlock out of the tub before sitting him on the edge._

_'Do you think you can dry yourself off?' he asked, handing him a towel. 'I'm just going to get the bandages. And save your back for me to dry. I don't want you ripping your stitches.'_

_'I wasn't planning on touching my back.' Sherlock pulled a face. 'I'm only sorry that you'll have to.' He began dabbing at his skin with the towel, starting with his legs and then his arms and torso._

_'It's fine, love,' John said softly, placing a kiss to his forehead. 'It makes me feel like a doctor again. Like I'm needed and important. Not that I'm not, but it's a different feeling. Being needed as a doctor and being needed as a dad are two very different feelings.'_

_'You'll always be my doctor, John. Just like you always have been,' Sherlock said steadily, gazing up at his husband._

_'Thanks, love,' John smiled brightly. He pecked Sherlock's lips lightly before dashing off to get the bandages. He found them and quickly dashed back upstairs, his medical kit under his arm._

_'Ok, love. I'm gonna have to cut these off again. Prepare yourself.'_

_Sherlock took a deep breath. 'Prepare to be insulted and sworn at,' he told his husband, his lips quivering in a brief moment of amusement._

_'I always do,' John smirked. 'Just know that I love you and this is for your own good.' He cut at the bandages, snipping each layer off slowly before peeling them off. Sherlock's back didn't look too bad. Maybe a little red and inflamed, but at least it wasn't bleeding. John gently dabbed the towel against the scars, irritating them further but none broke open, which was good. John dabbed the cream on them again before wrapping Sherlock back up nice and snug._

_'There,' he smiled, fastening the bandages together. 'That wasn't too bad, was it?'_

_Sherlock peeled his teeth away from his lower lip. They had sunk into the soft flesh the moment his bandages had been snipped off of his back._

_'I suppose not,' he said, his voice weak and cracked but stable._

_'Good. Well, I'm going to lie down for a bit,' John yawned. 'I had a busy morning, tending to you and making breakfast and cleaning the coffee out of the carpet–which I managed to get out by the way. But you're more than welcome to cuddle with me if you want.'_

_Sherlock stood up with a prolonged hiss, stretching out his muscles. 'I will join you in a minute. I'm just going downstairs to get a drink.' He paused and rethought his choice of words. 'Non-alcoholic, John. I'm just a little thirsty. Once I'm done I'll come and cuddle you.'_

_'Well, unless you bought some today you won't be finding any in the house,' John scowled. 'I emptied them all yesterday and tossed the bottles out as well.' He towelled off his hair and Sherlock's, their locks sticking up in random places. 'But go ahead and get your drink. Hurry back.' He placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips before scuttling off to the bed. He pulled on a fresh pair of pants and climbed in between the covers._

_Sherlock shook his head. 'I very much doubt Benny would have forgiven me if I had bought alcohol.' Luckily his temptations had been quelled somewhat by his sole focus on finding a large dosage of caffeine. He pulled on some pyjama bottoms with a little bit of awkwardness as his back wouldn't allow him to bend very low._

_'I'll just be a few minutes,' he promised his husband as he left their bedroom, feeling a little bit better than when he had entered it._

_'I'll be waiting,' John purred. He settled into the sheets and hummed, comfy and content._

_Sherlock made his steady way into the kitchen. He quickly located the abandoned cupboard that he'd stored his caffeinated drinks in and ripped one of the many cans from its packet. He pulled the tab open and began to drink the liquid, slowly at first, uncertain of whether he would be able to tolerate the taste. It actually wasn't too bad in the end, and was far better than drinking coffee which only ended up burning his tongue and throat. The energy drink was the complete opposite as it happened, cooling and refreshing and heavenly as it slipped down into his system._

_He instantly felt more alert and he drained the can with ease. He crushed it in his hands so that it was an unrecognisable metal object before tossing it in the bin and racing up the stairs back to his and John's bedroom._

_'Ready for that cuddle?' he asked excitedly as he sped through the door. He didn't receive an answer. John had fallen asleep._

_John mumbled in his sleep, his arm draped over Sherlock's empty side of the bed. His fingers twitched, searching for the warm body. Where was he?_

_Sherlock let out a brief chuckled. 'Oh, John,' he whispered softly as he crawled underneath the covers, moving John's arm so it was wrapped around him. 'Good night, my dear.'_

_John hummed when he felt his hand come into contact with warm flesh. He fingers curled into soft cotton and he pulled himself closer, his forehead laying against Sherlock's chest._

_**…::-::…** _

_Sherlock was exhausted. In fact, exhausted probably wasn't even the correct word for how he was feeling and was a grand understatement. He felt like he was a walking, talking corpse. After seven whole days and nights without even a mere wink of sleep that was hardly surprising. And to add to the pile of things making him feel like shit he was still withdrawing from his prolonged overuse of alcohol._

_His body was almost constantly wracked with shaking. Whether it be his alcohol withdrawal symptoms, his desire for more coffee, or the energy highs that he received from the energy drinks that had practically become part of his daily ritual._

_The past week had been incredibly hard on the ex-detective and quite frankly he was beyond shocked that he had managed to get that far without collapsing or raising suspicion. He wasn't far from it though, he could tell. Still, he pressed on, drinking caffeine discreetly. Every time he lied to John it was like a stab to the heart, and there had been many occasions in the passing days that Sherlock had wanted to tell his husband the whole truth. However, one look at his son soon made that idea disappear from his mind. It reminded him why he was doing this. For him. For his son._

_He wasn't going to go to sleep because if he did the threat of losing more of his memories hovered close by. He wasn't prepared to lose more of his memories just yet. Not whilst Ben was going through such a rough patch. His son needed him in this current time and Sherlock wasn't going to let him down. His 'experiment' was working though. Since he hadn't been sleeping no more memories had been stolen from him._

_Ben's coke bugs had started now and his moods were dark and foreboding. However, Sherlock found that when it was just himself and his son in a room Ben calmed down significantly so, and those knowing glances they shared between each other comforted both his son and himself. He was aware those looks hadn't gone unnoticed but he presumed since he and Ben were getting on so marvelously John wasn't going to bring it up._

_He had taken to playing his violin at night to distract him from the world of sleep that was calling his name. He never failed to note the frown lines creasing his husband's head when he came downstairs in the morning to find him still playing, but still John remained silent and the 'experiment' continued. His daughter would give him the occasional sad smile and in those moments his mind would scream at him. He might very well be helping his son but how many other people was he hurting?_

_Sherlock had started using 'making love' sessions to keep the obvious questions brewing in his husband's mind at bay. In fact said 'making love' sessions had become so frequent that he was beginning to feel slightly akin to a piece of meat, and he was fairly sure that John was feeling the same way. And still no questions were asked._

_His only real difficulty was in the form of the idiotic nurse his brother had hired. Surely a nurse knew what sleep deprivation looked like? And yet if she did notice it she didn't mention anything. She just sat there whilst both he and Ben threw curse words and abuse at her angrily._

_However, Sherlock had a feeling that today was the day. The day that everything was going to be revealed and his experiment would end in a lot of angry exchanges and hurt feelings. The first sign of this was the look John gave him when he found him once again sat on the sofa playing his violin after a night of not sleeping._

_'Morning.' Sherlock's words cracked in the air like thunder. His voice barely sounded human._

_One week. Seven whole days. That's how long it took for John to notice something was very, very wrong with his husband. He was shocked it had taken him that long, and disappointed in himself that he hadn't noticed it sooner. But he had just assumed it was his withdrawal and detox affecting him. Sherlock had been distant and secretive, which was understandable. He was going through a tough time and probably didn't want John to have to see him at his worst._

_He would go through spells of intense energy, almost like he'd slept the night through when John knew he hadn't. He would jump John as soon as they were alone, their love making frenzied, frantic, and sometimes not very satisfying. But John didn't ask questions, didn't let on that he was worried. But John was always worried. It was in his nature to worry, it was what Johns did._

_He was worried about Ben and his coke bugs, he was worried about Sherlock and his dehydration, he was worried about Felicity and how she was coping with it all, but mostly he was worried about Sherlock's increasingly haggard appearance. But every time he was with Ben the two would exchange knowing looks, almost like they had a running joke between them. Or they had a shared, secret between them and every time they looked at one another it was some sort of signal. They were both still trying to get clean, so maybe it was a signal to stop living in the real world and escape together. Maybe they snuck off and isolated themselves from the world, just spending time with one another. They had been playing violin together a lot lately. Maybe that was how they did it._

_But he was still worried about Sherlock and how he seemed to not be sleeping. The two would go to bed together, sometimes making frantic love, sometimes not. John would cuddle Sherlock and fall asleep rather quickly, but he would wake up in the night, Sherlock's side of the bed cold, and he could hear violin music coming from downstairs. Was Sherlock even sleeping? When had he last slept? John woke from his worried dreams and rolled over. Once again, Sherlock's side was cold and hadn't been slept in. John groaned and crawled out of bed, pulling on a set of pyjamas before heading downstairs._

_Sherlock was sitting on the couch, playing his violin as usual. The spot on the sofa he so often occupied was becoming depressed with the shape of his buttocks, proving that he had been occupying a great deal of his time there. When he spoke his voice sounded strained, dry, and barely even human. He was shaking, his head was drooping, his eyes kept falling shut before snapping open. All in all, he looked like shit._

_'Morning,' John answered softly. He eyed his husband up and down, taking in his appearance and frowning. 'Couldn't sleep?' He decided to give Sherlock the option to tell him if something was going on. He didn't want to pry, he wanted Sherlock to trust him enough to tell him himself._

_Sherlock had known that it was coming, had even come up with a thousand excuses for his lack of sleeping, but his lips failed to express any of those excuses with words, and his brain wasn't much use to him either. His head dropped to one side on his chest with a light thud and his eyes gave a little flicker, threatening to close._

**No.**   ** _Not yet._** ** _Stop._**

_He shook his head and groaned, looking at his husband through hazy eyes. His shoulders gave a slight defeated shrug as he tried to straighten himself up, only to fail and to slump further in his seat._

_John sighed, moving to Sherlock's side and propping him up._

_'When was the last time you slept?' he asked gently. 'And don't say that you have. I know what sleep deprivation looks like. I only wish I'd seen it sooner.'_

_Sherlock sighed heavily in return and shrugged again. Was there much point in lying to his husband anymore? Wasn't the truth going to come out soon anyway? Most likely when he collapsed from exhaustion or John found his suspicious caffeine supply._

_However, it turned out that he didn't have to say anything as his son crept into the lounge, a sheet wrapped around his body, and an obvious foul mood brewing within him. Surely John would be more focused on Ben than him._

_John watched Ben as he entered the room, a dark scowl on his face. Well, shit. The boy sat in an armchair and brought his knees up to his chest, glaring over them at his parents._

_'Morning Ben,' John said gently. 'How did you sleep?'_

_'How the fuck do you think I slept?' the boy snapped, his curls dancing wildly on his head. 'I've still got coke bugs if you're wondering. Persistent fuckers, aren't they? How long are they supposed to last?'_

_'It's different for everyone, and how long you were on the drugs and how much you used,' John said softly. 'It will get easier as you detox. I promise.'_

_Ben groaned and pressed his forehead against his knees, his arms scratching at his skin under the blanket._

_'How's Dad holding up?' Ben asked absently._

_'He seems to be ok,' John said, turning to Sherlock's jumping form. He could tell he was trying to keep himself awake, and John frowned. 'Do you know when the last time he slept was?'_

_'He hasn't been sleeping?' Ben asked, playing dumb. 'I hadn't noticed anything. What makes you say that?'_

_'Ben, you may think you're being secretive, but you're wrong,' John scowled. 'I'm not an idiot, I know what sleep deprivation looks like. And I also know your tell. Stop pulling at your ear and tell me the truth.'_

_Ben's hand dropped, frowning. He looked to Sherlock apologetically before he answered._

_'A week. It's been a week.'_

_A growl arose in Sherlock's throat as he heard Ben tell John how long he hadn't been sleeping for. But that was all he could muster before he fell over sideways on the sofa. He lay there, frowning, eyelids heavy._

_'Thanks a bloody lot, Ben,' he grumbled._

_'I'm sorry, Dad,' Ben sniffled. 'I'm so sorry.'_

_'Sherlock, you are a bloody idiot,' John sighed, pinching the bridge if his nose. 'Why haven't you been sleeping? Nightmares? Or have you just decided to stay awake throughout your detox? Because that is the stupidest idea you've ever had. You need your rest when you're detoxing. No, don't you dare say one word. I am taking you upstairs and I am going to out you to bed. And you will sleep, so help me god. I'll sedate you if I have to.'_

_He hauled Sherlock up and into his arms, holding him tight as he struggled against him. 'Stop it,' John growled. 'You are going to bed and that's final. You can tell me all about your idiotic plan in the morning.' He hauled Sherlock up the stairs and deposited him in their bed, wrapping him up in the sheets._

_'Now go the fuck to sleep or so help me I will sedate you.'_

_Sherlock stared at his husband, pursing lips, and if anything even more determined to not close his eyes. He smiled a little deviously at his husband and mumbled a 'Fine.'_

_John glared at him but was quick to take his leave. Sherlock could tell that he was barely keeping his cool. The moment the door slammed shut Sherlock crawled from under his covers and sought out his mobile phone, sending a text to his son._

_**Benny, when you get this you better fucking bring me some caffeine. I'm not prepared to go to sleep yet. Not after we've come this far. I don't want to forget, Benny. I don't want our relationship to go back to the way it was. Ignore your dad, make an excuse to see me, just please bring me some and quickly. -SH** _

_Ben had retreated to his room, his face mashed into his pillows. He felt so guilty for betraying his dad like that. God, why did John have to intimidate him so much? His phone buzzed loudly and he jumped, barely holding back a shriek of surprise. He pulled it off the side table and opened the new message. He swallowed when he read it, nodding to no one in particular._

_**Ok. I'll see what I can do. -BH** _

_He sent the text and crawled out of bed, pulling on a pair of pyjama trousers before opening his door silently. John was in the sitting room, taking care of Sherlock's violin. Good. Maybe he wouldn't have to face him._

_Ben snuck to the abandoned cupboard and pulled out a can of Monster. He shut it quietly and rushed to the stairs as quietly as he could. He took them two at a time, arriving at his parents' bedroom door and rushing inside._

_'Here. Dad didn't see. And, I'm really sorry. Please don't hate me.'_

_Sherlock took the can from his son with shaking hands and brought it to his lips, drinking it as though it were his lifeline. And, in a way, he supposed it was. Once he'd finished it he pushed himself up in the bed._

_'I don't hate you, Benny.' His voice was still tight and horribly strained but at least he felt a little more human than he had only a few minutes earlier._

_'Ok,' Ben sighed, tension rolling off his shoulders. 'I'm still sorry for outing you.' He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed one of Sherlock's hands. 'Other than the sleep deprivation, how are you holding up?'_

_'Oh, I'm doing brilliant,' Sherlock laughed. 'Absolutely fucking brilliant!'_

_He shook his head. 'Sorry. I just–' he swallowed hard. 'I just really don't feel too good.'_

_'You're delirious, Dad,' Ben frowned. 'I know you don't want to forget, but maybe some sleep would do you some good.'_

_'No, Benny,' Sherlock said stubbornly. 'I'm not sleeping. Not yet at least. I just need to buy us another week. It shouldn't be too difficult.'_

_'God. Another week? Are you sure you can last?' Ben swallowed and frowned. 'Because you look really out of it. Imagine how you'll be after another week.'_

_Sherlock scrubbed at his face and let out a loud groan. 'I'm going to do it, Benny. For you. I made a promise and I am a man of my word.'_

_'I know, and you've proven yourself,' Ben said, clasping Sherlock's hand tightly. 'I don't want you getting sicker while I'm getting better. I know you're doing it for me, but still. I don't want you to hurt yourself in the process.'_

_'I'm not just doing it for you,' Sherlock whispered. 'I'm doing it for me. In the long run, things will be ok.'_

_'God I hope so,' Ben sighed._

_'Ben! Sherlock is supposed to be sleeping! What are you doing here?' John exclaimed from the door. 'And what is that? Is that an energy drink? Is that how you've been staying awake?'_

_Sherlock jumped and fidgeted nervously where he lay. His nerves were shot from exhaustion and John's voice pierced his ears painfully and grated on his nerves further. He clamped his hands over his ears, ignoring anything else his husband had left to say. Ben scrambled from the room, running from the row he was certain was about to happen. He locked himself in his room and covered his head with a pillow, wanting to block out the noises from his parents as well as the ones in his head. John, upstairs, was not having any of Sherlock's childish actions._

_'Sherlock, take your hands away from your ears and listen to me,' he demanded. When Sherlock made no move to do so he growled in frustration and grabbed them away himself._

_'I said, listen to me!' he yelled. 'What the hell is going on? Why are you trying to stay awake for so long? What crazy idea have you gotten in your head that you're losing sleep over it? Tell me! Tell me please!'_

_'I can't tell you!' Sherlock all but screamed. 'You wouldn't understand!'_

_'You told our son and he seemed to understand it just fine!' John retorted. 'I'm not a moron, Sherlock. Go ahead and try me. I'm smarter than you like to think.'_

_Sherlock flipped himself over so his face was buried deep within his pillow. 'I can't tell you, John. I made a promise to Ben and you'll force me to break that promise,' he mumbled, once again covering his ears with his hands. 'Now leave me the hell alone.'_

_'No,' John growled. 'I want to understand what the hell is going on. Please, Sherlock. I'm worried about you. You look like death, and you're scaring me. What promise did you make that you can't break? Please, love. I just want to understand.'_

_'I said that I'd be there for him.' Sherlock's breathing was nearing what would be considered unhealthy. 'So nothing you goddamn say or do will stop me from continuing what I'm doing, because I am not going to break that promise.'_

_'How is keeping yourself awake for a week being there for him?' John inquired. 'You can't be with him every second of every day. You'll kill yourself! And I refuse to sit by and watch you do that.'_

_'Dying is far better than the alternative!' Sherlock snapped, turning his head to fix a hateful glare on John. 'And I'm not going to give you much choice in this matter.'_

_'Dying is better than living?!' John screamed. 'What would make you say that? You say you're doing this for Ben. What about me and Felicity? How do you think we've been coping, or not, with all of this? And do you really expect Ben to be fine with you killing yourself to be with him during this double detox?'_

_'Ben has been helping me in case you didn't notice! And yes, dying is better than living because...' Sherlock took an angry breath. 'Because I'm not really living, am I? My memories, John. It all comes down to my memories. And I know that you are all suffering because of me but for once why can't I be selfish? Why can't I choose how to lead my own bloody life? I know what I'm doing and everything is under control so just leave me alone!'_

_'People get hurt! It's a part of life! You can't avoid it!' John protested. 'And yes, I know Ben has been helping you but you are his father. No son would stand idly by as their father slowly killed himself. Trust me when I say Ben is torn up inside over all this._

_'And what does not sleeping have to do with your memories? Do you honestly think that if you fall asleep you lose memories? Dementia doesn't work that way. You lose memories whether you sleep or not. It can't be prevented. You're going to lose memories either way. Your violin playing is proof of that.'_

_John's eyes widened when he realised what he'd just said. He clamped his mouth shut and swallowed harshly. No one insulted Sherlock's violin playing. It was probably the worst insult anyone could ever throw at him. And anyone who did never questioned it again after Sherlock was through with them. John could only hop he would be generous in his tongue lashing against him._

_'What the hell did you just say?' Sherlock asked. The question was sharp and filled with venom. 'How dare you,' he bit out, shoving his covers off of himself and leaping to his feet, suddenly feeling full of energy. His entire body twitched and shook as he stood, towering over his husband._

_'That is where I draw the line! You can lecture me on not sleeping, glare at me for not understanding, hate me for hurting Ben and Felicity and yourself emotionally, but you don't fucking bring my violin playing into this, understood?'_

_John paled as Sherlock stood over him but he held his ground. He stood up himself, trying to make himself look bigger but to no avail. Why did he have to be so goddamn short?_

_'Have you heard yourself play, lately?' he asked, knowing he was making a horrible mistake. 'You're skipping notes, you're out of tune, you play too fast or too slow. If I didn't know any better I'd say you're forgetting how to play. Or the sleep deprivation is affecting your playing ability.'_

_Sherlock lashed out, grabbing John's wrists in his larger hands. Tears shone in his eyes and he could feel himself falling off the edge. Anger was building in his chest, such a pure and soul eating anger._

_'Shut up,' he hissed. 'Just shut the fuck up!'_

_'No, Sherlock. You need to realise how much this is affecting you,' John said, trying to get rid of the edge to his voice. 'You're sick, you're detoxing, and you're sleep deprived. You aren't performing up to par, your mind is betraying you, you aren't yourself. I'm sorry love, but you're going to continue to forget whether you sleep or not. And now you're beginning to lose your most precious gift: your violin playing. And I'm so sorry because I know how important she is to you.'_

_'No, John! You don't understand!' He began to shake his husband like a rag doll. 'I can't fucking cope without my violin! I don't know how to!' The tears finally began to spill from his eyes. 'It is the only connection I have to Ben! Mycroft brought me her. She has helped me through so much emotional crap in my life and now I'm forgetting how to play her! So please don't give me that sympathetic bull.'_

_'I know how much she means to you,' John repeated, grasping Sherlock's arms as he tried to stop him shaking him so harshly. 'I really do. I know that you use her to cope, to work through emotions, to help you think. I know how much you love her and how much you need her. And I am so, so sorry that you are forgetting his to play her.'_

_'Stop saying that,' Sherlock begged. 'Stop saying that I'm forgetting. Stop saying you're sorry.'_

_'But it's the truth. I'm sorry, but it is.' John sighed and squeezed Sherlock's arms gently. 'You have dementia, Sherlock. It isn't something you can control. I don't know what made you think you could but you can't. I know you want to be here for Ben, but you need to take care of yourself too. Please, love. Don't be stupid about this.'_

_'I don't want to hear the truth, John,' Sherlock's voice cracked out. 'I want you to leave now. Please, just go.'_

_'No, Sherlock. I'm not leaving you,' John said forcefully. 'And you need to hear the truth because you need to accept that you are sick and there is nothing you can do to stop that.'_

_'Fine, I'll make you leave!' Sherlock shoved, pushed, and dragged John out of the bedroom and onto the landing. There was nothing his husband could do to fight him. 'I know I am sick! Now go! Leave me be!'_

_'I don't want to leave you alone!' John protested, trying to fight his husband's forceful shoving. 'I don't trust you alone with yourself. I'm afraid you're going to do something drastic. Now let me back in!' He tried to shove past Sherlock and back into their bedroom, but Sherlock shoved back harder. John had to grab hold of the railing to keep himself from falling down the stairs._

_'Drastic? So you've lost all faith in my sanity then?' Sherlock snarled, jumping forwards so he was inches away from John. 'You don't trust me?'_

_'I don't trust you with yourself,' John clarified, standing up straight. 'Especially since you've been consuming god knows how many energy drinks behind my back. Apparently I can't trust you to make sane decisions on your own. So, I won't be leaving you alone any time soon.'_

_'Fuck this! Fuck everything!' Sherlock grabbed John by the arms, clutching him so tightly he was leaving bruises on his skin. 'I just want to be alone!' He shoved his husband and let out a war cry._

_'Shit! Sherlock!' John cried in fear as he lost his footing and tumbled down the stairs. He slammed down on a hip, breaking it; landed rather awkwardly on his hands, breaking one of his wrists; and finally landed face down at the bottom, cracking some of his ribs. He groaned, assessing the damage, a choked sob escaping when he tried to move. Brittle bones and a fall did not mix well._

_'Sherlock,' he coughed out weakly, blood spilling from his mouth and onto the floor. Sherlock stood frozen on top of the stairs. All the anger had disappeared from his system now, replaced by shock._

_'Oh god,' he gasped. 'John?' More tears were running down his face now, but not out of fury. 'What have I done?'_

_John coughed up more blood, unable to speak as it hurt too much. Sherlock rushed down the stairs to where John had fallen and dropped to his knees beside him._

_'What do I do now?' he choked. 'What the hell do I do now?'_

_'Hospital,' John choked out. 'Bones... broken.' He coughed violently, shaking as it upset his cracked ribs. 'Hurry.'_

_Sherlock legged it back up the stairs, threw himself through the bedroom door and fetched his phone, phoning for an ambulance without hesitation. His voice shook along with his body and the woman on the other end of the phone said the ambulance was approximately ten minutes away which, right now, seemed a long time away._

_He hurried back to John's side. 'Help's coming,' he blurted out before finally allowing himself to sob freely. 'I'm sorry, god, I'm sorry.'_

_'Dad?' Felicity turned the corner, concern written all over her face. 'Is everything ok? I heard these loud bangs–' She finally saw John laying on the floor and let out a shriek._

_'Oh my god! What happened? Is he ok? Did you call an ambulance?' Her fearful eyes met Sherlock's tear-filled one and she burst into tears as well, fearing the worst._

_Sherlock's throat constricted. 'Yes. I, er, called an ambulance.' He stood to his feet suddenly. 'Look after your dad. I have to–' He didn't bother finishing his sentence. Instead he did a rare thing. He ran away._

_He didn't stop running until he was locked in his and John's bedroom._

_'Ok,' Felicity whispered as Sherlock ran to his room. 'It's going to be ok, Daddy,' she said to John. She ran her fingers through his hair. 'I'll watch over you. That's what princesses do.'_

_'Thanks,' John choked out. 'Sherlock?'_

_'Went upstairs,' she said softly. 'I'll make sure he rides in the ambulance with you.'_

_'Ok,' John croaked out, coughing up more blood. Felicity tried to hold back her tears, needing to be strong for her dad now. Where was the damn ambulance?_

_What had he done? What the hell had he done?!_

_He'd done what he'd always feared he would do. He had physically hurt his husband._

_Who knew who he would turn on next? Ben? Felicity? Or god forbid his little nephew, Mark._

_He shuddered as guilt consumed him, like a black hole gobbling him up._

_He was a complete idiot! He should have allowed Mycroft to take him away! Should have bloody insisted on it. Then none of this would have happened._

_He would have cleaned up. He wouldn't have participated in this stupid experiment._

_This had to stop. All of this._

_He had to put his family out of their misery._

_Opening up the drawer by their bed he found the perfect solution._

_A gun. John's gun._

_He thought of his husband lying at the bottom of the stairs, bloody and broken._

_That was the only image he needed before he made a decision._

_He picked up the gun in trembling hands and placed it on the bed._

_He glanced over to his mobile phone and picked that up too._

_If he was going to go through with this plan he needed to tell his family why. They had a right to a goodbye._

_To Mycroft:_

_**Dearest brother, my worst fears have finally come true. I guess this has been coming a long time now but I'm going to say it anyway. Goodbye. -SH** _

_To John:_

_**I can never forgive myself for what I've done to you and the children. But I can give you all a chance of having a bit of happiness at least. I love you, my dearest blogger. That is why I have to go. It is why I am leaving you. -SH** _

_To Felicity:_

_**Farewell, Princess. It's been good, hasn't it? But now it is time for me to take my leave. I'll be ok. Who knows? Death may bring me some much wanted peace. I am proud of you. Do good with your life. -SH** _

_To Benedict:_

_**Ah Benny, last but not least. I want you to know that this isn't me abandoning you. This is me setting you free. I have only brought you pain. Promise me something? Stay clean, for me? I want you to have my violin too. She needs someone who will love her. Farewell. May we meet in another life. -SH** _

_Felicity's mobile went off. Maybe it was Ben, asking what had happened. She pulled it out of her pocket and saw, much to her surprise, it was from Sherlock._

_Her jaw dropped when she read the message._

_Ben burst out of his room then, his eyes wide with fear._

_'Did you–?' He didn't even have to finish when he saw Felicity's face. Without saying a word they both dashed upstairs, screaming Sherlock's name._

_'Dad! Dad! Don't do this!' Felicity cried, tears streaming down her face. She tried to open the door but it was locked, so she resorted to pounding on it with her palms. Ben was trying to kick it down but he only ended up with a sore leg._

_'Dad! Dad!' he cried, slamming his fists against the door until his hands bled. 'Don't! Please don't!'_

_Their cries were in vain when they heard the safety turn off. A gun? Where did he get that? They both made the connection just as the gun went off, the sickening splatter of bodily tissue hitting the wall followed._

_The last thing Sherlock had heard was his children's screams, begging him not to do it, not to leave them._

_It was too late._

_The gun was pressed between his lips and his finger was already on the trigger._

_He said a silent farewell to the world and pulled it. A loud, shrill sound boomed out._

_Then everything ended._

_His world was black as ink, his brain splattered the walls. His family was safe now. He was dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about the ending. It's really dark and depressing, and I hope we didn't majorly upset anyone. Sherlock will wake up next week, so there's that at least. Though it won't necessarily be a happy reunion. College starts for me in three weeks and I move in in seventeen days. I got some organising done and even made a list of all that I'm bringing! Yay me! And I've been talking with my roommates on Facebook since Wednesday and they're both Potterheads and Sherlockians and one is a Whovian and we'll be converting the other one as well. They're like the best roommates ever right now ;)
> 
> See you all next week, though it may be posted a tad late again. Happy Red Pants Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	26. Welcome Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Apologies for the late update. I've been busy shopping for college and completing some online homework.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Greg  
> Me: John, Mycroft, Violet Holmes, Dr Mary Morstan
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: angst, Sherlock being a lying bastard, mother-son feels, and Sherlock trying to protect his heart and John's

John stuttered awake, something urgent rousing him from his slumber. Sherlock's heart monitor. It was beeping like crazy and his body was thrashing in the sheets. John rushed to his side, grabbing his shoulders and pinning him down.

'It's alright, Sherlock,' he said to the comatose form. 'It's alright. I'm here. It's ok now.'

Sherlock could hear John's voice breaking through the veils of death. He let out a sob. Was this his punishment in hell? To hear his husband's voice speak to him so tenderly as though nothing had happened? To make him feel his guilt every moment he was here?

'I'm sorry!' he cried. 'John, forgive me! I didn't mean– Didn't mean to–'

John gasped and tears gathered in his eyes. Was he waking up? God it felt good to hear his voice again.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, it's ok now. Everything will be alright, I promise.' He pushed the nurse's call button and continued to speak soothing words to his lover. 'It's gonna be ok, love. It's alright. The nurse will help you and explain what happened.'

Sherlock's eyes flickered open. Just the fact that he had eyes to open in the first place confused him beyond belief. Wasn't he dead? Hadn't the bullet shot up into his skull?

John cried in relief. Thank god! He was awake! The nurse arrived then, smiling at the sight of Sherlock having regained consciousness.

'Hey there mate. Remember me?' Rory asked, smiling warmly down at the very confused Sherlock. 'Gave us quite a scare there. But we're glad to finally see you awake. I should let your brother know. He'll have me sacked if I don't.'

John handed Rory his mobile, staring down at Sherlock with watery eyes.

'Hi, love,' he croaked out. 'I missed you.' He ran his fingers through Sherlock's significantly longer curls, wishing he had been allowed to trim them. His hair was too long now, he didn't like it, and he wanted it back to the length he was used to. But now was not the time for selfish grievances. Now was the time for being there for a soon-to-be shocked and confused and possibly violent Sherlock.

Everything was so god damn bright. He couldn't see anything. Everything was a horrible bright blur of white. When his eyes had adjusted to the harsh light his breath hitched. John was hovering over him, completely unharmed, stroking his hair.

'J-ohn?' his voice stumbled, struggling to piece the name together. Was it really him? Was John ok? What was going on?

'Hi, love,' John smiled, tears of relief and joy falling down his cheeks. 'God, it's good to hear your voice again.'

'Wha–?' Why was John smiling? What the hell was there to smile about?

'I'll explain everything when you're more coherent,' John said, reading the confusion on Sherlock's face plain as day.

'He's on his way,' Rory said, handing John his mobile back. 'Hey there, mate,' he said to Sherlock. 'Welcome back.'

Sherlock wrinkled up his nose. 'Am I dead?' he choked out. God he hoped so. But then why was John here too? Horror sped through Sherlock's entire system. Was John dead too? Had the fall done more than cause him a few broken bones?

'No, love, you aren't dead,' John said gently. 'You've been in a coma. For quite some time too.'

'Coma?' Sherlock breathed as though the word was completely foreign to him.

'Yeah. You know. Comatose,' John explained gently, still petting Sherlock's hair soothingly. 'You've been lost in your head for a good...' He paused. How long had it been? He looked at the date on his phone. Wow. Almost to the day.

'You've been in a coma for four months,' John said softly.

'Four?' Sherlock gulped, still completely dumbfounded.

'I'm afraid so,' John nodded. 'It was touch and go there for a while. Where it seemed like you wouldn't wake up. But I never lost faith. Because I know how strong your mind is. If anyone were to fight their way out of a coma it would be you.' He gingerly clasped one of Sherlock's hands in his, rubbing soothing circles on the back of it with his thumb.

'Your mother was very supportive,' he continued. 'If I seemed to be losing faith for even a second, she would set me straight. You have a wonderful, loving, very caring mother. You should consider yourself lucky to have her. She is a brilliant, wonderful woman.'

Sherlock tugged his hand away, the fear of touching John still running through him like wildfire.

'Where is my mother? Has she gone back home?' he asked, trying to make conversation despite his inner panic.

So it hadn't been real? Benny? Felicity? Marrying John? Moving into that big house? Hurting John?

None of it had.

He wasn't sure if that made him sorrowful or relieved.

John was hurt when Sherlock pulled away so quickly. Maybe he was still confused. He needed to give him time to recuperate.

'Your mother is in the café right now,' John said softly. 'She needed some food. She was almost pulling a you. She hadn't eaten in a couple days and her blood sugar was drastically low. So, I had a nurse take her to go get some food. She should be back soon.'

Sherlock nodded, frowning. 'Right... Thank you. My mother can be quite stubborn.'

'She's a wonderful woman,' John smiled softly. 'I know I said that already, but she really is.'

Mycroft burst into the room then, looking very much like a bat out of hell. He was panting, his suit looking like it had been work for days in a row, and his eyes were frantic.

'You're awake,' he gasped. 'Oh my god, you're awake! You're alive!' He rushed to Sherlock's side and, without thinking about what he was doing, wrapped his arms around his little brother in a tender hug.

Sherlock froze in the hug. He was still confused by what was going on and being wrapped up in Mycroft's arms didn't help. Then, of course, his fears of hurting his family were at the very tip of his mind. What if he hurt Mycroft? With that terrifying thought he pushed his brother away. He didn't want to hurt him. No. Not Mycroft.

Mycroft stumbled back, hurt tremendously. He knew he and Sherlock were never ones for sentiment, but he thought maybe just this once they could make an exception.

Apparently he was wrong.

He straightened up, smoothing out his suit and lifting his chin in a semblance of being back in his natural state of order.

'Well, it's good to see you awake,' he managed to say.

John just stared, dumbfounded. He had never seen Mycroft show such a high level of emotion before. And Sherlock rejecting him had him reverting back to his old ways. John frowned but didn't say anything.

Sherlock proceeded to say something that broke his brother.

'Anyone would think you care.'

That one sentence was laced with far more coldness and anger than Sherlock had meant it to. He supposed it was because, even if what had happened in his mind hadn't been real, Mycroft had failed him. Failed to keep his family safe. And for that he resented him.

Which of course was ridiculous but it was true.

Mycroft swallowed, his unfeeling façade falling. His brother had said a lot of scathing words to him over the years, but none of them had hurt. But those? Those five words? Those hurt.

'Yes, well.' He swallowed, straightening up again. 'Just goes to show that caring is still a disadvantage. Brother, it is good to see you awake. I hope you have a full and speedy recovery.' He turned on his heel and opened the door, turning back to nod curtly at John.

'John,' he said in goodbye, taking his leave and closing the door behind him.

Sherlock's heart twinged and for a moment he felt guilty. That didn't last long. 'Caring is a disadvantage,' he sighed. 'A disadvantage indeed.'

'What?' John asked, appalled he could even still think that. 'No it's not. Caring about someone means you're willing to do anything for that person. Lay down your life for that person if you cared enough. It isn't a feeling that puts you at a disadvantage.' He grabbed Sherlock's hand again, gripping tight. 'It makes you strong.'

Sherlock once again tugged his hand free from John's grip. 'It really doesn't. It is a disadvantage.'

How did he explain to John that he had cared for him deeply in his dream, and in said dream had all but pushed him down the stairs? How did he explain how hurt he was feeling because his children and his nephew weren't real? He had cared for them.

It was like they were dead.

'What now, doctor? Are you going to cry? Not much good this caring lark,' he snapped.

John sighed forcefully through his nose, holding back the tears Sherlock had seen forming. What had happened during those four months he was in a coma? Could he remember anything? Not just about what had happened while he was in a coma, but about their lives together. What did he remember?

He swallowed thickly and sat up straight, defensive soldier mode activated. 'No, Sherlock, I'm not going to cry. I'm concerned is all. And, I was just wondering, those four months you were in a coma... What can you remember? About anything? Did you dream at all? Did your memories come back? Anything?'

Sherlock swallowed, angry at the emotions building up within him. 'That, Doctor Watson, is none of your business.'

God he felt horrible. He was hurting John all over again.

 _At least it's emotional, not physical._  
  
He wasn't prepared to hurt John physically. He wasn't going to stand by and watch him get bloodied and broken by his hands. He would cut him from his life if he had to. He just wouldn't risk hurting John in such a way.

John steeled his jaw, letting Sherlock's words roll over him.

 _He has just come out of a coma. He is confused and traumatised. He needs time to heal and adjust. Give him that time._  
  
John sighed loudly again and nodded. 'Ok. That's fine. I was just hoping you remembered us is all.'

Sherlock laughed ridiculously loud though there was nothing in the slightest funny 'Us. Oh yes. I remember us.'

John blushed although there was no reason to. It was only Sherlock; he shouldn't be embarrassed. He should be ecstatic he remembered, he should be crying with relief, bouncing off the walls.

So why was he doing the exact opposite?

'Good,' he managed to say after clearing his throat rather loudly. 'Good. That's, um, good.'

_Yes, I remember us, John._

_I remember all the pain and suffering I have put you through. Both in the dream my mind twisted from my memories and in real life. And I cannot do that anymore. No. Look at you, John. Look at how much weight you've lost. You're like a bloody skeleton. You haven't been eating properly then. Why? Because you've been too busy watching over me. That only affirms that I bring you more harm than good. You've got bags under your eyes. Not sleeping then. You lost sleep over me? Enough. This is too much. I can't watch as you do this to yourself because of me. No._

Sherlock licked his lips and turned his eyes away from, John. 'I remember the little experiment I was trying out on you.'

John licked his lips and looked up, his eyes wide. With fear or hurt he wasn't certain.

'Experiment?' he asked in a small voice.

'Yes, John. An experiment,' Sherlock scoffed. 'For science and nothing more.'

'God dammit, Sherlock,' John sighed loudly. 'You know how I feel about you experimenting on me without my express permission. What was is this time and did you at least gather some quantifiable data from it?'

'Yes, I suppose I did,' Sherlock replied sharply. 'And the experiment was you. You, John.'

'Yes, I realise I was the experiment,' John sighed. 'What I want to know is–' He paused, things clicking into place in his brain. 'Wait. You mean, you didn't experiment  _on_  me, but I  _myself_  was the experiment? What was the experiment, if I may be privy to know?'

'Yes, John! That's exactly what I mean! Perhaps you're not such an idiot after all.' He very nearly flinched at his words. They sounded like venom. 'I was experimenting what it was like to be involved in a physical relationship in order to understand one of the possible motives for murder in greater depth.'

John's heart plummeted. It had been an experiment? All of it? Had anything been real?

'Wait. Let me get this straight.' John was surprised at how level his voice was. 'You let me take your virginity, kiss you, profess my love for you, and open up my heart to you... all for a bloody  _experiment?_ '

Now he was fuming.

'You do realise it is more than a bit not good to mess with people's feelings like that, right? Because all those feelings and thoughts and actions? They were  _real_  for me. I  _do_  love you, I  _do_  care about you, and you claim everything you said was for an  _experiment?_ ' He let out a loud, delirious laugh.

'I don't believe you. I don't. No one can fake that level of emotion for very long before they start to think it's real too. And  _you_ , Mr Emotional Range of a Teaspoon, expect me to believe that everything we did was for an  _experiment?_  Ha!'

'I think you'll find I am a man of many faces, John. It was an act. All of it. Just an act. I needed to know what emotions a human being feels after participating in such sexual acts together. You were the test subject.'

Lies all lies. All of this was one big lie. He loved John. He'd felt things that he couldn't even describe for the army doctor. He cared about him on a deep, emotional level. He supposed that's why he was doing this. Why he was pushing John away. Because he cared.

'And you have proven yourself to be very useful. For example, I see you have mistaken sexual acts as love. I guess that's where you are wrong. How are you feeling now? Angry? Used? Upset? Tell me. I need to know.'

John clenched his jaw shut tightly. He wasn't going to answer that. He refused. Sherlock was lying. Why was he lying? How could he lie about all they had and claim it wasn't real? How?

_You want to know how I feel? I feel used, abused, and betrayed. I trusted you, Sherlock. I trusted you with all my heart and soul and you took that trust and threw it in the dirt, stomping on it for good measure. I still refuse to believe that everything was a lie. I refuse to believe that you could manipulate me for that long without me noticing. I would have noticed. I would have. I should have. But we were so happy. So very happy. And you agreed to marry me! I had it all planned out too. Fuck._

The ring he had picked out a few weeks ago was burning a hole in his pocket now. He felt like an idiot. He felt betrayed. But most of all he felt like his world was crumbling down around him and he didn't know what was real anymore.

'You're lying,' he grit out. 'I know you are. I know it. I refuse to believe that you would manipulate me for weeks just to gather data about motives for murders of passion. No. No.'

'Am I lying? Or am I telling the truth for the first time in a very long time?' Sherlock cocked his head to one side on his pillow. 'I used you. I knew you had a big heart so you would be a willing subject and would give me some reliable data. I should have seen that you were going to fall for me. I'm sorry. I was unaware of how deep your feelings really went.'

'You liar,' John growled. 'You're a fucking liar. I don't believe you. No. You're lying for a purpose. What is it? Are you trying to protect me from something? Someone? What? Tell me!'

'You aren't a child, John. Why on Earth would I bother protecting you?'

Sherlock's heart was feeling heavier and heavier in his chest by the minute. He was still filled with rage and confusion and hurt. Self hatred bubbled beneath his surface. He was feeling something that could only be described as grief. He was grieving for his children, for his nephew, for his non-perfect but perfect life. He just knew one thing: be wasn't safe and he wasn't the good man John believed him to be. The less he cared for his lov–flatmate the less danger he would be in.

'You would protect me because you love me!' John cried. 'Yes, I am perfectly capable of defending myself, and so are you, but we've fought for each other's protection on numerous occasions. Why? Because that's what people do when they care for one another. They fight the battles not truly worth fighting because they care about the person they are fighting for.'

His throat was choking on his unshed tears and emotions. He swallowed audibly before moving quickly, sealing his lips to Sherlock's in a deep and passionate kiss. He heard Sherlock's heart monitor soar, his heartbeat skyrocketing. He released him after a full minute.

'Now try to tell me that you didn't feel something during that,' he panted, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks. 'Try and explain your heart beating so erratically at my touch. Go ahead. Try to lie that one off.'

Sherlock raised a finger to his lips fir a brief second, tracing where John's own lips had been melded to them. He gave John a calculated look.

'Years without any sexual activity and then you come along and assault my body? Of course my heart's going to speed up. Besides, what I do feel is nothing more than a slight sexual attraction to you. I do not love you.'

Of course what he was really thinking was: Kiss me again, John. Now! Make my emotions melt away into nothing but the simple love I have for you.

'"A slight sexual attraction?" Is that what that is?' John pointed to the very prominent tent forming in Sherlock's sheets. 'Because I don't think a reaction that strong would come from a "slight sexual attraction." And don't give me that "years without any sexual activity" bullshit. Your body may not be experienced, but your mind is. And you still want me and care for me, maybe even love me. And nothing you say or do will ever change my feelings for you.'

Sherlock cursed his bodily functions and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 'I have always been a man of addiction, John. And currently my body is craving you. My body. Not my mind. Can't you see there was nothing but sex between us? Meaningless sex. Not love.'

'Meaningless? Meaningless?' John's jaw dropped before he clamped it back shut with a snap. 'Losing your virginity was meaningless? Taking mine was meaningless? How could you say that? What is going on? This isn't right, isn't you. Please, love, tell me what's going on.'

'It was all for science, John. As I have told you if you were listening. Now stop calling me love. The experiment has run its course. There is no need to keep up the facade.' Sherlock was swallowing down screams now. He wanted to scream that he was sorry, that he didn't mean it, but the damage was clearly already done.

'You know what? You may claim that you don't love me, but I still refuse to believe that,' John choked out. 'And you're trying to push me away. Even I can see that. I'm not blind nor stupid. You care about me, you love me, but if you're going to be a dick about it then fine.' He fished the ring out of his pocket and dropped it onto Sherlock's bed, just within reach of his fingers.

'Think about that while I get some air. And I'll be coming back. You won't be getting rid of me that easy.' He stormed out of the room and to the elevator, taking it down to the basement where the cafeteria was. Mrs Holmes was there, waiting.

'Oh. Hello dear,' she smiled warmly. 'Oh my. You look a bit ruffled. Is everything alright?'

'Sherlock's awake,' was all John managed to say before stalking off for a cup of coffee and a banana. Violet's jaw dropped and hurried into the elevator before it closed, taking it up to her son's floor.

Her son was awake. Her son was awake and alive.

Greg had been looking for Mycroft all morning, but it seemed the man had disappeared into thin air. He had left the hospital till last to look for his love, seeing as Mycroft was finding it increasingly difficult to be around his comatose brother. In all honesty, Greg didn't blame him. As horrible as it sounded, Sherlock had become a terrible sight to look upon. He'd lost weight from being bed bound for four months, he was an even more sickly pale colour than usual, and although a coma was effectively a deep sleep the poor detective looked a world away from being peaceful, as he should have been.

He headed to the cafeteria first, knowing Mycroft's belly had probably bullied the man into stress eating once more.

He didn't find Mycroft there however. He did, on the other hand, find John. And he looked... devastated.

Oh god. What had happened? Had Sherlock's condition worsened?

John scowled down at his banana, his hands wrapped around his coffee cup tightly. He'd made the mistake of accidentally crushing the last cup too tightly, spilling coffee all over the floor as his shoes.

Why would Sherlock say those awful things? He was lying, he had to be. It wasn't an experiment. John knew in his heart it wasn't. It had been too real and spontaneous to be an experiment. No scientist would conduct an experiment so randomly. The variables would be all over the place. It couldn't possibly be consistent.

He heard a soft cough come from beside him and he looked up. Greg was standing there, a concerned look on his face.

'Oh. Hey, Greg,' John mumbled.

'God mate, you look like death.' Greg took a seat opposite his friend. 'Is it Sherlock? What's happened?'

'He woke up,' John answered simply.

'Then why do you look like you've been chewing on lemons?' Greg questioned. 'It's good that he's woken up, right? Wait– When did this happen? My didn't say anything to me.'

'I don't know, maybe a half hour ago?' John shrugged. 'And he told Mycroft off, much to my surprise. And yeah, I should be happy that he's awake, and I am, but I'm not as happy as I should be.' He looked up at Greg with morose eyes.

'He's different, Greg,' he said softly. 'Something happened while he was in a coma. Something bad. I know that has to be it, because I wouldn't be able to bear with the alternative. Because, according to him...' He swallowed thickly, dropping his head.

'He says none of it was real,' he choked out. 'Says everything we did, everything we said, everything we shared was for an experiment. To gather information about motives for murders of passion. And I know that isn't true. It can't be. It just can't. He says he doesn't love me, Greg. He says he never did. It was all for science. And I... I...'

His sobs broke free then. The tears he didn't allow himself to cry in front of Sherlock fell from his eyes, running down his cheeks like two tiny waterfalls. He buried his face in his arms, hunched over the table, sobbing loudly. He didn't care who heard him, it was a hospital cafeteria. A lot of people cried here. He wasn't the first and he certainly wouldn't be the last.

'He what?!' Greg felt outraged. John shouldn't have had such a bomb thrown on him, not after four months of hell. 'He's an idiot, John.' Lestrade reached forward and squeezed John's shoulder. The poor man was an emotional wreck.

'I don't think he's telling the truth. I think you're right. Something happened to him. Who knows what's been going on in that mind of his over these four months? He is Sherlock after all. He's probably scared witless. But that doesn't give him a right to say what he has.

'What you just said about Mycroft only affirms that. Their relationship was better than it ever had been before he went into a coma, right?'

John merely nodded, his sobs quieting. He still didn't trust his voice though.

'Told him off. Told me off,' he choked out. 'Were we in the dream? Did we hurt him? Did he hurt us?'

'I wish I could answer that but I can't. Just give him some time. I'm sure he'll come around.' Greg gave John's shoulder one more light squeeze before releasing it.

'Think about how this has been affecting us. You've barely slept or eaten. Whereas Mycroft has been doing the opposite. I don't know if you've noticed but he put on quite a bit, and that's probably putting it lightly. He doesn't do much these days. He mainly curls up in a ball under his duvet covers and refuses to come outside and eats - a hell of a lot - and then eats some more. I've started up smoking again. I don't know why, but this whole thing has kinda hit me hard too. But none of that, none of that can possibly compare to what he must have been through. Trapped inside your own mind for four months. God knows what that does to a person.'

'That's what has me worried,' John mumbled into his arms. 'What happened in there that would cause him so much stress and grief? He's actually grieving, Greg. Over whom, I don't know. I thought coma dreams were supposed to be pleasant and perfect. But, then again, this is Sherlock we're talking about. His perfect would probably be murders galore.'

Greg laughed lightly. 'Murders, and a world where Anderson doesn't exist. Yes, that would be Sherlock's perfect.

'But from what I'm gathering, that isn't what happened at all.' The silver haired man exhaled. 'You're just gonna have to be patient with him.'

'I'm trying, Greg. Believe me, I'm trying,' John sighed. He lifted his head off the table and wiped his face clear of tears. 'But it's hard when he doesn't want me to touch him, doesn't accept my love. I gave him the ring and he didn't even flinch. God.' He ran a hand down his face and sighed loudly.

'I wish I could help him, but he'll probably need a therapist. Both mental and physical. After four months his muscles of atrophied and he's gonna need to get his strength back.'

'He's probably just on the defensive because his body has started to waste away. You know how Sherlock is. Vain as ever. Probably conscious that he looks akin to a warmed over corpse right now. Just needs time to adjust and find his feet.'

At that precise moment there was a sharp ping. It was Greg's mobile. He fished for it in his jacket pocket and pulled it out. He frowned and let out a loud sigh as a result of the text. It had been from Anthea about Mycroft, and it wasn't good news that she was reporting back to him.

'Oh, Mycroft,' he whispered.

'What? What's happened?' John was suddenly on alert. If Sherlock's words could affect him so badly he could only imagine how they would affect his brother.

'It's Anthea. She found Mycroft,' Greg replied miserably, running a hand through his hair.

'Wait. Found him?' John asked, beyond worried now. 'Where the hell did he go?'

'God knows where he has been but she found him–' Greg took a deep breath. 'Knelt by the toilet in his flat puking his guts up after practically gorging on the entire contents of his kitchen.' He shrugged. 'Not an uncommon thing to happen of late but still.' Greg's lower lip trembled. 'I'm really worried about him.'

'Oh my god. Is he going to be ok?' John asked, reaching a hand out to take one of Greg's. 'I knew he had been over eating but I didn't know it was that bad.'

Greg snorted. 'Mycroft hasn't been okay since this whole thing started.'

'None of us have,' John mumbled. 'You should go to him. He needs you right now. A lot more than I do. Go. I'll be fine.'

'I can't be around him right now. I've tried to get him to stop but he still insists on stuffing himself silly until his stomach can't hold its contents anymore. He's closed off, won't talk, at least not to me. His father's still on the loose and I think he's terrified. He just isn't the man I know. And that scares me.' A single tear drop fell from his eye. 'He won't even sleep in the same bed as me anymore.'

'He's scared and worried,' John said softly, squeezing Greg's hand. 'He probably isn't used to those feelings. And with Sherlock having been in a coma and their father on the loose, he's stressed and frayed beyond belief. I still think you should go to him, no matter what he says. He needs you, that much is evident. He needs someone to stand behind him during all this, and I'm pretty sure he wants that person to be you. He loves you, Greg. He does. Don't let him pull the "I'm distancing myself from you to protect you" bullshit. Go to him, stand your ground, show him that you're going to be there for him and help him and support him no matter what. Because he needs you, now more than ever.'

'Are you talking about me and My, or yourself and Sherlock?' Greg asked, wiping at his tear-filled eyes to stop more from running free. 'Because it's good advice. You gonna follow it yourself?'

'Huh. I never made the connection, but it does work for my situation.' John raised his eyebrows and nodded. 'Yeah. I'll follow my own advice if you follow it to. We'll go to our respective Holmes boys and show them that they won't be losing us so easily. We're here for good; they're stuck with us.' John smiled softly and squeezed Greg's hand again.

'Thanks for this, John,' Greg said, sounding entirely awkward, removing his hand from John's and getting to his feet. 'I forgot how nice it is to talk to someone who isn't a Holmes.'

'I wish I could remember what it's like to talk to a Holmes,' John frowned. 'Sorry. Let's not go there. You're quite welcome for the talk, Greg. We should definitely try to do the Wednesday night pub talks again. Maybe now that Sherlock's awake I'll have more to talk about.'

He stood to his feet and bid Greg goodbye, striding with purpose over to the elevators. He was going to make Sherlock listen to him. He was going to talk, Sherlock was going to listen, and everything was going to be okay.

He hoped.

Sherlock had been thumbing the ring John had placed on the hospital bed, crying silent tears. That's how his mother found him.

He'd been crying because in his dream, he'd married John. He'd been crying because this only made his fears seem more likely. This was too close to his dream. Too close. If he married John it would become true. Maybe not to the last detail but he was certain of one constant. If he married John he would only end up hurting him.

He was also crying because he had given up on finding someone to love him so much as a child. Crying because he loved John just as strongly back and wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with him. Crying because he knew that he wouldn't.

And then when he saw his mother, both alive and well, he cried some more. This time his crying wasn't silent. It was loud and pathetic, and child like.

All Violet Holmes could do was hug her son tightly and offer words of what she hoped was comfort.

'Shhh. It's okay now, honey. Shhh,' she soothed her son. She wrapped her arms around him gingerly, sitting next to him on his bed. She began petting his hair, continuing to shush him soothingly.

'No!' he sobbed. 'No, it's not okay!'

'Why not, sweetie?' she asked softly.

Sherlock clasped the ring John had tossed at him and pushed it into his mother's hands. 'This is why not.'

Violet gasped at the sight of the ring.

'Oh, honey! This is wonderful!' she grinned widely. 'Why are you upset by this? He loves you and wants to spend the rest of his life with you. Why are you distressed?'

'Because I can't spend the rest of my life with him,' Sherlock stated bluntly. 'He'll get hurt.'

'Sweetie, everyone gets hurt,' Violet said gently. 'You can't prevent it. Why can't you marry him? You love him, don't you?'

Sherlock nodded, sniffling and biting back more tears whilst clinging onto his mother for dear life. 'I do. Which is exactly why I have to let him go.'

'Honey, that is an incredibly stupid reason to leave someone,' Violet scolded him gently. 'You're afraid of hurting him? Trust me when I say you rejecting his proposal will hurt him more than any physical pain you could ever inflict.'

'You're wrong,' he told his mother, something that was rarely told to Violet Holmes. 'I am being merciful by letting him go.'

'Take a good hard look at your John after you reject him,' Violet said sternly. 'And then you come find me and look me in the eye and tell me that was the merciful thing to do. Because a rejection like that is like a punch to the gut, and the look on his face will kill you.'

'He isn't my John. I made sure he knows that,' Sherlock sighed tiredly. 'And it really doesn't matter if this kills me. At least he is safe.'

Violet slapped a perfectly manicured hand across her son's cheek.

'Now you listen to me, Sherlock Holmes,' she hissed. 'You do not, I repeat, do not ever say or think that you would be better off dead instead of hurting the people you love. And you already rejected him? I did not raise an idiot for a son. You fix this. You fix this right now or I swear to god I'll do it myself.'

'No mother, you didn't raise an idiot of a son!' Sherlock snapped. 'You were barely in the picture to raise me! And you have no right to tell me how to lead my life.'

_Help me mummy. Please help me. I'm drowning. Can't you see? I don't know what to do._

'Sherlock, you might not remember, but I was the one who stopped your father from killing you every night,' Violet hissed. 'Every night I would offer myself in your place. I would risk my own life to protect you. You were just a boy, I was stronger than you, and I did what a mother is supposed to do to protect her family.

'Now, I can see how much you're hurting. I can see the pain in your eyes. They're haunted. What's going on in that head of yours?'

Sherlock's lower lip trembled. 'I don't know how to explain it. It's ridiculous what I'm feeling. Utterly ridiculous.'

'You can tell me,' Violet whispered softly. 'It's ok. Tell Mummy what's on your mind.'

'I dreamed up a whole life for myself, mother,' Sherlock's voice quavered.

'Was it a nice life?' Violet inquired.

'Define "nice,"' Sherlock whispered.

'Well, for starters, was John there?'

Sherlock smiled weakly before frowning. 'Yes. Yes he was.'

'Ok. Good,' she smiled. 'Were you together and happy?'

'We were together but we were far from happy,' Sherlock shuddered. The fake memory of himself and John having that brutal argument that had ended with John falling down the stairs into a broken heap whilst Sherlock had retreated to their room to kill himself ran through his mind.

'Oh honey,' Violet sighed. She began petting his hair again. 'What happened?'

'We had this little life together. It was great! We got married and had our honeymoon.' He blushed a little as he recalled his large member. Its sudden growth spurt suddenly made sense. He continued, leaving that bit out for his mother's sake. 'But then I forgot. I missed fifteen years of our married life together and things only went downhill from there.'

'You forgot?' Violet twirled her fingers through Sherlock's curls. 'What happened after those fifteen years?'

'John and I both had our own biological child. John had a daughter, Felicity, my little princess. I had a son, Benny, an exact replica of myself.' A small smile wiggled across his features. 'And since I didn't remember them I wandered into the kitchen naked. John wasn't very pleased about that, as you can probably imagine. Especially because the children so happened to be in the kitchen at that time.'

Violet smiled at the thought of having grandchildren.

'They sound lovely,' she said softly. 'And yes, I can imagine the shock on their faces when you walked in. What happened then?'

'Mycroft caught wind of what had gone on. He was angry, furious even. But that wasn't his fault. He couldn't help but have–' Sherlock paused. Should he say anything? He didn't want to upset his mother. In the end he decided to tell her. It was just a dream after all. A terrifyingly realistic dream.

'I dreamt he had bipolar disorder like father.' He shrugged. 'Point is, he was angry, and then when he found out about my memory loss he came and apologised to me, after a punch from John that is. When we were discussing my memory loss he let something slip. He said that I was his only family.' He paused again, waiting for his mother to catch on.

Violet had begun rubbing soothing circles on her son's back, only pausing when he said that only he and Mycroft were left in his dream.

'I was gone,' she said bluntly.

More tears swelled in Sherlock's eyes and he nodded. 'I didn't even get to say goodbye.'

'It was only a coma dream,' she said softly, running her fingers through his long hair. 'I'm still alive. I'm not going anywhere any time soon. And if I do, I promise to hold on long enough for you to say goodbye. Ok, sweetie?' She placed a gentle kiss to the top of his head and held him close.

'Mummy,' Sherlock whispered, a sob breaking out of his throat. 'I never want to say goodbye.'

'I know you don't, sweetie,' Violet whispered. 'I know. And I don't want to have to say goodbye to you either.'

'I–' Sherlock gulped, trying to compose himself. 'The dream gets worse.'

'Oh? How so?' Violet asked softly. She held her son against her tightly, massaging his scalp gently.

'I began skipping more and more time. So many memories were stolen from me mother. So many.' Sherlock's weak and tired body shook in his mother's arms. 'I became depressed, distant, and I began to develop an alcohol problem. I was so lost, so confused, and everyone around me was hurting because of it.'

Violet rested her cheek on her son's head, continuing her ministrations on his head. She hummed, letting Sherlock know to continue.

'I begged Mycroft to take me away, but John wouldn't allow him. He thought that if I went away to get help I wasn't going to come back. I might not have, but I still would have gotten help. Instead, I became dependent on alcohol. I couldn't live without it.'

'Did you try to clean up?' Violet asked softly.

'Yes.' Sherlock bit his lip. 'You see, my son, Benny, he was going through an addiction of his own. We promised each other we would clean up side by side.'

'Good for you two,' Violet smiled gently. 'How did it go?'

'It went ok. I didn't touch another drop of alcohol. And Benny didn't get a fix. It was hard, as withdrawals are, but I made it harder on myself.' Sherlock took a shuddering breath. 'I came up with an idiotic plan you see. To stop my memory loss so I would be able to support my son more thoroughly.'

'You can't prevent memory loss, but perhaps in a dream...' Violet trailed off. 'What did you come up with?'

'I planned to not sleep. I thought that maybe my memory loss was connected to me sleeping. If I didn't sleep then it would simply just... go away.' He snorted. 'I told you it was an idiotic plan.'

'It was a dream. We all do stupid, impossible things in our dreams.' She squeezed him tight. 'How well did that work? How long did you make it without sleep?'

'A week.' Sherlock screwed his eyes shut. Despite it being a dream it was still burning away in the depths of his mind. It had been a terrible week. Those seven days had been like torture to him.

'A week without sleep? My goodness. That's quite impressive. Especially if you were up there in years.' She stroked his head and sighed. 'So, what happened after that week? Did you fall asleep and lose more memories?'

'No. I became very ill and ratty. John tried to get me to go to sleep and I refused, even going as far as getting my own son to retrieve me an energy drink. That's how I was staying awake you see. I then–' His throat closed up. 'I hurt John. Oh mummy. I hurt my John.'

'Shhh. Shhh. It's ok sweetie. It's ok.' She clutched him tight, holding him close as she comforted him. 'It wasn't real. Your John is fine. He's safe, he's unharmed, and he's happy you're awake and alive.'

'We had this awful argument! I got so angry. I was tired, and he brought up the fact I was starting to forget how to play the violin and–' Sherlock sobbed into his mother's shoulder. 'I pushed him down the stairs! He lay there broken and bloody and it was all my fault!'

'Oh. Oh, honey.' Violet didn't know what to say. She just hugged her sobbing son, rubbing his shoulders gently.

'I knew one thing then. I knew I needed to leave the world around me. I had to go – to die – if I wanted John and the children to have an ounce of happiness. So that's exactly what I did. I killed myself.' Sherlock's sobs grew in volume and pitch.

He what? Violet couldn't believe what had just come out of her son's mouth. No. No! She buried her face in her son's curls and sobbed loudly. She didn't want to think of a world where her son was dead, especially one where he was the one who ended his life.

'I'm sorry, mother. I'm so sorry,' Sherlock apologised frantically.

'My baby boy,' Violet sobbed, clutching her youngest son to her tightly. 'Please, don't ever think about taking that course of action. Never. Promise me. Promise me you won't take that route. Please. I can't lose my baby to... to... to suicide.'

'Never mummy. Never. I just–' Sherlock's pulse was hammering in his ears. 'I can't hurt John. It's better that he hates me for rejecting him than the alternative. Can you see that now?'

'No. I don't see it,' Violet chocked out. She took a few deep breaths, steadying herself before continuing. 'That was just a dream. Dreams are in no way a mirror of reality. Your coma dream gave you your perfect life, and it also gave you your worst nightmare. Your dream is not going to come true. Please, darling, be smart about this. Use that big brain of yours I gave you. Please. Sit back and think about this logically. Don't be stupid.'

'I can't!' Sherlock yelled. 'I can't be with John, mother!'

Of course that would be the exact moment that the man in question walked through the door.

'Why can't you be with me, Sherlock?' John asked in a small voice.

Sherlock jumped and let out a small whimper, glancing up at him with red, puffy eyes from how hard he'd been crying.

'I'll let you two talk,' Violet said softly, sliding off the bed and to her feet. She placed a loving kiss on Sherlock's forehead. 'Please. Think with your heart, not with your head. You love him. Don't be a fool.' She took her leave, squeezing John's arm gently. She offered him a soft smile and left.

John looked at Sherlock, the stubbornness he'd gained with Greg disappeared. He was hurt again, his heart constricting in his chest. What the hell was going on.

'Why–' His throat closed in on itself. He tried swallowing, only managing to close it further. He opened his mouth and gulped down deep breaths. 'Why can't you be with me, love?'

Sherlock shrugged, rubbing at his reddened eyes. 'Just can't,' he replied, his voice weary and a little sorrowful.

'I still don't believe you,' John whispered. He stepped fully into the room and closed the door. He looked on at his... What even the hell was he now? They weren't lovers anymore, not by Sherlock's standards. Were they going to go back to being flat ages surrounded by sexual tension? But, now that they had experienced sex with each other, it would be so much worse.

John didn't want that. He wanted Sherlock to still want him, wanted Sherlock to still love him, wanted Sherlock to tell him his words were lies and he was only doing it because he didn't want him to be in danger. His arguments were weak, his excuses full of holes, John didn't believe him. But that didn't make the words hurt any less.

'You're going to need more than that to make me leave,' he said softly. He crossed the room, sitting down in the chair next to Sherlock's bed. 'You're scared, you're confused, and you look pretty traumatised. I can understand that. I've dealt with coma patients before, in the war and in the clinic. I know how coma patients react after waking up, and your experience is no different.

'I firmly believe you are saying these things because you don't want me to get hurt. I'm fine with that, but what I'm not fine with is you actually thinking this will work. You may be a man of many faces, but not even you could fake the connection we had during our time together. You need someone by your side, someone who will stand up for you and with you no matter what. And that person is me. That person has always been me. Please, don't tell me it was all a lie. I know it wasn't. I can see the pain in your eyes. This is hurting you too, telling the lies. So stop. I'm not going anywhere, I refuse to leave you, especially when you need me now more than ever. You've got me in your corner, Sherlock. And I'm here to stay.'

Why couldn't John drop this? Stubborn bastard!

_My stubborn bastard._

_No._

_Not anymore._

_John isn't yours so stop being selfish._

'Believe me–' Sherlock took a deep breath. 'Believe me when I say that nothing you say will ever make me want to rekindle a sexual or deep, emotional relationship with you.'

His heart twinged and pain rippled across his taut features.

'This is the way I wish things to be, and if you care for me at all you will respect my choice in the matter. For I do not need someone fighting my battles for me. I am strong, not made of glass. I am independent. I need no one. And I most certainly don't need you.'

John felt his heart stop at Sherlock's words. He didn't want him? Ever? At all? Did... Did he want him to move out? God, John wouldn't be able to handle that. He couldn't just leave Sherlock after all they'd been through. Experiment or not, they had had something. Something very real.

He looked up at Sherlock, his eyes full of unshed tears.

'Do you... Do you not want me at all? In any way? Sexual or not?' he asked in a small, almost defeated voice.

Sherlock's heart was pounding frantically now, almost screaming out to the world that he was still very much in love with John Watson.

'Of course I want you around.' Sherlock's lips formed a tight smile. 'Where would I be without my blogger?'

John glanced over to Sherlock's heart monitor. It was beeping frantically, an indication of lying, but John wasn't going to bring it up. Sherlock would just cover it up with more lies, and he couldn't cope with more.

He did relax when Sherlock said he still wanted him around though. It was a relief to hear that Sherlock didn't loath him completely. Not that he loathed him at all, but it sure felt like he did.

'Good,' he choked out, the lump in his throat thick and heavy. 'Good. That's... good.'

'Yes, very good,' Sherlock chuckled, but the cheerful sound didn't last.

'I am sorry. I realise I have perhaps crossed the line with what I have done. I hope that we can at least be civil with one another.'

'I hope so too,' John sighed. 'But, um, if you aren't gonna be wearing that anytime soon, I'll take the ring back.'

Sherlock frowned. He didn't want to give it back. He really didn't. He had to though. He picked it up and reluctantly passed it over to John.

'Here,' his voice cracked.

'Thanks,' John said, not thankful at all. He stared down at the gold band, turning it in his fingers. It was simple but it was elegant, much like the man he had intended to give it to. But, if Sherlock was no longer interested, then the ring no longer had a purpose.

'Suppose I should return it,' he mused, his heart breaking at the prospect. 'We won't be needing it anymore.'

'Yes. I suppose so.' Sherlock ran a hand through his long locks. 'I mean, there's no need for it anymore.' His face was a picture of devastation and his body was shaking violently.

John pocketed the ring and sighed loudly through his nose. He looked back up at Sherlock, noting the shaking and the completely devastated look on his face.

'Hey, you alright?' he asked softly. If they were seriously going to to back to being 'just flatmates' then Sherlock probably wouldn't appreciate the urge of protectiveness swelling in John's chest. 'Should I call a nurse?'

Sherlock was quick to shake his head. 'No nurses,' he sniffled. 'Doubt they'd be able to fix me anyway.'

'Why?' John asked softly. 'What's wrong? Can I help?'

Sherlock snorted loudly. 'I guess I'm just feeling–' He searched for the right word. '–lost.' Yes, that was an accurate word summing up how he was feeling 'And no, you can't help me.'

'Well, you can talk to me and I can listen,' John offered. 'It's a start at least. Talking your thoughts out is a good way to work through your feeling of being lost.'

'Where do I start?' Sherlock asked. 'Do I start with how sexually frustrated my body is after four months?' Sure enough his arousal was poking through his covers, quivering angrily, and John hadn't even touched him. 'Or shall I go into the fact I feel like death? Or maybe I should just come out and say it? I'm scared.'

'All of that is to be expected,' John nodded, falling back on Doctor Watson mode. Clearly, overprotective lover would be useless now, and he was going to have to train himself not to care so much.

'You were inside your own mind for four months, it is perfectly understandable and completely normal to feel all those things. I know you don't like to be called normal, but in this situation your experience is no different than everyone else's. I just wish I could help.'

He eyed Sherlock's very prominent and probably painful erection hungrily. It had been four months for him too. Four very long months of nothing: no food, no sleep, no sex. Well, ok, he ate and slept on occasion, but the sex bit was true. He hadn't tried to wank at all for fear of Sherlock waking up and wanting him immediately, and John wanted to be just as needy as his lover. It was a stupid reason, but John didn't care. All he cared about was Sherlock.

Sherlock shifted under John's stare. He was already filled with an unbearable desire for the army doctor and that most certainly wasn't helping. 'I ask that you not stare at me so intimately,' he practically begged before recomposing himself. 'And as I was saying, I do not require your help.'

John blinked and sat back in his chair. God, had he really been leaning closer to it? He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Good god, had he been drooling? It seemed it would be harder for John to quell his feelings for Sherlock than he initially thought. This was going to take some time, and lots of it.

'Of course you don't,' he finally managed to say. 'Since when do you need my help? You're Sherlock Holmes. You don't need anybody but yourself.' Whoa. Where the hell had that come from? John didn't know, nor did he particularly care. His emotions were rising against him and he needed to get out of that room before he broke down in front of his ex-lover.

'I'll leave so you can sort that out, yeah?' He nodded at Sherlock's arousal and stood. 'I'll be back later with your proper doctor and she and I will discuss your physical therapy options.' He paused awkwardly by the door. He very much wanted to give Sherlock a comforting goodbye kiss, but he wasn't allowed to anymore. God, this was worse than the memory loss. He just nodded curtly and took his leave, shutting the door behind him with an ominous click.

'No, John. You're wrong. I need you,' Sherlock muttered miserably as John left. The atmosphere left behind was thick with emotion. The highest on the list being desire, and right up there with it was anger and pain.

Sherlock was aroused and that little problem wasn't going to go anywhere anytime soon. And now that John couldn't help him out, or rather Sherlock had made it clear that he didn't need John (though that was a far cry from the truth), the detective would have to solve it himself.

He slipped a frail hand beneath his covers and grasped his arousal. He imagined the hands being smaller, softer, John's. His hips jerked upwards and a loud sound that could most likely be heard from miles away emitted from his throat, followed by a loud cry of ecstasy.

'John!'

John heard Sherlock cry his name, could hear the hurt and turmoil behind it, but mostly he could hear the blatant desire weaved within it. So, maybe Sherlock still wanted him after all. Maybe he was just scared and confused and he was pushing John away to protect him from himself. Whatever idiotic reason it was for, John knew that every word of denial that came out of Sherlock's mouth would be a lie. Sherlock still wanted him on some level, so maybe their relationship could be rekindled. Maybe the ring would still be used someday.

With that thought he smiled. Not a large smile or a warm one, but a smile nonetheless. He found Sherlock's doctor, a personal friend of his, and they began to chat.

It didn't take long for Sherlock to find his release though it wasn't very satisfying and only left him desiring John more than ever. He clenched his eyes shut as he lay in the bed, weak as kitten, hair sticking to his now sweaty forehead, breathing raggedly, and whimpering John's name over and over.

'–and after four months he's going to need some physical therapy.'

'Oh, I agree completely,' John nodded. 'I'm not even sure he's noticed that the muscles in his legs have atrophied. He's been a bit too preoccupied with his emotions, which is a first.'

'Well, from what you've told me about him, that can either be considered progress or a danger to society,' the doctor joked.

'Let's hope for everyone else's sakes it's progress on his part,' John laughed.

'Shall we go check on him?' the doctor asked, moving down the hall in the direction of Sherlock's room.

'Yeah. He's probably had enough time to work through some things. But, knock first just to be safe. He doesn't like it when people interrupt him when he's thinking.'

Sherlock was exhausted and was half tempted to fall asleep despite the fact the fear of sleeping still remained within him. It had all been a dream. Why was he still worrying about the same things?

Because even dreams have to have some element of truth.

His mind was still debating with his body about whether he should sleep or not when there was a short, sharp knock at the door. He sighed heavily. Well at least that was the argument settled for now. No sleeping, at least not yet.

'Come in,' he sighed, sounding tired and bored.

The doctor entered, a warm smile on her face.

'Hello Sherlock. I'm Doctor Morstan. It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?'

Sherlock let his cool gaze flicker over the doctor. 'I could ask you the same thing, Doctor Morstan. After all, you're the one who found out your partner was cheating on you – this morning actually. Still, you've been expecting it for a while. Nevertheless, it's devastated you. You were planning on bringing up the subject of marriage and children, but I guess now that's a no go. Except–' The detective was smiling viciously now. He'd forgotten how good it felt to deduce the flaws of someone's life. It made an excellent and much needed distraction. 'You're going to give him another chance. I really wouldn't if I were you. He's currently with his receptionist taking part in far less innocent tasks than paperwork.'

Doctor Morstan's jaw dropped and John slapped a hand over his face.

'How–? How did you–?' the doctor stuttered. There was so much she wanted to know. How did he know all that? Was it really so obvious? She thought she had been hiding it particularly well. She wanted her patient to tell her how he'd known, but there was a more pressing matter at the moment.

'He's doing what?!' she screeched instead. 'That lying sack of shit! I'll kill him. I'll kill him! I don't care if it's against my Hippocratic oath. I. Will. Kill. That. Miserable. Bastard.'

Sherlock was grinning from ear to ear, not at all ashamed of the damage he had caused.

'Oh, you should,' he encouraged her. 'But I'm sure the police will take care of him. Your boyfriend has been a naughty man indeed. As well as being unfaithful I can tell you that he has been involved in several robberies too. If I were you I'd break up with him and turn him in.'

'Wha– Robberies?! How the hell can you tell that? He isn't even here!'

Sherlock sighed. Why did people have to be such utter idiots?

'I deduced it.'

'I know that!' the doctor snapped. 'Tell me what you see is what I'm saying. How could you tell he's been involved in robberies just by looking at me, when the arsehole in question isn't even in the room?'

'Dear me. Is it customary to yell at your patients, doctor?' Sherlock's eyebrow twitched up in amusement.

'It is quite obvious that your husband has been involved in robberies. I can tell from the small tattoo on your neck. There is a large group of thieves that use that particular symbol. They mark their partners with it.'

The doctor's hand snapped up to cover her tattoo. She thought she'd covered it well. Shit. Then the implications behind her patient's words hit her.

'You mean... You mean that I was branded? Like a piece of cattle?!'

Sherlock was even more amused now. 'Exactly like cattle. Let me guess. He told you that if you really loved him you'd get that specific tattoo?' He snorted. 'I bet he says that to all the women he conquers. That's how the group works you see. They steal and they conquer women on the side for fun. Does it have a number on it?' Sherlock squinted and laughed as he made out the number 20. 'You're his twentieth conquest then. Interesting.'

' _Twentieth?!_ ' the good doctor screeched. John just sighed and slumped down in a chair. He'd let Sherlock have his fun now. He'd scold him later.

'Twentieth?!' the doctor repeated. 'That son of a bitch! Where's that detective fellow you two are always with? I need his number! Now! I have a slew of crimes and names to give him.'

'I'm afraid he's rather occupied at the moment,' John said, rubbing circles into his temples. 'I can give you the number if his assistant though.'

'Whatever works,' Doctor Morstan growled. 'Give it here.' She took the slip of paper from John's fingers and stormed out of the room, muttering profanities under her breath.

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

'Are you happy, now?' he asked Sherlock. 'Got that out of your system?'

Sherlock frowned and huffed. He deserved that deduction escapade. He desperately needed something other than John in his mind.

'A bit not good?' he asked sarcastically.

'Just a bit,' John replied just as sarcastically. 'Sherlock, I know you needed that, but couldn't you have gone about that a little more, I don't know, politely?'

'There was no point in dancing around the facts.' Sherlock absently pulled one of his overgrown curls down in front of his eyes, observing it as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. 'And besides, I am not polite.'

 _You were when you were with me_ , John sighed. He didn't dare say it aloud. He didn't want Sherlock snapping at him about it all being an act again. But John had heard him cry his name in ecstasy barely five minutes ago. Sherlock still wanted him in some way, he just didn't want to admit it.

Instead he watched Sherlock observing his own long locks. His hair had grown so long it almost touched his shoulders. John didn't understand why they didn't let him trim it at all. It wasn't like he was going to kill Sherlock in his sleep with a pair of scissors. No. He wouldn't do it like that. Probably a pillow or he'd stuff his scarf down his throat. Less gruesome than a pair of scissors.

'I wanted to trim it,' John said aloud. 'But the staff here are idiots and they wouldn't let me touch you. Apparently I can't be trusted with a pair of scissors.'

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at that. 'I imagine that it would have been quite a sight. John Watson trimming my curls.'

'Doctor, soldier, blogger, and personal hairdresser to Sherlock Holmes,' John grinned.

A loud bout of laughter escaped Sherlock's lips. 'My personal hair dresser? I'd like to see you try to tame my curls. Many men have tried and many have failed. Up to the challenge, John?'

For a moment, things were good. Things were right. They were laughing like old times. That feeling didn't last long.

'When it comes to you I'm up for any challenge,' John let slip after his bout of laughter. He clamped his mouth shut, realising what he'd said, embarrassed and guilty. That wasn't them anymore.

Sherlock looked on at John sadly. 'Yes, I remember that fact clearly. You conquered me, did you not? And I think we can both agree I am the biggest challenge of them all.'

'Yes,' John nodded slowly. 'You were a great challenge. And I came out of it relatively unscathed.'

Sherlock sighed and looked away from John. 'I'll just shut up, shall I?' He couldn't bear to look at his flatmate in the eye.

'No, please,' John begged softly. He reached out for Sherlock before remembering how he'd wrenched his hand away the last few times. He frowned and settled for placing his hand on the bed, close to Sherlock's hand in case he wanted to be the one to initiate contact.

'Please, don't stop talking,' John said again. 'You have been silent for four months. It's so good to hear your voice again. Please, don't stop talking.'

Sherlock ghosted his fingers over John's knuckles almost out of instinct. 'You missed me then?' he asked softly. 'Missed me being around?'

'Of course I did,' John said softly. He moved his fingers so they were laying over Sherlock's, almost but not quite linking them together. 'You're my best friend, Sherlock. And you are – were – my lover. Of course I missed you.'

Sherlock nodded and swallowed. 'Best friend?' he questioned. 'I knew that we were friends. Lovers too. But I don't think you've described me as that before.'

'I'm pretty sure I've mentioned it before,' John said, searching his memory. 'But, if I haven't, I'll say it again.' He smiled softly before squeezing his fingers gently against Sherlock's.

'You're my best friend, Sherlock,' he repeated. 'You are the best friend I've ever had.'

Sherlock bit his lip, eyes sad and regretful. He removed his hand from where it lay touching John's and turned his head into his pillow.

'And you are mine,' he whispered.

John smiled softly, trying to hide his frown. His hand dropped from the bed and he placed it in his lap. He raked his gaze over Sherlock, taking in his long hair, haunted eyes, sunken cheeks, and everything else that had changed over those long four months.

'Would you like to get some sleep?' he asked quietly. 'You should have plenty of time now. I don't think Mary– Doctor Morstan will be coming back any time soon.'

Sherlock didn't miss that little slip up. His eyes were slightly startled and his lip wobbled, but only for a second. 'You're attracted to her,' he stated coldly. 'Was she an ex of yours?' He scrutinized John with his eyes. 'Or maybe you've moved on already?'

'No! No, Sherlock. I swear,' John said quickly. 'She and I went to medical school together. She joined a clinic, I joined the Army. Yes, we dated for a couple weeks but it never went anywhere. And it's not going to pick up where it left off. I promise you, that's all there is. She's an old friend. That's it.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'You were all over her like a little lost puppy. No point in lying to me, John. No point at all.'

'No. Sherlock, I swear to you that there is nothing there,' John assured him. 'You just dumped me ten minutes ago. You seriously expect that I would move on that quickly? This is you we're talking about. There's no getting over you.'

'You say that now,' Sherlock said in a small voice. 'But in a couple of month's time I can guarantee that you will have moved on from me. And don't use the word dumped. It makes you sound like trash and that is far from the truth.'

'You expect me to move on from you in just two months?' John let out a loud, mirthless laugh. 'Sherlock, after everything we went through, it would take me two years to move on from you, if I ever did that is. And I'll use the word dumped because that's exactly what you did. You dumped a load of crap on me and now I feel used and, yeah, like trash.'

'I didn't–' Sherlock was at loss for words. 'I didn't – I mean – you're not the only one who feels like a load of crap as been dumped on them.'

'Oh? So you feel like shit too?' John asked, his voice coming out a lot more venomous than he intended. 'And why is that, Sherlock? It's not like you actually cared for me, so why would you feel like shit?'

Sherlock flinched and recoiled as far away from John as he could. Those words hurt like hell. He cared. Couldn't John see that? That's why he was letting him go.

'I wish that– John, it's just–' His lips refused to cooperate and in the end he just sealed them shut.

'Just what, Sherlock?' John questioned sternly. 'What do you wish? That this had never happened? Because right now I almost do too. Would have saved myself the heartbreak.'

Sherlock could feel it coming. The scream. It was building in his chest, rising up through his body like a fire, coiling around his Adam's apple, and finally his lips opened. The scream was ear shattering, angered, pained. He fisted his bed sheets tightly. His heart monitor went through the roof. His breathing was rough and sharp. No he didn't wish that. He didn't wish that at all. He wished that the damn coma dream hadn't happened. He wished that he could rid himself of the image of himself hurting John. He wished that he was, god help him, normal. Because maybe if he was normal none of this would have happened.

John flinched and covered his ears, clenching his eyes shut. Sherlock's scream was bloodcurdling, gut wrenching, and heartbreaking. John instantly regretted his words, and knew for a fact that Sherlock still cared for him deeply. John felt like an idiot.

Sherlock's scream turned into loud sobs and John leapt into action. He didn't think, he just reacted. He sat down next to Sherlock and pulled him into a tender embrace.

'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,' he whispered into Sherlock's hair. 'God, I'm so sorry. I'm an idiot, a major fucking idiot. I'm sorry.'

Sherlock lay limp in John's arms, sobbing, too weak to move or to say anything. God, John's arms were so warm and he was so close that he could hear his heartbeat. That only made him cry harder.

John just kept apologising. He held him close, squeezing him tightly, letting him know he was there. He would always be there. He placed a soft kiss to the top of Sherlock's head before he began to sob into his hair.

Soon Sherlock's sobs quieted. His throat felt red raw from screaming and he felt weak as a baby. He closed his eyes and sniffled against John's shoulder, barely conscious, sleep dragging his weary body under.

John sucked down deep breaths, trying to calm himself as Sherlock did. He could feel Sherlock's weight pressing against him, could tell he was slowly falling asleep. Quite frankly, John was exhausted too. He closed his eyes and adjusted their positions on the bed, making sure Sherlock was comfortable.

'Get some rest, love,' he whispered. 'I'll be here when you wake up.'

Sherlock was too tired to protest against the use of 'love.' So instead he let himself fall asleep. The only thing he was aware of was that he was pressed close to a warm body. Not just any warm body.

John's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so from here until probably chapter 30 will be heavy angst and triggery, so just fair warning. If angst isn't really your thing, I'm sorry, but the description does say some dark themes and elements. Well, this is where the bad ones begin.
> 
> I move into my dorm next Thursday, so one last chapter before I move! Then I'll hopefully be able to start updating this three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, Friday. That's the plan at least. Otherwise maybe just twice a week will do. I don't really know. I haven't decided yet. But getting my grades up is my priority right now so I can study abroad next year.
> 
> So, we'll see you all next week. Happy Red Pants Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	27. Fighting Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but I've been moving into my dorm and organising and it's taking quite a lot of time to get everything in its proper place. I'm still trying to figure out where to put all my dishes and posters and all the small things that don't really have a place.
> 
> But now that I'm up at school, I'm going to try to update this at least twice a week. I'm thinking Mondays and Fridays? I'll try that to see how it goes. And if I can, maybe I can try to update three times a week. But we'll see how the semester goes.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John
> 
> Trigger(y) Warnings for this chapter: dubious consent, cutting, depression, suicidal ideations, voice telling someone to kill himself.

John woke a few hours later, sore from sleeping in such an odd position. He blinked as he awoke, taking note of the pressure on his chest. He looked down and his heart stuttered at the sight.

Sherlock was curled against him, sleeping peacefully, his arm draped across his waist, and his hand clutching tightly to the material of his shirt.

 _He still cares,_  John smiled to himself.  _He still cares._  He softly ran his fingers through Sherlock's long locks, trying not to wake him.

'I love you,' he whispered softly. 'I will always love you. You may claim that you don't love me, may try to push me away, may treat me like crap down the road, but I will always love you. Nothing is ever going to change how I feel about you. Not even you. Especially not you. Because I know, deep down, you still care for me. Maybe you'll eventually come to your senses and realise that you love me too. But, until that day comes, if it ever does, I promise to stand by you and fight alongside you. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, together forever.'

Sherlock woke to the sound of John's heart and for a moment he forgot about the fact he was supposed to be pushing him away. He smiled, nuzzling his nose into John's chest. He pushed himself closer, his morning arousal large and prominent and rubbing against his flatmate. He moaned and ran his fingertips down the material of John's shirt.

John's eyes widened and he purred. 'Mmm, hel-lo,' he moaned. He shifted subtly and Sherlock's blatant arousal rubbed against his thigh.

'It seems at least  _you_  still like me,' he said to Sherlock's cock. 'Good morning to me.' Sherlock's clothed erection twitched and throbbed and he pushed himself closer.

'Mmmm,' he hummed, still half asleep and unaware of how his body was reacting to John.

John shifted again, rubbing his thigh against Sherlock's erection. He shifted slightly, Sherlock's body laying almost completely over his own. Oh. He liked that. He liked that a lot. John moaned low in his throat and shifted his hips, his own morning wood sliding against Sherlock's. God that felt good. He did it again, making sure to move slowly so Sherlock wouldn't wake.

Sherlock's brow pinched together in confusion as he began to wake. As he did he was quite aware that something or rather someone was moving against him, subtly, as though trying not to get caught. He cracked an eye open. Oh god. Big mistake. John was rocking up against him, his mouth hung open in pure bliss.

'J-ohn?' he gasped. 'What?' He gulped, deciding to give his flatmate the benefit of the doubt. Surely John would never do that without his consent. Knowing– well, believing Sherlock didn't care for him anymore, would he?

'What are you doing?' he finally managed to ask.

John's eyes snapped open in shock.

Fuck.

He snapped his mouth shut and swallowed audibly. He had no idea what he'd been doing. He was blinded by blatant need, desperate for Sherlock's affections. If he had felt guilty before he certainly felt guilty now. He had been taking advantage of Sherlock against his will, he...

Oh god.

John had almost raped him.

'John?' Sherlock tried again. 'What were you doing?' The man below him looked horrified and in turn Sherlock was slightly horrified too. 'Were you... trying to gain a release? Whilst I was asleep?'

John's breathing became harsh and laboured. Yes. That's exactly what he'd been trying to do. And he was guilty and ashamed for his actions. He couldn't trust himself to speak, was still in shock. But he knew Sherlock knew. He could read it on him, probably taking his silence as confirmation. He wished the bed would open up and swallow him whole. Wished he could disappear. But he could never leave Sherlock. He couldn't. He loved him too damn much. He swallowed again, his vision blurring as his eyes filled with tears.

He hated himself. Downright hated himself. So damn much.

Sherlock felt, frankly, a little betrayed. He had made himself perfectly clear that he wasn't going to participate in such activities.

 _ **Even though you really want to, don't you Sherlock?  
**_ __  
Oh, shut up!

'Why?' He choked on the little word. 'We always gave each other consent, always,' he began. 'Funny thing is, I don't remember being around to give consent this time.'

Why was he the angry one? John had done nothing wrong. He was just acting on four months without any sexual activities. Maybe he wasn't angry at John. Maybe he was angry at the whole damn world. Angry at the way he was such a coward and an idiot. But then the sense of betrayal washed over him again. Even with everything that had gone on, John should have known better. He moved slightly so that his arousal was touching John's thigh and not the army doctor's own arousal.

'I know I've been a dick, but how could you do that to me?'

John turned his face away from Sherlock. He couldn't bear to look at him right now. Not after how he'd violated him like that.

'I'm sorry,' he choked out. 'I... I don't know what I was thinking. I just...' He paused and swallowed around the lump in his throat.

'It's been four months, Sherlock.  _Four months._  I didn't take care of myself because I was too worried about you. I barely ate, barely slept, and I never touched myself. Never gave myself any kind of relief. And when I woke up and your arousal was pressed up against me... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just acted. I didn't think. I... I'm so sorry. I'm a dick. An idiotic dick.'

Guilt and concern were quick to replace the feelings of anger and betrayal.

'You should have been taking care of yourself,' he said gently. 'Isn't that what you were always telling me? That I should take care of myself no matter what. Why shouldn't that apply to you?'

He glanced down at John's arousal and bit his lip. 'I could help you with that. Nothing but a quick grope though.' He paused to lick his lips. 'I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea.'

'You've always come first for me,' John said softly. 'Always. You are the most important person in my life, Sherlock. I watch out for you first. That's how it's always been.'

He glanced down at his arousal, straining in his jeans. He wanted a lot more than a quick grope. It wouldn't be nearly as satisfying after four months of nothing. No. If Sherlock was going to pleasure him he wanted a lot more than just his hand.

'While, um... While I appreciate your offer to help–' John gulped. 'I'm going to have to decline. I mean, I want you to, don't get me wrong, I really do. But... After all you said, why would you offer to help? How would that be beneficial to me? How could I not get the wrong idea from that?'

Sherlock ran a finger over John's arousal. 'Because you're not the only one who is sexually frustrated. I can sympathise.'

'Stop. Just, stop,' John sighed. He pushed Sherlock's hand away and moved off the bed. 'I... I don't want a release unless it's with you. Not only that, but I want a lot more than just your hand after four months of nothing. And you aren't willing to give me that, so I'm not going to ask you to do it.

'It will go away eventually,' he said when he saw the concerned look on his ex-lover's face. 'It always does. If you'll excuse me.'

He hobbled off to the bathroom connected to Sherlock's room, closing the door behind him. He stood against it, taking deep breaths, trying not to cry. He ambled over to the sink, opening a drawer and pulling out a small box. He hadn't had to use this drastic method in a while, but his erection wasn't going away and he desperately needed it to.

He opened the box and sighed dejectedly at its contents. He picked up the blade, turning it and examining it in the light. He undid his belt and let his jeans fall to the floor, whimpering when they brushed against his erection. He looked at the thick scars already littering his thighs, sighing morosely. He had found that cuts closest to his problem quelled it faster, but the cuts had to be made fast and deep.

He braced himself, steadying the blade in his hand. He picked a spot, closed his eyes, and quickly swiped the blade over his flesh, cutting deep. The physical pain was a welcome distraction from his emotions, from the bullshit Sherlock was spewing, from the desire raging through him, but mostly from the guilt at his actions barely a minute before. He swallowed down his cry of agony, not wanting Sherlock to hear. The blood was thick and dark, rolling out of the cut slowly, his erection dying at the sight and from the pain shooting up his leg. John set the blade aside, planning on cleaning it later. He quickly pulled the medical supplies out of the box and set to work.

Once the wound was cleaned, stitched, and dressed, he put everything back. Except the blade. He needed to do something else first. He reached over and flushed the loo, making sure Sherlock heard. He then turned on the water in the sink, cleaning the blade and his hands. Now it wouldn't look as suspicious as it would have if he had simply started the sink without flushing the loo first. Now it appeared he'd actually done something instead of what he'd actually done.

He dried the blade and set it back in the box, closing it and putting it back in its drawer. He dried his hands next before pulling his jeans back up and fastening them. He looked at himself in the mirror, making sure he looked presentable before opening the door and stepping back out into Sherlock's room. He made his way over to the chair beside the bed and sat in it, ignoring the look on Sherlock's face.

Because if he looked at the look of outright pity and concern for too long, he might just break down and end it all.

Sherlock knew.

It wasn't hard to deduce. He was aware of John's past. He was aware of what self destruction his flatmate was capable of. It was written all over his features. He looked guilty, ashamed even. If it had really been just the toilet he'd gone to then that wouldn't be the case.

His heart practically leapt at the sight. Not his John. God no.

Now the man wouldn't even look at him.

Sherlock felt like shit. He wanted nothing more than to leap to his feet and pull John into a hug. He wanted to tell him that he was sorry and he hadn't meant to hurt him so much. As it happened, he couldn't get out of bed even if he wanted to.

The tears welled up in his eyes and his body was beginning to shake again. He was fighting down another scream. John didn't need more of his bull and Sherlock was determined to stay quiet. He couldn't quite help the whimper that left his lips though.

John looked up when he heard the whimper. What was that for? The pained look on Sherlock's face told him everything.

He knew.

John swallowed and held his face in his hands. Why did he have to be such a fuck up? Why did he have to be so damaged? He peered at Sherlock from between his fingers, his heart breaking at the sight. He looked, for lack of a better term, heartbroken.

John stood up, tossing his own emotions aside and going to aide Sherlock. He sat next to him and pulled him onto his lap. He didn't speak, he didn't know what to say, so he simply let his actions speak for him.

Sherlock was miserable. Truly miserable.

John was comforting him when it should have been the other way around.

Sherlock reached out and rested his hand over John's, writing complicated Gallifreyan over it. John gasped at Sherlock's touch, trying to read the complicated word Sherlock was spelling on his skin. He had been trying to learn the fictional language over the past four months. He had made a lot of progress, but apparently he wasn't up to Sherlock's skill level.

'What, um... What are you writing?' he asked softly.

Sherlock snatched away his hand and shrugged. 'Doesn't matter. Err... sorry.' He shivered. Why was it suddenly so cold? He bunched himself as close as possible to John, desperate to get warm.

 _Why isn't he telling me anything anymore?_ John sighed and held Sherlock closer. Damn. He really wanted to know what that Gallifreyan meant.

Sherlock hadn't felt so utterly childlike since... well, since he'd resorted to hugging his nephew at Felicity's graduation.

Except that had been a dream.

He could still see the ginger haired toddler. He looked just like a tiny Mycroft.

His heart swelled and felt as though it was going to spill over.

'Mark,' he whispered into John's chest. 'Little Mark.'

'Who's Mark?' John asked softly.

'No one,' Sherlock replied sadly. 'No one important.'

_Lies! He was your nephew! Of course he's important!_

'Ok,' John said slowly. 'If he's not important, then who is he?'

Sherlock buried his head in John's chest. The tears began to spill, hot and heavy and wetting John's shirt.

He shrugged. 'No one.' He sounded pathetic, small and broken.

'Oh, lo– Sherlock,' John said, catching himself before he could say 'love.' 'It will be ok. I wish I had more to say than that, but it will.'

 _Who is this Mark kid? I know all of Sherlock's 'acquaintances' and no one is named Mark. Who the hell is this guy that he can cause Sherlock this much pain? Childhood friend who died? No, Sherlock despised his childhood. For good reason._  
  
'It's fine.' Sherlock let out a stifled sob. 'I'm fine. I'm super.'

He smiled as he remembered Mark loving it when he sang the song from Mary Poppins because it was 'fun' apparently.

'Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,' he began to sing in his peppery soft voice.

 _Mary Poppins?_  John raised an eyebrow at the song. He didn't even know Sherlock knew about the magical nanny. What had made the movie so special that he hadn't deleted it? Sherlock's voice was beautiful, just as beautiful as when he said 'Misty Mountains' to him so long ago. God, it felt good to hear him sing again. John couldn't resist.

'Even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious. If you say it loud enough, you'll always sound precocious. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.'

Sherlock raised his head and grinned. 'You have a most beautiful voice,' he practically purred. He nuzzled his nose against John's neck and, without really thinking, began to kiss his way up and down it appreciatively.

He froze.

Oh god.

'John I didn't–' He didn't know what to say, so instead he just rested his head back on John's chest.

John's heart was hammering in his chest. Sherlock had begun kissing his neck, almost lovingly. No, there was no almost. Sherlock had said John had a beautiful voice and then he'd begun kissing his neck appreciatively. Out of habit, or because he still deeply cared?

The tension in the air was thick, John's heart pounding loudly. And Sherlock's head on his chest wasn't making the issue any better. He could hear his heart, hear what he had done to him, probably see it too. His jeans were too damn tight again. Fuck. Not again. With Sherlock awake John would probably be doing the bathroom routine quite frequently. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

The unsteady thrum of John's heart was vibrating against his eardrum.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Sherlock took a deep breath to try and control his own heartbeat but with little success. The machine he was attached to once again gave his game away, beeping erratically and out of control.

He shivered as he felt John shift and both their arousals touched. 'I'm sorry.' He closed his eyes, fending off his emotions. 'I'm so sorry.'

'No,' John swallowed. 'It's... fine.' He glanced over to Sherlock's heart monitor and sighed. 'Just try to relax, ok? Don't want a nurse bursting in.'

Sherlock smiled against John's chest. 'Wouldn't be the first time that has happened.'

'At least we aren't in such a compromising position as the last times,' John laughed lightly.

'If I remember correctly, you were the one who got the telling off. I was the innocent party.' Sherlock's small smile grew.

'Yes, because as a medical man I should know better than to give a trauma patient a blow job,' John grinned.

'I don't remember being particularly traumatised,' Sherlock replied with a deep chuckle.

'Not at that point you weren't,' John smirked.

'I was happy,' Sherlock sighed. 'I was hurt, and all kinds of shit were going down. But I was happy.'

'I went down on you, too,' John winked. 'And I know for a fact that made you very happy.'

'Very happy indeed,' Sherlock agreed. 'The happiest I've ever been.'

'Really?' John asked incredulously. 'The happiest you've ever been was when I went down on you after Moriarty's henchman almost beat you to death?'

Sherlock opened his eyes for the sole purpose of looking up at John and rolling them. 'That was just a minor detail, and besides, almost getting beaten to death isn't as bad as it sounds.'

'I was beaten many times during the war,' John said softly. 'Trust me; it's not all you think it's cracked up to be.'

'I... I don't know what to say to that.' Sherlock exhaled deeply. 'I didn't mean that it was fun, just that there are worse ways to die.'

He could still remember the cold metal of the gun placed delicately in his lips, the trigger against his finger, his breathing almost nonexistent, the screams of his children.

'Yes, John. There are far worse ways to die.'

'Trust me, I know all about terrible deaths,' John swallowed. The war was creeping back. The blood, the bullets, explosions, blown off limbs, holes in chests and abdomens. So much death. He couldn't prevent it. Couldn't stop it. Couldn't help.

 _ **Worthless. Worthless. Worthless.  
**_  
 _Shut up!_  
  
Sherlock could see the anguish spreading across John's face. 'Shhh,' he shushed him. 'It's alright. It's quite alright. I'm here, John. No need to go back there, to the war.'

'It was so hard without you here,' John said softly. 'My nightmares came back, I wasn't sleeping. My limp threatened to come back, and it did for a while, but I got it under it under control. But the nightmares were still there. Are still here.'

Sherlock frowned and nodded in understanding. 'I suppose we've both had to fight our own demons during these four months. We'll struggle through it I suppose. We always seem to find a way.'

'What demons did you face?' John asked softly. 'If you're comfortable talking about them that is.'

'No.' Sherlock shook his head, chewing his lower lip. 'I'm not comfortable with talking about them.'

'Ok,' John said softly. 'Ok. You don't have to. I just hope you do eventually.'

'I hate going back there,' Sherlock admitted. 'It's bad enough that I have to live with the images.' He tapped his head with his fingers. 'In here.'

'I'm the same with the war,' John nodded. 'Even after all these years, it still haunts me.'

'But then without those memories you wouldn't be the man that you are,' Sherlock pointed out. 'As for me, I don't know if I will ever be the same, or who I am becoming.'

'At least yours was only a dream,' John sighed. 'While yours only felt real, mine was.'

'It does not compare in the slightest, I know.' Sherlock felt like an idiot. What he'd been through was nothing compared to what John had been through in the past. But it had brought up some very real memories of his father. His scars had certainly made an appearance, bleeding and red and sore. His father had been one of the reasons he hadn't been able to get to sleep in the dream world.

'It doesn't mean it wasn't still traumatising,' John said. 'I'm sure it was, and I'm sure you felt trapped as well.'

'No, actually, I didn't feel trapped,' Sherlock said honestly. 'Not until the very end. And even then I managed to escape.'

'Oh.' John frowned. 'So... Your dream was happy until it went bad in the end?'

'It wasn't perfect, but then my life never has been perfect. It did, however, have an element of perfection.' He gazed up at John meaningfully. 'And yes, it turned rather ugly at the end. Rather ugly indeed.'

'By perfection, do you mean I was there?' John asked softly. 'And ugly...? Oh no. Did I die?'

'What about the whole "I hate going back there" don't you get?' Sherlock bit back.

'Sorry. Sorry,' John apologised. 'I just... I'll just shut up.' He clamped his lips shut and turned his face away, his chest tight.

 _ **Fuck up.  
**_  
 _Shut up!_  
  
'Don't apologise,' Sherlock mumbled. 'And for god's sake breathe. You're going bright red in the face.'

John took a shuddering breath through his nose. It hurt, but he managed.

 _ **He doesn't want you anymore. He'll be better off without you.  
**_  
 _Shut up!  
_  
 _ **You have everything you need right through that door, tucked in a box in a drawer. Do it.  
**_  
 _I said shut up!  
_  
 __ **No. You're miserable. He broke your heart. He lied to you. He never wanted you. So, give him what he was actually asking for. For you to disappear. Leave, forever. Do it.  
**  
'No,' John whimpered aloud.

'John?'

Sherlock's heart clenched painfully as he heard his former lover's whimper. He knew that he was the cause of it. That he had and still was exposing John to pain that he shouldn't have to deal with.

'Oh, John.' Sherlock wrapped his bony arms around the army doctor's waist, willing him to breathe properly, willing his pain to just ebb away into nothingness.

 _ **Aw. Look. He's hugging you to make baby Johnny feel better.  
**_  
 _Please, just go away.  
_  
 _ **Why would I do that? We're having so much fun.  
**_  
 _Shut up. Shut up, please. You're not him. He's right here. You're not him.  
_  
 __ **Oh, but I am him. I'm the version of him you were always afraid of. The man who couldn't possibly love you. How could a man like me possibly love you? Plain, boring, ordinary Doctor Watson. How could a man with such a massive intellect possibly love someone like you? What do you have to offer me? Writing up the cases, making the tea. Sure, those are fine and dandy, but you aren't as mentally stimulating as Miss Adler. I fancied her you know. She had a sharp mind and a great body to boot. She's perfect. You aren't.  
**  
John began sobbing. It was right. How could Sherlock have ever loved him? He was too boring. Too ordinary. Sherlock never loved him. It was all an experiment, a lie, and he'd fell for it, and the man behind it, hook, line, and sinker.

 _You fool. You stupid, sentimental, idiotic fool._  
  
And there it was. The breakdown that had been brewing within John. All the signs had been there. The tears swelling in his kindly eyes, his sharp and stuttering breaths, the look of a lost puppy that had just been kicked by a solid boot.

He wasn't quite sure what to do. He wanted to kiss him but he'd lost that right from the moment he had started lying to him, from the moment he had taken his heart and stomped on it.

Sherlock was starting to question whether he was making the right decision. Was all this emotional pain worth it? The scenario of physically hurting John was just a 'what if' situation whilst the emotional pain was going on right now.

'What if' Sherlock Holmes is a very powerful thing.

_'What if' you end up killing him?_

'What if' you hurt him so badly he never wants to see you again?'

It's better this way by far.

No matter what he says now he'll be over you. It might take him a while, and he might end up hating you, but John will get over this.

He pulled his arms tighter around John, his thin and atrophied legs curling helplessly against him.

The voice continued, digging into his mind, his thoughts, his memories. It picked out very specific ones, pointing out where everything was so blatantly and obviously wrong, but John had been to blind to see it.

Sherlock never loved him. It was all a lie. None of it was real.

 _No. It was real. It was real because he is currently curling up against me as best as he can. He is comforting me. If he had never had feelings for me he would just be sitting there awkwardly. He wouldn't be doing this. He's doing this now though because he cares._  
  
The voice disappeared, the images erased, his chest loosened and he began breathing again.

He'd won this time. Who knew about the next? All he knew was that Sherlock was curled against him like a small child. John lifted a weary hand and placed it in Sherlock's curls.

John had started breathing again but Sherlock's grip on him didn't loosen. 'Better?' he asked John gently, humming as his ex-lover's hand ran through his curls.

'A bit, yeah,' John mumbled. 'Just wish you would– Never mind. I know you won't. After all, it was just an experiment.'

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut tightly. 'Yes, an experiment,' he sighed. 'A bloody experiment.'

'Hey. You ok?' John squeezed Sherlock slightly. 'Don't be like that. It's fine. It's all fine.'

It's not and you know it.

Shut up! Trying to comfort over here. Now, shoo!

'Do you take me for an idiot?' Sherlock said gruffly. 'I know that this isn't fine. I, on the other hand, am perfectly ok.' His voice didn't sound all that convincing despite his best efforts. 'It's you that I am troubled by. You are very much not ok.'

_Of course I'm not! I only had my bloody heart ripped out and stomped on! Oh, yeah, let's not forget about your disembodied voice telling me to kill myself. And the thigh slashes. Yeah. I'm fine. I'm bloody perfect._

John wanted to say that, he did, but he couldn't. Sherlock had only just awoken, he couldn't put all that on him. So he kept his mouth shut, for now. But he knew it would all come out later.

'Look, it's just nightmares,' he managed to say instead. 'I'll be fine once we get you home and started on some physical therapy.'

Sherlock sighed, not out of relief, for he knew John was lying, but more or less because he knew that he was probably a common factor of John's nightmares.

'We've worked through your nightmares before. I'm sure we'll be able to do the same now.'

A memory flooded to the tip of his mind. It would seem all of his memories had been restored to maximum. It was from way back, when Sherlock and John had barely been flatmates for a week. There had been a god awful scream from John's room and a thud. The scream and the thud had belonged to his disorientated and terrified flatmate. Sherlock had made tea and John had accepted it with a soft but tired smile. They'd stayed up all night talking. Just talking. It was a lovely memory and Sherlock treasured it dearly.

He then looked at his legs in disgust, glaring at them as though it was all their fault. 'Physical therapy,' he grumbled. 'Tedious.'

'You can't exactly will your muscles back,' John said. 'This isn't  _Kill Bill_ , you aren't an assassin, and I highly doubt it would work in real life the way it did in the movie. So, you'll go to therapy for a few weeks or however long it takes for you to get your strength back.'

Sherlock moved one of his hands to poke his right leg experimentally and pulled a face. It was disgusting, vile, and felt horrible under his touch.

'Don't touch,' John said, grabbing his hand and pulling it away. 'You won't like it. Trust me.'

Sherlock's eyes bugged from his skull. Was his body truly that unappealing now? Didn't John like him? He sighed again and just resorted to staring at the two useless limbs silently.

'Don't think like that,' John scolded. 'I still like you, I do. I just don't want you to touch them. Hey, look at me.' He grabbed Sherlock's chin and gingerly turned his head so they could see eye-to-eye. 'I do not find you disgusting. I never have and I never will. You just need to work them out and they'll get back to normal. I still like you. So stop thinking that I don't.'

Sherlock felt himself tripping and falling face first into those kindred eyes belonging to John.

'So, you've become a mind reader whilst I've been away,' he stated with a small smirk.

'I picked up a few tricks while you were out,' Job grinned smugly. God, had Sherlock's eyes always been that blue? Wow. They were gorgeous.

'We'll make a detective of you yet,' Sherlock joked, his insanity-filled blue pools inspecting John, soaking up the sight of his grin. Because, god forbid, he hated to think it, it may be the last grin that was meant for him and only him.

'We really could be like Batman and Robin then,' John smiled. 'I could be your Boy Wonder.'

'You're far from a boy, John,' Sherlock purred, the color of his eyes going from a blue to almost pitch black.

'Yes, I am,' John groaned. God dammit, he was hard as a fucking rock. His cheeks were hot, he could feel his pupils dilating. Hot damn.

 _Show me. Show me, Sherlock. Show me how much of a man I am. Kiss me everywhere. Use your mouth. Please. Please._  
  
Sherlock groaned in reply. He wanted nothing more than to attack John's lips till they were tired and bruised. Instead he moved uncomfortably on John, trying to get his clothed erection to a place where it wouldn't be bothersome for John. In the end he settled in on John's much too small stomach. He let out another groan and tried his best to prevent himself from moving downwards.

John groaned, shifting against Sherlock's erection.

'Please,' he begged. 'Please.'

'John I–' Sherlock swallowed thickly. 'I think we've been through this. I said I'm only prepared to grope you and in return you – you went to the bathroom and did–' He shook his head, not wanting to finish that sentence.

'I did it because I want a lot more than your hand,' John sighed. 'And I'll do it again. And you'll be powerless to stop me.'

'I know,' Sherlock muttered miserably. 'However I beg you not to do that again.'

'Why? What do you care?' John spat.

Sherlock had to quite literally stop himself breathing as to silence the scream once again rising up his throat. John closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. Sherlock, on the other hand, had gone completely still. Seemed they had different ways of keeping themselves from going off the deep end.

'For god's sake, Sherlock! Breathe!' John sighed exasperatedly. 'If it will make you feel better, I won't do it. Just fucking breathe.'

Sherlock still held his breath. John was bluffing. He'd do it whether he liked it or not.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, you're turning blue. Breathe. Please.'

Sherlock was starting to feel light headed. His lungs hurt from the lack of oxygen in them. Then there was the ringing penetrating his ears. But still he didn't breathe. For a moment he thought about dying of oxygen starvation. Wouldn't that make things easier for himself? It was awfully selfish but at least he wouldn't have to witness John's pain and obvious self destruction.

'Sherlock, you idiot,' John sighed. He laid Sherlock on his back, tilted his head back, and plugged his nose. 'You are not dying on me.' He opened Sherlock's mouth and brought his lips to his, blowing a large breath of air into his lungs. Sherlock almost gagged on the air forced down his lungs and coughed. That's when he noticed the close proximity of John's lips. And before he could quite catch up with his body his own lips were caressing them.

John's eyes popped open, shocked at the movement of Sherlock's lips on his own. But he didn't... Did he?

 _Shut up and kiss him!_  
  
So John did. He released Sherlock's nose, his hands tangling in his long curls. God, he'd missed that. And Sherlock's lips were so soft, warm, and familiar. They were home. Sherlock moaned into the unexpected kiss. He tried to pull away, he really did. But somehow he just didn't have the heart. John clearly needed this. John pried Sherlock's mouth open with his tongue, delving inside before Sherlock could protest.

 _Please. Don't ruin this. Please, let me have this. Please. If this is our last kiss... Just give me this. Please. Please._  
  
Sherlock grunted in surprise as John's tongue came diving in. He flicked out his own tongue to greet it, blinded by lust.

 _I love you. God do I love you. You're mine. You're all mine._  
  
John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, their tongues sliding together in a wet, sloppy rush of lust. He shifted over Sherlock, straddling his waist.

 _Please. Sherlock, please. Four months. Four long, lonely months. Please. Please._  
  
'John,' Sherlock panted, breaking away. 'I don't think I can do this. This will only hurt you more. And I can't–' A salty tear slid from the side of his right eye and into his mouth.

'Please,' John begged. 'Sherlock, please. I – I need you. I need this. Please. Please.'

'I know. I need this too,' Sherlock agreed. 'But this doesn't change what I said before. Is that understood?'

John merely kissed Sherlock again. He didn't care. He really didn't. He needed this, badly. God, he needed this. He shifted his arousal along Sherlock's, hissing at how good it felt. He moaned into Sherlock's mouth, pressing his body closer, his tongue sliding back into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock began kissing John back, giving in to what they both needed for the moment, despite knowing that in the long run this was a terrible mistake. He frantically rubbed their arousals together, grunting and moaning all the while.

John rut against Sherlock hard and fast. Four months of nothing and this was how they were going to get off? John didn't care. He was just happy Sherlock was allowing this to happen, especially after all he'd said. His hands travelled down Sherlock's neck and torso, settling on his hips to hold them still. He rut faster, moaning obscenely.

'Can I–' He gasped, Sherlock's erection sliding against his most sensitive spot. 'Can I touch you? Please?'

Sherlock swallowed but nodded. He wanted John to touch him as much as the man himself did.

So much for distancing himself.

John's hand snaked beneath Sherlock's flimsy hospital trousers, groping his achingly hard prick and stroking quickly. He undid his zip and pulled his own erection free, nearly cumming at the simple touch. He pulled Sherlock's trousers down so his erection could spring free, tucking the waistband under his balls. He grasped their erections in his hand, pulling one of Sherlock's hands to clasp his and help them along.

He kissed Sherlock soundly, moving their hands fast and squeezing them hard. He was so close already. So close it hurt. He whimpered into Sherlock's mouth as he neared his release, his body shaking. Sherlock felt a whimper of his own flickering off of his lips. This all felt so amazing. His body was tingling with a thousand sensations.

He felt guilty as hell for this. John would definitely get the wrong idea. He would think that Sherlock wanted this on a regular basis. And Sherlock did... but it couldn't because he had promised himself to distance himself from John.

He was close but his body just wouldn't relax and the chase for his release was exhausting him.

John moved faster, harder, squeezed tighter. He was close, so goddamn close. He pulled back from their kiss to gasp sharply. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck, breathing in his scent. That was all it took for him to find his release. He screamed Sherlock's name as he came, his entire body shaking with the painful force of his orgasm. Sherlock flailed up in the air as he too found his release at long last. He moaned and chanted John's name like he was worshiping a god.

And then he broke.

He wailed like a terrified baby. He hid his face against John and sobbed. He trembled.

John gasped and panted against Sherlock, holding him tight as he broke down. He shifted their positions so Sherlock was laying on him, sobbing into his shoulder.

'I don't regret this,' John whispered. 'I will do my best not to let this change anything. It might be hard, but... I'll work through it. But I don't regret it. Not a bit.'

'No,' Sherlock cried out. 'I don't regret this. But – but–' He was too much of a mess to even finish that sentence.

'Shhh. Shhh, it's ok. It will be ok,' John said softly. He began drawing Gallifreyan on Sherlock's back, hoping his words would sooth him.

'No. I'm not okay.' Sherlock's body slumped tiredly and the sobs became trapped in his throat. 'I'm really not.'

'I know you don't want to talk about it, and I am far from a proper therapist, but would you want to?' John asked softly. 'You don't have to say anything if you don't want. But if you do, you don't have to give me all the details. Or you could start small. I just think it might help you to get whatever is on your chest out, and you might feel a little better.'

'I – no.' Sherlock shook his head. 'I've already spoken to my mother about it and that was bad enough. To speak to you about it – I just can't.'

'You told your mother... But you can't tell me?' John's voice trembled. He understood why Sherlock would tell his mother, but it still hurt just a bit that Sherlock couldn't tell him. Maybe it involved him in some way. Maybe something bad had happened to him. Sherlock did say it had gotten ugly near the end. Did dream John die? Did he get hurt? Did Sherlock hurt him in his dream?

 _ **Go talk to Violet. Get it out of her.  
**_  
 _No. I would never violate Sherlock's trust like that.  
_  
 _ **Oh, like he respected yours? Months of secret experimentation? Don't you want to get any revenge?  
**_  
 _No. I'm a better person than that. I could never hurt him like that. I love him too much.  
_  
 _ **But he doesn't love you.  
**_  
 _Ok, that's it!_  
  
'If you'll excuse me for a moment, Sherlock,' John said, propping Sherlock up on his pillows before sliding off the bed. 'I need to take care of the– I just need to take care of something.' He slunk back into the bathroom, pressing his back against the door, gathering his breath.

'John, please don't do anything drastic,' Sherlock begged but he was quite aware that John wasn't listening to him. His flatmate was far too distressed to hear his voice. He held his hands to his face and took deep breaths. Images of what John was most likely going to do ran through his mind, causing him to feel positively nauseous and sick to his stomach.

'Please,' he tried again. 'I love you.'

No response.

He hadn't expected one.

John sat on the floor in front of the door, his head resting on his knees. If he hadn't been so focused on banishing Sherlock's disembodied voice from his head he might have heard the real Sherlock's confession.

But he didn't.

His mind was screaming at him, throwing insults and names at him, trying to get him to break. But John was fighting it, pushing back against it, throwing it against a wall. He refused to listen to the voice, because he knew the real Sherlock still cared for him in some way. Experiment or not, he was still his Sherlock and they were still friends. They loved each other, but it wasn't a shared romantic attachment anymore. But they still cared, still loved, and John had a hunch they always would.

Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. Friends until the end, together forever.

John lifted his head to gaze upon the drawer, the box hidden inside. All he'd have to do was make a few select cuts and the voice would leave. It always did. But his Sherlock had asked him not to. And John really did want to try to stop, but he couldn't. Not today anyway. He slid across the floor and opened the drawer, pulling the box out and grabbing the blade from inside. He instantly cut a notch into his left wrist, another by his scar, and a thicker one in his lame leg.

The voice disappeared instantly, like magic. John stitched up the cut in his thigh and put gauze around his wrist. His shoulder wound got a padded bandage like tattoo parlours used, taping it down tightly. He put everything away and hobbled back out to Sherlock's room, his leg protesting from being cut into and sewed shut twice in one day.

Sherlock hardly dared to look up when he heard John enter the room, terrified of what he might see. A small whimper lifted off of his plump lips and he shook.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock,' John whispered. He plopped down into the chair by the bed, stretching out his cut leg and wrist. 'But I had to. It's the only way I know how to stop the – how to stop it.'

'It?' he whispered. 'Do you mean the pain I've put you through?'

His chest constricted and he whimpered again, still not daring to look at the man sat beside him.

'No,' John whispered. '"It" is the voice that has been plaguing me for about a month or so.'

Sherlock peaked a look at John. His curiosity rose to the surface. 'A voice? Jesus Christ John.' He blinked at the broken man. 'You should have gotten help.'

'It's you,' John gulped, looking into pale, icy blue eyes. 'And I didn't want to get help because it was your voice. I was finally hearing you again after so long. I considered it a blessing. You would talk to me, lull me to sleep, you sang to me once and it was as beautiful as I remembered. I had been so scared that I was forgetting what you sounded like, but the voice came along and made it so much better. Until it wasn't.'

'You know it's all an illusion, right John? You can let go of... "it" now.' Sherlock reached out a hand to John. 'Whatever you're hearing is a lie.' He frowned. 'Please tell me that you know that.'

'Of course I know that,' John sighed. He took Sherlock's offered hand, linking their fingers. 'He just won't leave. And... I think it's because I don't truly have you back. Not in the way I want you. So, he's still here to taunt me... about you not wanting me. How you never wanted me and you never will– SHUT UP!' he shouted, clenching his eyes shut and squeezing Sherlock's hand tightly.

'You went away! Why won't you go away?' he whimpered aloud.

Sherlock held John's hand tightly, rubbing his thumb in circles over the back of it. 'I know you probably can't hear me right now, but can you zone in on my voice? Not the fake one. Me. The real me. None of that is true, ok? None of it.'

'He says you're lying,' John sobbed. 'That you hate me. That I'm a fuck up. That my mind is damaged. My body too. Too many scars, physical and emotional. How could you possibly–' He paused, looking up at Sherlock with tearstained cheeks.

'Are you – are you saying that you still want me?' he choked out.

Sherlock gazed on at John, neither shaking his head nor nodding. 'I am the fuck up. I am the one with too many scars to count, emotional and physical. My mind is damaged beyond repair. The voice is lying.'

'He won't leave,' John sobbed. 'He... he wants me to end everything. And I know you would never tell me to do that, never. Because I know, deep down, even if you never truly loved me, you would never want me to harm myself. I just... I need some reassurance. Please, Sherlock. Help me. Make him go away.'

Sherlock's stomach plummeted to the ground at John's words. The voice had told John to end it? But that was what Sherlock was trying to prevent. John's death. John's pain.

'Come here.' He patted the space on the bed beside him. 'Come here and I will make him go away.'

John complied easily. He didn't care what Sherlock was going to do, he just wanted the voice to go away. He sat on the bed, his bad leg stretched out to keep the stitches from tearing. Silent tears fell down his cheeks as he waited for Sherlock to help him. To make the voice go away.

Sherlock leant forward and placed a sloppy, wet kiss to John's head. 'Leave him alone. He's mine, not yours. Leave my John alone.'

'He... He says that he was here for me when you weren't,' John swallowed, his cheeks flushing from the kiss. 'Which is stupid because you were ill, in a coma.'

'I was taken away from you, John. If it's anyone's fault it's Moriarty's. He only handed over half the antidote.' Sherlock placed another kiss on John's neck.

'He's a... what's the polite word for it?' John mused. His body shivered at Sherlock's tender kiss to his neck. The sensation was slowing his brain. The voice was dying. 'He's a... a manipulative bastard and he needs to die.'

'Then kill him,' Sherlock ordered. 'Kill him slowly and painfully.'

'Yes,' John growled. He could see it now. Moriarty his prisoner, tied and bound to be cut and tortured until he was broken, begging for death. And John would give it to him, but it wouldn't be painless. No. He would bleed him dry like the chicken he was.

Sherlock showered John in more kisses. 'That's it. Kill him for me, John. Kill him for me.'

 _ **You'd be no better than him if you did.  
**_  
 _Don't care. Go the fuck away.  
_  
 __ **Monster.  
**  
John gasped when Sherlock brushed his Adam's apple, nipping it gently. The voice disappeared momentarily. John gave a little whimper of approval, his hips bucking involuntarily.

Sherlock nipped John again. 'Shhh. See, it's ok now. I've got you.'

 __ **It will never be ok. He left you. Abandoned you. And look at yourself. Skin and bones, stitches in your leg, fresh cuts on your arms. Look at what he's done to you.  
**  
'He's still there,' John choked out. 'The voice.'

Sherlock growled. 'I said leave my John alone.' He grabbed John's face and kissed him heavily.

 _His John. He called me his John._  
  
John melted into the kiss. He pulled Sherlock closer, opening his mouth so their tongues could slide against each other.

 _Yes, Sherlock. I'm yours. Yours. And you're mine._  
  
Sherlock carded a hand through John's hair, mashing his lips with John's harshly. The voice was fading, his Sherlock was winning. John began panting into Sherlock's mouth. He was achingly hard again, his hips rolling to try to get his cock some much needed friction. Sherlock crawled further up John and began bucking his hips albeit weakly against John.

John gasped and moaned, his hands flying to hold Sherlock's hips. He began bucking up against him, his erection rubbing against Sherlock's stomach. He was shaking again, but for a more pleasurable reason than before. Sherlock was lost in the moment. He couldn't bring himself to stop, not now. He wanted to rid John of that ridiculous voice and if this was his cure then so be it. He pressed himself closer and rutted harder and faster.

'Gah! Fuck!' John gasped, his hands clenching Sherlock's hips tightly. 'Yes, yes, yes! Don't stop. Close. Yes!'

Sherlock moved a hand to John's arousal and squeezed it tightly before plunging his tongue back into John's mouth. John gave a loud grunt before he came long and hard in his pants. He rocked against Sherlock's hand, wanting to prolong his pleasure. He sucked on Sherlock's tongue, his own sliding against it, caressing it. His body continued to shake as he came down from his high, aftershocks of pleasure shooting through him as Sherlock continued to squeeze him.

Sherlock squeezed one last time before releasing John's lips and rolling off of him. He himself hadn't cum. He really wanted to be touched but he wasn't the one in need of that sort of comfort; John was. John laid gasping and panting on the bed, a goofy smile plastered on his face. Holy fuck that felt good. And the voice was gone too. Even better. He opened his eyes to gaze at Sherlock, noticing that he was still hard. He purred and rolled over his, straddling him.

'I can fix that,' he whispered seductively. He placed a heated kiss to Sherlock's lips before sliding down his skinny frame. He pulled the flimsy trousers down and licked a thick, wet stripe up Sherlock's cock from base to tip.

Sherlock struggled to reign in his emotions. 'Stop,' he said under his breath, pushing John's head away from his member. 'Just stop.'

John looked up, confused and hurt. Didn't Sherlock want to cum? Or, was it John? Did Sherlock not want him at all?

_**Told you.  
** _   
_No. No! Go away! Please! Just go away.  
_   
__**No. You let me in. I'll be here to tell it to you straight forever. You can't get rid of me that easily.**

_Fuck._  
  
'I'm sorry,' Sherlock panted heavily. 'Don't take it to heart. I just can't go any further.'

'Why?' John choked on the small word.

 __ **Because he doesn't want you anymore. Get over it and move on already.  
**  
'I'm tired,' he lied coolly. 'I've already had two releases in a short amount of time.'

'And another could help you sleep,' John protested.

 __ **Just stop. He clearly doesn't want it, or you. Just back the fuck off and make some more notches in your skin.  
**  
'I... I understand,' John nodded slowly. 'I'm sorry.' He pulled Sherlock's trousers back up and moved off the bed, his bad leg protesting. He sat in the chair, his leg outstretched, watching but not watching Sherlock.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock apologised once more. 'I'm just not in a good mindset at the moment.'

'And when you are, can I fin–' John cut himself off. He already knew what Sherlock's answer would be. 'Never mind. Just get some rest.' John closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair, listening to the steady beeping of Sherlock's heart monitor.

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, not quite sleeping, but not quite awake either. His mind was spinning out of control. Faster and faster and faster. Memories of the past clashed heavily with the present. His dream world was still haunting him. His father was still out there waiting for him. Moriarty too. He just wanted it to stop, for his brain to slow down.

It was in that moment that he felt a familiar feeling he hadn't had for years. An itch spreading across his skin, curling underneath his flesh. It was an itch that wasn't going anywhere unless he got a fix. He moved his fingers over the skin and began scratching at it but it didn't help. He needed a fix. He needed a fix. God dammit he needed a fix. Why now? Why had his addiction come to taunt him now?

John's head lolled against the back of the chair, not wanting to fall asleep but not necessarily wanting to stay awake either. The voice had come back with a vengeance. Apparently it took particular enjoyment in taunting him when Sherlock rejected him. It would disappear when Sherlock showed any semblance of affection toward him, but the second he began to distance himself the voice returned.

John shifted in his sleep, falling forward onto Sherlock's bed. His head was close to Sherlock's hand and he desperately wanted his hand to card through his hair. But the hand never moved, the voice continued laughing at him, and he drifted off to a whole new batch of nightmares. Where Sherlock loathed his existence and decided to rid himself of the damaged and delusional John once and for all.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock woke with a start, inhaling a huge gulp of air to try and gather his wits.

Where was he? Oh yes. Hospital. Coma. John.

He gazed warmly at his sleeping flatmate, awkwardly sleeping half on the bed and reached across to stroke his hair. As he touched John, however, he noticed that his arm was bright red from where he'd been scratching it, almost bleeding even. Damn.

The voice was gone. The voice was gone. What happened to it?

Oh. Sherlock was petting his hair. And he was gently massaging his scalp. Oh. That felt good. He hummed and pushed his head closer to Sherlock's touch, still not quite awake or asleep. He just didn't want Sherlock to stop.

Sherlock ignored his red and near-bleeding arm and the persistent itching that was still taking place. He just concentrated on stroking John's hair gently, slowly waking the poor man up. That position he was sleeping in was most likely doing a number on his neck and back. Best to get him to sleep in a more comfortable one.

John purred and finally opened his eyes, gazing upon Sherlock with eyes full of affection and sleep.

'Hey,' he croaked.

'Hey yourself,' Sherlock grinned, continuing to pet John's hair.

John hummed again, closing his eyes and smiling gently. He pushed his head closer to Sherlock's hand, sighing in content.

'Feels good.'

'Come here then.' Sherlock brushed his fingertips over John's face. 'You'll hurt your neck and back sitting like that.'

John grunted, his back protesting as he pushed himself up on the bed. He laid his head by Sherlock's chest, his arm naturally draping across his waist. He hummed again, his back finally stretching out after being hunched over for god knows how long. Sherlock's hand was still carding through his hair, lulling John back to sleep. He was lost in the blissful place between consciousness and sleep, and his filter was completely gone here.

'Love you,' he mumbled, turning his head so his forehead was pressed against Sherlock's side. 'Love you.'

Sherlock hummed. 'I know,' he whispered. 'You love me too much.' Sherlock stopped petting John's hair for a minute. 'You should just stop. Stop any emotions to do with me. Just forget me.' He studied his arm closely and sighed. 'I'm dangerous.' The old track marks beyond the red were proof of that.

'No,' John mumbled. He tightened his hold around Sherlock's waist, pulling them closer together. 'Will never forget. Will never leave. Love you. Won't leave. I love you.' He nuzzled his nose against the material of Sherlock's shirt.

'And you're not dangerous,' he continued. 'I am. I've killed, many times over. I have so much blood on my hands. So much. I'm more dangerous than you.'

'If you believe that to be the truth then you are an idiot,' Sherlock scolded John. 'You are not dangerous. Whilst I am. You have no idea what I'm capable of.'

 _Especially on drugs._  
  
'Then I'm an idiot,' John pouted. 'Why'd you stop petting me?' He nudged his head against Sherlock's hand. 'And I was a soldier in the war, I killed people. I've killed for you. Tell me again how I'm not dangerous. I'm a murderer. And, to the best of my knowledge, you aren't.'

'I once accidentally trod on a snail,' Sherlock joked, but there was no humour in his voice. 'Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective by day and snail killer by night.' He pulled his arm away for a moment, giving it a good scratch before once again tending to John's hair.

'My cold-blooded killer,' John hummed, arching into Sherlock's touch. He settled against Sherlock's side, purring as he was pet lovingly.

'I wouldn't joke about it. I came very close to killing a man in my younger days,' Sherlock said, voice dark and deeper than usual.

'Oh,' John frowned. 'Do I want to know?'

'I almost stabbed a man. Don't tell my brother this, but it was for him.' Sherlock hummed. 'I was high, to be fair. I think the only reason I didn't go through with it was because I was both far younger than the bird-brained idiot and was slightly intimidated by him. And my father would have most certainly made my beating a double one if I got into such trouble.'

'Oh,' was all John could say. He'd had a feeling drugs had been involved. He tugged Sherlock close, pressing his nose in between two of his ribs.

'Oh? Is that all you can say? I have just told you I was prepared to kill a man.' Sherlock pulled his arm back with a grunt, once again scratching at the merciless itching.

'What do you want me to say?' John asked, sitting up on his elbows. 'I'm glad you didn't kill the bastard? Glad you took the high ground? Glad you thought things through before making such a drastic mistake as killing a man in cold blood?' He eyed Sherlock scratching his arm and frowned.

'What's this?' he asked, grabbing Sherlock's arm. He had been scratching it raw, some scratches having broken open and were bleeding. 'What's with the scratching? Are you... craving?'

Sherlock stared at John blankly and wriggled his arm out of his flatmate's grip.

'No,' he stated simply. 'I haven't in a long while. It's just a little itchy.'

'Do you want me to put some cream on it?' John asked. 'And I think some bandages would be good too, since some of those scratches are bleeding.'

The cream would do little to quell the itching but it would stop the scratches from getting infected so he nodded. 'I think, Doctor Watson, that bandaging my arm would be a good idea.'

'Ok.' John slid off the bed, groaning when his back twinged in protest. He stretched it out, cracking his neck before moving to the cabinets that held the extra medical supplies. He pulled out anti-itch cream and gauze bandages. He moved back to Sherlock, rubbing the cream over his scratches and then wrapping it up in the gauze.

'Try not to scratch through the bandages, ok?' John said. 'Not that I think you will, I'm just telling you not to.'

Sherlock nodded wordlessly, putting his sole concentration into not picking up the scratching again. He didn't want John to know that his cravings were back, though he suspected that he already knew.

'When did the scratching start?' John asked softly, sitting back on the bed. 'Recently?'

'Yes, recently,' Sherlock gulped and looked away from John. 'Nothing to worry about though.'

'I wasn't worrying,' John lied. 'Just curious. Because if we caught it early enough then maybe the itching won't be so severe.'

'Mmmm – maybe it won't be,' Sherlock clutched his arm to him, still not itching it but wanting to more and more with each passing second.

'Hey, it will be ok,' John said softly, taking Sherlock's bandaged arm and clasping his hand tightly. 'We'll work through this, just like we do everything else.'

'I'm not quite sure what you're implying. I have nothing to work through,' Sherlock replied defensively.

'Oh. So you don't need physical therapy to get the strength in your legs back?' John retorted sarcastically. 'That's what I was implying. Why? What did you think I was implying?'

'Oh.' Sherlock pursed his lips together. 'Nothing. My mistake.'

'Ah. I see,' John nodded. 'Maybe you should rest. I realise you've been asleep for four months, but I don't want you to lose sleep over it. Uh, I mean – just go to sleep. I will too. I'm sleeping better now that you're awake.'

Sherlock scootched as close as possible to John and smiled into his chest as he rested his head there.

'Night, John.'

'Goodnight, Sherlock,' John sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair before massaging his scalp.

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so sorry for the angst and drama in this chapter. It'll get better eventually. But it'll get worse before it gets better. So prepare yourselves for that.
> 
> Classes begin Monday for me, but my first class isn't until 2 p.m. Hell yeah! But Tuesday I have a 9:30 a.m. class. Ugh. Still trying to decide what to wear my first day back. But that's not important right now. Still got a lot of unpacking and organising to do before I can worry about that.
> 
> See you all Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	28. Back in the Saddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have officially completed my first day back to college/University! It was a relatively easy day seeing as all we did was go over the course and not really do any work. My Shakespeare class should definitely be easier this time around. The professor is young and passionate about the subject, and I think that will help immensely.
> 
> So, in celebration, here's the next chapter! I'll work on editing the next one so it can be posted on Friday.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: angst, depression, cutting, getting off in the shower, and lots of hurt feelings. Oh, and Anderson is a dick.

Two months had passed since Sherlock had awoken.

Each day consisting in that time period had felt like an eternity and it had been a very trying time for both himself and John. Both of their nerves were grated and their relationship was more strained than ever. They stopped being physical with each other from the moment they got back to 221B. He supposed that had something to do with it. They were back to their respective rooms now too and neither of them were sleeping well. But Sherlock knew that it wasn't just the physical aspect – or rather the lack of it that was putting a strain on their relationship. It was him.

He had told John that it had been an experiment. That was like comparing John to the human fingers he'd put in the kettle the other day. John felt like a piece of used meat and Sherlock was the one who'd made him feel like that. That was wrong and selfish of him and he felt bloody awful about it. It was the furthest thing from the truth. He was lying about lying to John. That was a horrible irony that haunted Sherlock on a daily basis.

 _I love you, John. Please see through my fa_ _ç_ _ade. Please see that I still love you._  
  
He never did.

Sherlock's therapy had been hard and, as he had predicted, very tedious too. The muscle damage in his legs had been severe and had left him incredibly weak. On more than one occasion he had thought about quitting, about just giving up and staying bed bound and bored for the rest of his life.

He supposed it was John's pain that had spurred him on. John's pain was an unspoken thing between them, as was his cravings. It wasn't as though they tried to hide it from each other. Sherlock knew that there was still a great fight within John's mind. He knew that whenever John excused himself to go the bathroom or to bed early that he would be causing himself harm. There was little he could do to comfort him. John had stopped seeking his comfort a long time ago. John resented him.

As for his cravings, they were getting stronger by the day. Being out of action for so long because of his legs had given him time to think. Thinking was bad. He thought about his father, about how much he loved John, about how much it was killing him and John inside that they were becoming distant. About the life that he could have had with John, and about the life he would never allow himself to have. About his brother, and his mother, about how life used to be.

The itching in his arm from all that time ago was still writhing under his skin but John didn't say anything. It was a mutual understanding that they were dealing with what had happened in their own way, and so neither of them commented on any strange behavior they were both showing.

One day, however, Sherlock snapped.

His mind exploded.

He was sick of thinking.

He was sick of his cravings.

Sick of the pain and the tension.

Sick of being stuck in the flat 24/7.

He wanted out.

John had just trundled down the stairs. His face was tired and he was hobbling, and he had clearly been crying from the way his eyes looked red and puffy.

Sherlock was currently sat on the sofa playing his violin. His violin playing had become both a hateful thing and a reassurance to him. Hatful because it reminded him of his dream and caused him to go into his own little world, leaving John to fend his battles on his own like the coward he was. It was also quite reassuring to him too. It meant that he hadn't forgotten how to play her, that the dream wasn't true, and that the vision of him hurting John over an argument about his playing was not going to happen.

 _John is safe... for now._  
  
He glanced up at John, his bow stilling on the strings and sighed heavily. He reached for his cane, glaring hatefully at it all the while. Despite his therapy being rather successful so far, he was still too weak to walk on his own two legs. He needed the cane as support.

He pushed himself to his feet, placing his violin delicately down before walking over to where his trench coat had been flung in frustration over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

'I'm going out,' he announced, his eyes avoiding John all the while. 'I'll be gone awhile.'

_I need a fix._

_It'll make my mind slow down._

_I won't have to deal with this anymore._

_My mind will be able to relax._

_I'm bored and hurting and John's hurting too._

_One little fix wouldn't hurt._

_I'll go find my old dealer._

_I'll get my fix and when I return to the flat everything will be fine. It will all be fine._

_No! Stop!_

_Not drugs._

_Go and get a case from Greg._

_You just need something to get your mind off of things._

About a week after Sherlock had woken up he was cleared to go home. The cab ride home had been tense and awkward. The two had barely spoken since Sherlock's 'I almost killed a man' confession. John honestly didn't know what to say around him anymore. Everything he wanted to say sounded too sentimental in his head, and Sherlock wouldn't have appreciated that. So, he just kept his mouth shut, too afraid of saying the wrong thing and pushing Sherlock away.

Mary had found Sherlock a suitable physiotherapist, one who had been warned beforehand about his spot-on and rather blunt deductions. He had lasted almost a month before he couldn't put up with him anymore. Thankfully, Mary had a back-up therapist in her pocket, and this one had lasted pretty well so far. Sherlock was getting better every day, he had even begun to use a cane instead of a wheelchair. And the wheelchair had been awkward to use around the flat, so the cane allowed him to move around a lot better.

But what was really bothering him was what Mary had said to him when she had pulled him aside before Sherlock left. She had said they were good for each other, that she was glad John had finally found someone who made him happy. She was obviously blind. Sherlock didn't love him, he never had. But he didn't tell Mary that. He simply thanked her, wished her luck in her own love life, and walked away. But her words continued to play in his mind, the fake Sherlock twisting them out of proportion to suit his taunting needs. But, if Mary had seen something, did Sherlock still care about him? Did he love him?

The voice kept telling him no, he never did and he never would. Who could ever love poor, damaged John Watson? Who would understand everything he'd gone through? Everything he'd done to himself? He'd taken to slashing his thighs and wrists on a daily basis, fighting his feelings for his flatmate. If he felt even the slightest twinge of affection or sentiment toward Sherlock he would excuse himself and cut into himself until he went numb. He knew Sherlock knew, but John couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. He needed to do it like he needed air, which he knew was unhealthy but he didn't care. If Sherlock wouldn't accept his feelings then he would just kill them. He no longer got hard around Sherlock either. That had ended almost two weeks into their coming home. His body had learned that pain followed becoming erect, so he no longer did. It had been almost a month since he'd had an erection, and he no longer had to cut so deep into his thighs to stop it.

The voice was still plaguing him. Only now it wasn't just a voice. Now it would appear to him as a twisted and demented form of his flatmate and former love. He looked dirty, unkempt, his eyes dead and void of any emotion. He looked like he was on drugs. And he would sit on John's bed while he tried to sleep, whispering insults at him.

_**Worthless.** _

_**Failure.** _

_**Fat fuck.** _

_**Starve yourself.** _

_**Gorge yourself.** _

_**Dig that blade deeper into your skin. See if you can nick the artery. Go ahead. Do it. You know you want to.** _

What hurt though was that John was back in his upstairs bedroom, alone, constantly. It hurt to go up and down the stairs, not only because his leg would act up every now and again but from the cuts. They would tear and pull whenever he walked the stairs, bleeding through his pyjama trousers until he bandaged them and put on a fresh set of clothes. Some days, when his legs were particularly bad, he would sleep downstairs in the sitting room, propped up in his chair covered by a blanket.

That was where he was when Sherlock announced he was going out, grabbing his cane and his coat before trudging out the door and outside. John simply sat in his chair, sipping at the tea he had just made, trying not to worry about what Sherlock was going to do. He feared Sherlock was getting back into the drugs, that he had been having cravings since he had woken, since he had bandaged the scratches. But he wanted to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt, that he was going to the Yard to beg Lestrade for a cold case to occupy his mind. Because sitting in the flat for two months with absolutely nothing to do but think was incredibly dangerous for Sherlock. John just hoped Sherlock was being smart.

Nothing seemed to be going right for Sherlock anymore.

It took him almost twenty minutes to summon a cab. He guessed no one wanted to take in a crippled man. Idiots. He suddenly felt rather bad for the John he had first met. When he did get a cab the cabbie was unusually chatty and cheerful. How utterly hateful. He kept on telling him about the weather and how Britain was supposed to be going into some form of ice age. What dull lives people lead. He just sat there moodily until the cab had reached his destination. He then proceeded to throw far too many notes at the cabbie before exiting.

'Scotland Yard here I come,' he mumbled miserably under his breath as he headed straight for Lestrade's office. 'He better bloody give me a case.'

If he wasn't given a case he knew he'd do something stupid. He needed a distraction from his life. He didn't care what that was.

Lestrade was sat at his desk, signing a slew of paperwork. Too many of his officers were fucking up lately. Making simple mistakes that caused a load of paperwork to be filled out explaining what had happened and why. He sat back in his chair, closing his eyes and cracking his wrist. It was stiff from writing the same name over and over. He really needed to invest in getting a stamp of his signature.

His door opened suddenly and he groaned.

'Donovan, if this is more paperwork, shred it. I am sick and tired of this shit.' He opened his eyes and saw, much to his surprise, that it was Sherlock standing there and not his sergeant.

'Oh. Hullo Sherlock. What brings you here? Where's John?'

'Not here. Obviously,' Sherlock replied, sounding both bitter and tired.

He hobbled in to the office and over to the D.I.'s desk. 'I need a case,' he stated bluntly.

'A case?' Greg asked. 'Are you sure you're ready for one? I mean, physically. I'm sure your mind is more than ready for one.'

'I'm not a complete cripple!' Sherlock shouted, irritation running through him like wildfire.

'Give me a case, now.' His eyes widened and his nostrils flared. 'I am going insane cooped up in my flat.'

'Whoa. Easy there,' Lestrade said calmly. 'Sorry. I'm just worried about you is all. As for the case, I'll see if I can get you some cold cases, alright?'

Sherlock sighed heavily and his face fell. 'I suppose a few cold cases will have to do.'

'Look, Sherlock, I'm sorry, but a cold case is the best I can do right now,' Greg sighed. He stood up and moved to the front of his desk, squeezing Sherlock's shoulder. 'Until you're done with your therapy I can't allow you back to crime scenes. I'll go through our files and pull out a few, ok? Stay here.'

'Fine,' Sherlock sighed again as Lestrade took his leave.

His legs felt useless beneath him as he stood.

 _Perhaps I should sit down._  
  
Sherlock made his slow journey to Lestrade's chair behind the desk that was piled up high with paperwork.

He let his head fall in his hands. 'Stupid things,' he cursed his limbs for still being weak.

Greg made his way to the archives, scanning the shelves for interesting cases. He pulled down two, one a triple homicide the other a murder-robbery. He made his way back to his office, the boxes in his arms.

'Sir? What are you doing?' Donovan asked.

'Giving Holmes some cold cases,' he stated simply. 'He needs a distraction after everything.'

'Are you sure that's a good idea?'

'It's not like he's going to a crime scene, Donovan,' Greg sighed. 'Just, let him be. He needs this. Trust me.'

'Yes sir,' Donovan nodded, leaving to get a cup of coffee.

Greg returned to his office, setting the files on his desk.

'Here ya go,' he said. 'Triple homicide and a murder-robbery. Have fun.' He smiled gently before realising Sherlock was staring dejectedly at his legs.

'Hey. Do you want some help getting these into a cab? Or will you be ok?'

'I'll be fine,' Sherlock replied in a small voice. He propped himself up and leaned on his cane. 'Thank you, Lestrade. I best be going.'

'Ok. Hey.' He grabbed Sherlock's arm gently. 'Give John my best. And I hope you recover soon. I... The crimes are better with you around. My officers are all idiots without you here.'

Sherlock's lips quivered into a small smile. 'Indeed, they truly are idiots.' He picked up the files Greg had given him. 'Again. Thank you. I'm not sure I could have gone on for much longer. It's too quiet in the flat. Much too quiet.'

'Well, thanks for coming to me before you resorted to shooting the walls,' Greg smiled weakly. 'Shall I see you out?' He held his office door open for Sherlock, giving him a soft smile.

'That would be nice,' Sherlock said with a small grunt as he started to walk.

Greg nodded and followed Sherlock through the Yard, holding doors open for him and making awkward small talk.

'So, I see the physical therapy is going well,' he offered. 'It's good to see you up and about, you know?'

Sherlock stopped and stared at Lestrade. 'What's with the small talk?'

'I, uh...' Greg stammered. 'It's just to pass the time I suppose. And, I want to know how you've been. Haven't seen you in a while.'

'How I've been?' Sherlock mumbled under his breath with a loud sigh. 'Fine. Just perfect.'

'Sherlock, you may think I'm a shit detective, but it's pretty obvious that you aren't fine,' Greg sighed. 'I also know that you don't want to talk about it, so I'll let it go for now.'

He helped Sherlock flag down a cab, leaning against the window before the cab could drive off.

'If you finish those cases quickly call me and I'll send some more over, alright?'

Sherlock nodded, looking away from the D.I. 'I will most likely have them solved within the hour.'

'Then I'll be sure to have more ready and waiting,' Greg nodded. 'Have fun with those. And give John my best.' He nodded to the cabbie and watched the cab drive away before heading back to the Yard.

'"Give John my best?"' he muttered to himself begrudgingly, heading back inside and for his office. 'You know things are strained between them. How much more of an idiot could you be?'

He sat at his desk, staring at the pile of paperwork atop it.

'I am definitely investing in a stamp,' he grumbled.

Sherlock's journey back to 221B was at least a little better than the one to the Yard. The cabbie was silent and it allowed him to think and prepare himself to walk back into the tense atmosphere at the flat. When he reached his destination he handed the fare over and got out with a little difficulty, his legs feeling weak even now. Clutching the files to his chest he made his way back into the flat and closed the door behind him.

John looked up from his newspaper when he heard the door close. Sherlock was back.

 _Please don't be high. Please don't be high. Please don't be high._  
  
The man in question, thankfully, was not high. He had acquired files from the Yard. Probably cold cases that he'd solve pretty quickly. Then he'd be bored again and he'd beg Greg for more.

'Cold cases?' John asked, already knowing what they were. 'I made tea if you want some.'

Sherlock blinked in surprise. He'd almost forgotten what John's voice was like. It was like heaven to his ears to hear that soft and warm voice.

He gave John something akin to a smile. 'Tea would be nice, and yes. I got them off Lestrade. It feels so good to finally be doing something.'

'Good,' John smiled. He set his newspaper down and tried his best not to hobble over to the kettle. His leg was pretty bad, and he blamed the weather. It always acted up when the weather was bad. One look out the window killed that theory dead.

It was sunny and bright, a gentle breeze blowing the curtains.

Shit. So it was his own actions then. He really did need to stop. Maybe then things could return to normal. Because he'd told himself that he was tired of the silent, awkward tension surrounding the flat. He was going to show Sherlock that they could still be friends after everything they'd been through the past two months. Everything was going to be fine.

He poured the tea, adding some honey and sugar to Sherlock's. He passed him his mug, their fingers brushing as Sherlock accepted it. John brushed it off, trying to stop his blush from creeping up his neck and cheeks. He returned to his armchair, picking his newspaper back up and reading through it, not really absorbing the information.

That brush of fingers was the first bodily contact he'd had with Sherlock in two months.

Sherlock shivered and stared at his fingers, trying to slow his heart down. It had only been a brief touch but it was enough to spark a deep and terribly human feeling of lust within him. His trousers had tightened and he swallowed down hard as he made his awkward journey to his own chair, holding the files in one hand and his cup of tea in the other. He sat down and crossed his legs to try and hide his problem. It would do nothing but cause more pain and confusion if John found out. He noticed that John wasn't in the same situation. His heart dropped in his chest. Didn't he affect John anymore?

John idly sipped at his tea, thumbing through the paper before folding it up and setting it down with a defeated sigh. He couldn't concentrate. That brief touch was replaying in his mind, slowed down to enhance every detail. He rested his head on his hand, his fingers absently stroking his lips. He noted that Sherlock looked flustered and a bit red in the face. His trousers looked tight and John blushed. Sherlock was hard? John could still affect him like that, even after they had 'broken up?' John wasn't hard though. He had practically trained his prick to stay flaccid with those deep cuts he'd slashed in his thigh. Now he felt guilty. What if they became intimate again and he couldn't get it up?

No. They would never be intimate again. Sherlock had told him so after their time in the hospital. John frowned, pulling his hand away from his face. He stood up slowly, not wanting to irritate his leg.

'I'm gonna make some toast and jam. Would you– No. You're on a case. You don't want to eat. Slows you down.' He shook his head and hobbled into the kitchen, putting two slices of toast in the toaster. He turned his head to Sherlock when he heard him shift in his seat, a small sound very akin to a whimper escaping from his flatmate's lips. Sherlock made a grunt in the back of his throat in answer to John's question. He shifted in his seat and continued to whimper.

He couldn't think. Which was good he supposed. After all, that is exactly what he'd been aiming for. However, he needed to think a little to solve the cold cases Lestrade had given him and he had said he'd solve them within the hour...

He needed the problem gone and now.

He grabbed his cane and once again stood to his feet. He felt guilty about what he was going to do to solve his problem but he pushed that guilt aside as he headed for the bathroom.

John watched Sherlock leave, blinking when he heard the bathroom door close and the shower turn on. What on earth was he doing? Was this a new physical therapy thing that he was actually following? Or was he wanking?

John shrugged, giving Sherlock the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he just wanted to take a shower. The toast popped up and John spread the jam over the slices, plopping back down in his chair as he took a huge bite of toast.

Sherlock stripped off his clothes and struggled into the shower. 'Time to make you go away,' he grumbled to his cock, wrapping his fingers around it. As he ran his hand up and down he bit back moans, quite unsuccessfully. How anyone could do this silently was a mystery to him. It was no good though. His hand was useless. It wasn't John's. It didn't feel right. And his erection was going nowhere.

He sighed as he resorted to picturing John's hand instead. That helped a little. 'Oh, John,' he groaned rather loudly despite his best efforts to disguise what he was doing.

John's head snapped up at the sound of his name. It wasn't just that though; it was how it was said. Sherlock had moaned it like a cat in heat, or a woman in a really bad porno. Oh god.

He was wanking.

John's heart fell. Sherlock was actually wanking? Thinking of John and wanking? John wiped the jam off his chin, sucking it off his fingers before he stood up to investigate. He didn't even knock on the door, just opened it silently and creeped inside. Sherlock was moaning his name still, and John could hear the slick sounds of hand on cock. He swallowed, his heart breaking.

He peeled the curtain back, his heart full on stopping at the sight before him.

Sherlock had his head thrown back, eyes closed, leaning against the wall. One hand was on his cock, the other holding him up. He was moaning John's name, his hand working fast. He was close, John could tell. John remembered. Before he knew what he was doing, John opened his mouth.

'Do you want a hand?'  _Or a mouth?_

Sherlock's eyes snapped open in terror when he heard John's voice. He let go of his still aching prick and swallowed. Before he could so much as think of what to say his lips were speaking for him.

'God yes!'

John's heart began beating again, furiously fast and achingly so. His pupils dilated and he reached for Sherlock's achingly hard prick before he could stop himself. He stroked fast and squeezed hard, working Sherlock into a gasping, writhing mess. Sherlock groaned and slid further down the wall. He never wanted this to end. It would seem his body had other ideas however, as he found himself cumming abruptly. John worked Sherlock through his orgasm, squeezing him gently. It was over far too quickly, and now it was awkward. John blushed deeply, removing his hand as Sherlock sank down in the shower. He excused himself, running up the stairs and slamming his bedroom door shut.

What the hell had just happened? He'd gotten Sherlock off after two months of nothing. No contact, barely any speaking, and nothing resembling intimacy. And yet John had just wanked Sherlock to completion.

John groaned and covered his face with his hands, sinking down to the floor by his bed. He knew what he had to do, what he wanted to do, and what he should do. He had to talk to Sherlock, he wanted to ignore the situation, but he should definitely talk to Sherlock.

No. Talking about it would make it real.

John pulled the box out from under his bed, opening it and pulling out the razor. He gave himself a cut for being so stupid, one for investigating what Sherlock was doing, one for touching Sherlock, one for getting him off, one for running away, and one for brushing his fingers when he passed him his mug. If they hadn't touched none of this would have happened.

Six fresh cuts bled dark red on his forearm, six fresh cuts to remind him of how much of a fool he was. He put an anti-bacterial cream on them and bandaged them up. Now that the weather was finally warming up it would be harder to hide his cutting. He decided on a soft cardigan, planning on saying it was chilly in the flat should Sherlock ask.

He put the box back and headed back downstairs. Sherlock had moved into his room, the cold case files still open on the floor. John made another pot of tea, falling back on the British way of dealing with an existential crisis. Whether he drank the tea or not, at least he would have a warm mug in his hands to comfort him.

Now to wait for Sherlock to return and see how tense and awkward the situation would be, or if they would both ignore it. John didn't know which was worse at the moment.

Sherlock got dressed at an unbearably slow rate. He wanted to give both himself and John some time to comprehend what had just happened between them. What had just happened?

_I used John, that's what happened. I used him to fulfill my body's sexual needs. I didn't give him an explanation as to why I was wanking whilst moaning his name. He didn't ask for one though._

_So? I should have at least spoken to him about it first, and if not before then after. Instead, I just stood there, sliding down the shower, mouth agape like a bloody fish._

_Or I could have turned him down. I should have turned him down._

_God knows what he's thinking now._

_If he's feeling anything like me he's probably very confused and hurting._

He finally pulled on some clothes. He wore a pair of casual jeans and the black t-shirt and hoodie John had bought him on their shopping trip. Then he crept out of his bedroom and walked back to his chair. The only sound that could be heard was the light thud of his cane on the floor. He sat down silently and looked at John before looking away again. He wasn't sure what to say right now. Though he knew he should say something. What though? What could he possibly say that would explain or justify his actions back in the bathroom? Nothing could. He knew that.

So instead of saying anything he picked up the files that he had chucked on the floor and began deducing the answers to the unsolved cases.

 _Ignoring it it is then,_  John nodded to himself.  _Works for me._  He sipped at his tea quietly, moving over to the table to open his laptop and idly surf the web. He had stopped visiting the fan sites. They still, what was the word? Oh yeah, shipped. The fans still shipped the two of them hardcore. They hadn't even announced that they were together, not that the fans needed confirmation that they were. They were still crazy about them. Johnlock was what they were called. Interesting name.

John looked at Sherlock reading through the cases out of the corner of his eye. He was intently focused on the files, flipping through the photos and the evidence and the testimonies. He'd probably be done with them within the hour. John checked his watch. Forty minutes to go.

Sherlock's mind zoned in on case mode. They were simple cases and it was really rather appalling that Lestrade and his men couldn't put the pieces of the puzzles together. In the end it only took him another twenty five minutes to solve all of them.

'Idiots!' he shouted, startling John out of his wits. He threw the case files down and exhaled loudly. 'Utter idiots, John. Trained monkeys could do better than some of the officers at the Yard. No wonder Lestrade isn't coping without me there.'

'Since when is that new?' John smiled. 'Solved the cold cases then?' He checked his watch. Only forty five minutes. Almost a new record. Especially since he solved two in that time frame.

'There was nothing to solve.' Sherlock returned the smile. 'Dear me, Lestrade will have to try far harder when picking out my next lot of cases.'

'Shall we return to the Yard and demand a challenge?' John smirked. His phone buzzed before Sherlock could answer. John pulled it out of his pocket and laughed.

'Speak of the devil,' he grinned. 'Hey Greg. We were just talking about you. Sherlock's finished those cases already. We demand you give him a challenge.'

'Be careful what you ask for,' the D.I. sighed. 'There's some new evidence in Sherlock's case. And, I want you to come and look it over. Don't tell Sherlock. I don't want to worry him.

'If it's his case then shouldn't he look it over?'

'No. There was another attack. Some poor sap who looks like Sherlock got the shit beat out of him. We think it's Moriarty's doing. I want you to come over and compare injuries. Just you. Please.'

'I don't know.' John looked up at Sherlock and held up a hand. 'I'm not sure I'll be able to swing that.'

'Just say you're going to Tesco's. You know he won't follow.'

'Ugh. Fine. I'll be there soon.' He hung up and rubbed at his eyes. He already knew that Sherlock wouldn't buy the Tesco's bit. The man already knew that Greg had called him. He would know something was up. He turned to look at Sherlock, the man practically vibrating in his seat.

'There's some new evidence in your case,' he said slowly. 'Greg wants me to take a look. And he wants you to stay here.'

'What?' Sherlock frowned. 'But it's my case. Why would he–' He sighed as a realisation hit him and rolled his eyes. 'Honestly, I swear Lestrade thinks I'm suddenly made of glass. Just because I can barely walk doesn't mean I'm suddenly an unstable idiot.'

He stood to his feet, grabbing his cane. He didn't even bother grabbing his coat. He'd be just fine in his hoodie. 'Right, I'm off to see if I can't get to the bottom of this. You, um,' Sherlock waved his hands around in the air, 'do whatever you normally do,' he ended awkwardly.

'What? Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop.' John stood to his feet, blocking the door. 'You are not going alone. Greg asked me to come, so I'm going to go. You are more than welcome to come with me though.'

'You?' Sherlock questioned. 'Why would he need you to look into my case? I'm perfectly capable of doing this alone.'

The fact was Sherlock needed the time alone out of the flat to clear his head. It seemed cruel but the only time he could be himself was when he wasn't with John. At the moment it seemed he was having to keep up a totally false persona in front of his flatmate. He just needed a break. From everything.

'Some poor sod got the shit beat out of him and Greg wanted me to compare injuries,' John said. 'And he probably wants to interview him when he comes to. If he isn't dead that is.'

Sherlock ran a hand down his face and nodded in defeat. 'Fine. You can come. Just don't get under my feet.'

_That may have come out a little harsher than I intended._

'Fine,' John agreed. He walked quickly down the stairs and outside, trying to hail a cab while he waited for Sherlock to join him. John was still trying to hail a cab when Sherlock finally made his way down the stairs.

'The cabs just aren't playing nice today,' he mumbled close to John's ear.

'No, they really aren't,' John grumbled, trying to cover up the shudder from travelling down his spine. Sherlock's voice had been deliciously close, and it was low and gravely like... well, like he'd just had sex. Which he sort of had, but John didn't want to think about it. It was too soon, too awkward.

'Maybe we'd have better luck if we went down to the end of the street. Maybe then they'd see us.'

Sherlock hummed and he supposed old habits died hard as his hand found its way to the small of John's back.

'Let's do that.'

John found himself leaning into Sherlock's touch as he made his way down the street. When Sherlock's hand left his back John reached out and clasped it, not thinking. Sherlock didn't have the heart to pull his hand away. This was the happiest he'd seen John in a long while. So instead he gave the hand now locked in his a light squeeze and called for a taxi. John squeezed Sherlock's hand back, a small smile creeping onto his face. His heart felt whole for the first time in months. He never wanted the feeling to end.

A taxi finally pulled up and Sherlock pulled away. He got into the cab slowly, sliding across the seat. John sat next to him, telling the cabbie to go to the Yard. John didn't take Sherlock's hand again, but he desperately wanted to. His hand twitched in his lap, his fingers curling in search of Sherlock's familiar hand. The cab ride was silent and tense. John hated that this what they had become.

Sherlock tapped his knee impatiently. 'Bloody London traffic.' He broke the tense silence and attempted a smile in John's direction. 'We should really invest in a motorbike. I can bet you we'd be there by now.' Ironically, a motorbike zoomed past the taxi cab. 'See?'

'Haven't ridden one in years,' John said, attempting a smile.

'I had one once. Bloody crashed her when I was high,' Sherlock pouted. 'She was gorgeous.'

'Mine was too,' John sighed, staring out the window as another bike passed by. 'I had to sell her before I was shipped off. Some punk ass kid bought her. Probably didn't even take care of her, the little shit. She's probably gone by now. Rotting in a junkyard.'

'I'll buy you a new one if you like,' Sherlock offered.

_It's the least I can do after all the pain I've caused you._

'I couldn't ask you to do that,' John sighed. 'Where would we keep her, anyway? It's not like we have a garage.'

'I have my ways,' Sherlock smirked. 'And I insist on buying you one.'

'If it will help you sleep at night, go ahead,' John sighed.

 _I bet you'd like to see me in leather, wouldn't you?_  he smirked to himself.  _Come to think of it, seeing_ _ **you**_ _in leather would be – good god – absolutely delicious._  He hummed at the image forming in his mind. The two of them in leather riding outfits, riding the London streets astride a gorgeous bike, happy and smiling. A sharp pain suddenly hit his thigh and he clenched it tightly. He had been getting an erection at the thought of Sherlock in leather, and his body had done its job in reminding his prick not to react. Good.

Sherlock frowned and looked away from John. 'No.' His jaw locked. 'That won't help me sleep.'

Guilt bubbled in his gut as he leant his head against the window, closing his eyes.

_I don't sleep. Not anymore. I can't. Not with the knowledge of what I am doing to you in my mind. Nothing I do can possibly make up for what I've put you through. I owe you a million apologies._

The itching in his arm decided to pick up once more and he pushed a hand up his hoodie's sleeve, itching at it angrily.

'Then why would you buy me one?' John asked dejectedly.

'Because I know it'll make you happy,' Sherlock replied softly.

'Yeah, it would,' John smiled softly. They arrived at the Yard then, John paying the cabbie and stepping out. He moved over to Sherlock's door and opened it, helping him out.

'Thank you.' Sherlock stood to his feet gingerly. 'Now, let's go. Scotland Yard awaits.'

'You're welcome,' John smiled gingerly. He left his hand on the small of Sherlock's back, his fingers curling against the fabric of the hoodie. He still loved seeing it on Sherlock. He looked absolutely gorgeous in it. He opened the door to the Yard, leading Sherlock to Lestrade's office. Lestrade looked up when his door opened, groaning when he saw Sherlock with John.

'I thought I asked you to come alone.'

'I thought I told you it was his case and he should be here for it.'

Greg scowled. 'Ugh. Fine. Here.' He passed over the file of the victim. 'Richard Oswald, twenty nine, dropped off at the hospital beaten and bloody. Well, I say dropped off. He was thrown from a black van, which then sped off into the night. No plates, so there's no way of tracking it or the driver.'

Sherlock hummed. 'Naturally. If this is Moriarty he'll be wanting to keep a low profile.' He scanned the pictures frantically with his eyes and swallowed down hard.

The victim looked uncanny to himself. He was tall, lanky, had sharp features, and a set of dark curls.

'Is he still alive?' John asked. 'His injuries look pretty bad.'

'He is for now,' Greg said. 'He suffered many lacerations, broken ribs, and his shoulder was dislocated, not to mention the extensive amount of internal bleeding.'

Sherlock paled and made a small wheezing sound in the back of his throat. 'I–' He shook his head to steady his thoughts. 'I suggest we compare my injuries from my attack with his, now.'

Lestrade handed John the files and John laid out the photos side by side. The injuries were almost exactly identical. Except for one small detail.

'Sherlock, he carved "I.O.U." into his back. What does that mean?' John asked.

A chill ran through Sherlock's whole body. 'Not sure yet. It's about as meaningless as Moriarty's name was on our first case. We'll figure it out.'

John looked at the photos of Sherlock's scars, a thought plaguing his mind.

'Greg, who else has seen these photos?' he asked.

'Of Sherlock's back? Just me,' Greg said. 'I think.'

'You think?' John asked. 'Greg, that's not the right answer.'

Sherlock's lip trembled a little and he felt his heart beating impossibly fast. 'What do my scars have to do with this case?' he questioned sharply, composing himself. 'They're from a set of incidents that happened in my past. They are not connected.'

'Look, I'm not the one who took the photos,' Greg sighed. 'Maybe the photographer did. I don't know.'

'I don't care who took them. Just destroy them!' Sherlock snapped. 'Destroy them all!'

'Of course,' Greg agreed. He snatched the photos from John's hands and immediately ran them through his shredder. 'Sorry about that.'

'It's fine.' Sherlock let out a breath he'd been holding. 'Sorry for snapping. I just don't want anyone else knowing about them.'

'I can understand that,' Greg nodded. 'Again, I apologise for the photos. But I'm pretty sure I was the only one who saw them.'

'Pretty sure isn't good enough,' John scowled. 'Think back. Did anyone other than yourself view the case file?'

Greg paused and racked his memory. He paled and swallowed. 'I, uh, gave the files to Donovan. To file away, I swear. Whether she looked through it or not after that I don't know.'

'Greg, if Sally knows then you can bet your bottom dollar that she told Anderson,' John snapped.

'Look, I don't know if she did or not,' Greg said defensively. 'She hasn't said anything about it, so I highly doubt she has.'

All the fear within Sherlock that had momentarily gone came flooding back. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, a small whimper coming from his lips. John and Greg continued to argue. Neither one really knew what they were arguing about anymore but they just needed to yell.

John because he was frustrated and confused about Sherlock and their actions not so long ago.

Greg because Mycroft was binge eating again and they hadn't slept together in weeks.

'Shut up!' Sherlock screamed at the top of his lungs, holding his hands over his ears. John and Greg both turned to face Sherlock, fuming and panting. Greg flopped back in his chair and ran a hand down his face. John instantly went to Sherlock's side, placing a hand on his bicep and squeezing it gently.

Sherlock turned to face John, his eyes tired and heavy with emotion. 'I swear if Anderson has seen them–' he said, his voice barely a whisper.

'If he has I promise to punch him in the face,' John said. 'Promise.'

He glanced to Greg. He just waved him off. Greg had been wanting to punch Anderson for a while now. The only reason he didn't was because he didn't want to have to explain to his superiors that he did it because he was 'being a pretentious and ignorant dick.'

Sherlock broke out into a grin. 'That's something I would like to see. Can you do it either way?'

'I can try,' John grinned, his hand sliding down Sherlock's arm to clasp his hand. Greg simply blinked.

 _Are they really broken up? Because they still look like a couple._  
  
Sherlock laughed. 'Oh, you brilliant man.' He tugged John closer to him and gripped his hand tightly. John wrapped his free arm around Sherlock in a tender hug, smiling genuinely for the first time in months. God he loved that man. So much. Sherlock smiled into John's hair and wrapped his own free arm around him in the embrace.

 _I love you too. If only you knew._  
  
'Guys, I'm happy that your relationship isn't so... strained anymore, but come on,' Greg sighed. 'Go interview the guy at the hospital. He should be awake by now. But go easy on him. He was only beaten half to death this morning.'

Sherlock reluctantly released John from the hug but still kept ahold of his hand.

'Come on.' He tugged John gently.

_Are things better between us?_

_Has John forgiven me?_

_Are we finally ok?_

'Thanks Greg. We'll report back soon,' John said as Sherlock dragged him away. He clutched his hand tightly, even going so far as to lace their fingers together.

'Lovestruck gits,' Greg smiled when they left.

'It's nice to be back in the saddle, isn't it?' Sherlock asked, pulling John along behind him through the corridors of the yard as fast as he could.

'God yes it does,' John grinned, trotting along behind Sherlock, a wide grin on his face.

 _God, I want to snog you so fucking bad right now. Stick my tongue down your throat, caress your tongue with mine, snog you until we're both breathless._  
  
Sherlock giggled and planted a kiss upon John's head, not thinking.

_Oh god, how I wish you knew how much I love you. I wish you'd kiss me on the lips right now.  
_

John stopped walking. He clenched Sherlock's hand tightly, making him stop and turn around. His breathing had deepened significantly, and he could feel his pupils had dilated.

Sherlock had kissed him. Voluntarily kissed him for the first time in months.

He acted without thinking, pulling Sherlock close by the hand he was already clasping, his other hand clutching the back of Sherlock's neck, and pulled him in for an open-mouthed kiss. Sherlock gasped, taken aback from John's actions. He found himself getting hard again as John attacked his lips.

He pulled away with a grunt. 'John, I–' He took a deep breath. 'Never mind. We shall talk about this later.'

 _Time to tell John the truth._  
  
'I'm sorry,' John said, pulling back and swallowing. He tried very hard not to lick his lips to taste Sherlock on them. He failed, his tongue delving out to swing across his upper lip then down to his lower. God, even Sherlock's saliva was nearly arousing to him.

'I... I don't know what I was thinking,' he continued. 'Forgive me. I... I know you don't... I'm sorry.' He released Sherlock's hand and continued walking to the exit, throwing the doors open in frustration.

Why did he have to be such a fucking idiot? Why did he have to ruin everything? He dug his thumb into his fresh cuts, the pain numbing everything.

Sherlock shook his head before taking after John. He grabbed his arms and pulled him flush against himself. 'There is nothing to forgive, you idiot. It's fine, really.'

'No. No, it's not,' John sighed, shaking his head. 'I kissed you, Sherlock. And I know full well how you feel about... us. So, no. It's not fine. I was an idiot, I wasn't thinking, and I'm so sorry.'

'I'm not entirely sure how you know how I've been feeling.' Sherlock pressed his erection into John.

'Oh, I deduced that when I got you off in the shower earlier,' John said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

'I don't just mean sexually frustrated.' Sherlock placed another kiss upon John's head.

'Sexually confused, then?' John offered. 'Because I certainly am. You made it pretty clear about your actions being purely for science. So what the hell is going on?'

Sherlock sighed. 'I've been doing a lot of lying to you. I can't explain it to you now. We'll chat when we get back to the flat.'

'Wait, you've been lying to me?' John asked incredulously, grabbing Sherlock's arm to stop him from walking away. 'Sherlock, you don't just get to drop a bomb like that and simply walk away. It doesn't work like that. How much has been a lie? Tell me that much.'

'Everything I said since I woke up.' Sherlock looked away from John in shame.

John's jaw dropped. 'The experiment excuse? The whole you never loved me ploy? Everything you said to get me to let you go, get over you, move on, was all a  _lie?!_ ' John screeched. He had never screeched in his life, and it was only fitting Sherlock was the one to make him do it.

'Yes,' Sherlock said in a hushed whisper. 'I lied to you about all that. It was all an act.'

'Why, Sherlock?' John asked, his lower lip beginning to tremble. 'Why would you put me through that? Why would you lie to me, for  _two goddamn months_ , having me believe you never loved me? Why would you break my heart like that? Why?  _Why?_ '

Tears of rage, hurt, and sorrow ran down John's cheeks freely. His body was trembling, begging him for relief from his emotional pain. He needed physical pain to make himself numb. He needed to be numb so he could absorb this information and process it. He needed to get away. But he was frozen to the spot, refusing to move until Sherlock either gave him some answers or walked away.

'Because it was better to lie to you than the alternative!' Sherlock screamed.

Tears rocketed down his face, thick and heavy. His entire body was shaking too, except his situation was far graver. His legs, still so weak, trembled and he could feel his knees buckling beneath him. Before he knew what was happening he had landed face first on the ground and was sobbing into the concrete.

'Oh for fuck's sake!' John screamed to the sky. He groaned loudly and scrambled to sit Sherlock up least.

'What would the alternative be in our case?' he demanded, ignoring both their tears. 'And you better give me a fucking good reason Sherlock, or I swear to god I'll hail a cab and leave you here to bitch and moan until Lestrade comes out to see what all the ruckus is. So, tell me. Why the lies? What could be so bad you had to break my fucking heart to protect me from it?'

'I was selfish I suppose,' Sherlock bit back. 'I didn't want my heart to break.' He glanced up at John's angered expression. 'You're my heart, John.'

'Tell me something I don't know,' John snapped. 'You're the brains, I'm the heart, what else is new?'

Sherlock wiggled away from John. 'Nothing,' he mumbled dumbly. 'Come on. Hate me all you like but there is a man in the hospital that needs to be questioned.'

He tried to scrabble to his feet but his legs had decided to stop working altogether now and he only fell back down to the ground.

'Ok, you start physical therapy again in the morning,' John groaned, helping Sherlock to his feet. 'And I am not done discussing this. The second I have made myself a cup of tea and have sat down in my comfy chair and have drank said cup of tea, we are continuing this conversation.'

'Understood,' Sherlock nodded. 'But perhaps it would be best to split up for now, considering what has just happened.'

'Yes. You go interrogate your doppelgänger, I'll go home and make my crisis tea,' John grit out a lot harsher than he'd intended. His nerves were on edge, and a load of emotional turmoil had just been dumped on him. He was actually surprised he hadn't thrown up yet.

'Not wise.' Sherlock shook his head. 'You're the people person here. I would only traumatise him further.'

'Oh for god's sake,' John groaned. 'It's not like you'd kill the guy.' One look at Sherlock's face told John he actually believed he would. 'Ok, fine, whatever.  _I'll_  interrogate the victim,  _you_  go home and make tea. Or stay here and solve some more cold cases. I don't fucking care.'

He released Sherlock's arm and strode to the edge of the kerb, waving his arms madly to try to hail a cab.

'Why are the cabbies such fucking pricks today?' he asked to nobody in particular. 'What do I have to do? Flash them?'

Sherlock walked back to Lestrade's office, feeling numb and distraught beyond belief. He was so numb he wasn't even aware of the tears that were still spilling from his eyes.

Sally Donovan, trailed by her obedient dog Anderson, was simply roaming the halls of the Yard. Anderson was on break and so he was doing what he did best: being an annoying prick. Honestly, Sally wondered why she still kept him around. Entertainment, she supposed.

Then she ran into Sherlock, surprised to not only see him upright but also inside the building. Wasn't he supposed to still be recuperating? Then she noticed the tears streaming down his face and her inner big sister took over.

'Sherlock?' she asked gingerly, waving Anderson off. He didn't listen. Just disappeared into a cubicle to stay and listen. 'Sherlock, are you alright? What's wrong?'

Sherlock snapped his head up to lock eyes with Sally. 'Since when have you cared about me?' he snapped.

'Since you were beaten to a bloody pulp and then were in a coma for four months,' Sally answered. She gently directed him to a bench and sat down next to him. 'I'm sorry for all the things I've said, about you being a freak. You aren't a freak. I suppose I was just jealous of your talent. I was afraid Lestrade would replace me with you. Or, better yet, you'd replace Anderson.'

'Hey!' the man in question protested from his hiding place.

'Shut it!' Sally shot back.

Sherlock's eyes widened. 'Did you see any of the photos?' His breathing became ragged and unsteady. 'Is that why you're being so nice to me?'

'No,' Sally said softly. 'Not just because of the photos.' She looked up at him and sighed. 'Look, I was a bitch, Anderson a dick. And I'm at least sorry for my words and actions. Dickhead over there, on the other hand, is still being a fucking child about all this.'

'Sally, you can suck my dick!' Anderson whispered loudly.

'I have, on many occasions, and it ain't nuthin to brag about,' she whispered loudly back. She returned her attention to Sherlock. 'Sorry about that. But no, it's not just the photos. It's everything. Your life was hell before you met me. I always thought you were a rich, privileged, spoilt brat, and I felt it was my duty to put you in your place. I see now that you didn't need me constantly reminding you of the name... carved in your back. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll never call you that again. I promise.'

'Why bother? I think we can both agree the name is very fitting for me,' he growled. 'I was branded with it. It's who I am.' Sherlock stood to his feet with a wince.

'Sherlock, I–'

'I always knew you were a freak,' Anderson sneered, peering out from his hiding place. 'Even your own father knew that, and he labeled you with it for the rest of your life. Freak.'

'Sherlock, no! Don't listen to him!' Sally tried to reason with him, but it was too late.

Something broke within Sherlock.

'I know!' he roared, red in the face, more tears running down his cheeks. 'I know! I'm a freak! A screw up! Wrong! I know all that!'

He began walking as fast as he could from Sally and Anderson, practically knocking over a very confused Lestrade in the process.

'What the hell?' Lestrade asked, stumbling back as Sherlock barged past. 'Donovan? What–' His unspoken question was answered when he saw a very smug Anderson standing in the middle of an empty cubicle.

'Donovan, you read his case file, didn't you?' Sally nodded silently. 'And you shared it with him?' Sally nodded again.

'Pass him over. We're going to make sure he's nice and comfortable until John gets back,' Greg grinned maliciously. Sally quickly grabbed Anderson's wrists and hauled him to Greg's office.

'Hey there, Andy,' Greg smiled again, plopping the frightened man in his desk chair. 'Make yourself comfortable. You're gonna be here for a while.' He handcuffs the man to his locked desk drawer, sitting in one of the chairs on the opposite side of his desk, propping his feet up on the tabletop.

'Donovan? Be a dear and keep watch, will you? And let me know when John returns.'

'Yes, sir,' Sally agreed, scowling at Anderson and throwing him two birds before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her, telling any curious officers that the D.I. was in a private meeting and could not be disturbed.

**...::-::...**

Sherlock was running away. That's all he knew. He didn't know where he was running to. His body and mind were on auto pilot. It was only when he was walking down a dark and narrow back alley that he realised where he was going.

He was going to get a fix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you Anderson was a dick. But at the very least our boys are on the road to recovering their relationship. And while Sherlock will be getting high next chapter (and questionable activities will be taking place), their relationship will start to repair. So a lot of the angst of the "breakup" is over. But now there'll be the angst of getting back together. And the high. So you have that to look forward to.
> 
> See you Friday! And happy Red Pants Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	29. Separate Ways, Worlds Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday!
> 
> I have officially completed my first week back to university! *throws confetti* And now I'm utterly exhausted and need a nap, but I decided to update this for you lovely people first. And I have Monday off (Labor Day in the US, so we don't have school or mail, which is extremely sad because I love mail). So yay! I get to sleep in!
> 
> Invisible Blade: Sherlock, Dodgy Dave  
> Me: John, random hospital staff, Mr Oswald, Greg, Anderson, Sally
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: angst, drug use, trauma patient having an episode, sex whilst high, dubious consent, minor violence, seeing things and hearing voices.

John finally managed to flag down a cab, speeding off to the hospital at last. Thankfully the cabbie wasn't in a talkative mood. Maybe the angry looking man wearing a cardigan in his back seat kept him tight lipped. Or maybe he just wasn't a talker. Whatever the reason, John was grateful for the silence. It gave him time to think.

Sherlock had told him that everything he'd said since he'd woken up had all been a lie. So, their relationship hasn't just been an experiment? Sherlock still loved him? Sherlock still wanted to be with him? Did he still want to marry him?

John ran his fingers over his lips, still tingling from their kiss barely five minutes ago. John had forgotten how plush and full Sherlock's lips were. They had moulded perfectly to his for just a brief moment in time before they had pulled away. And they had tasted divine. John dug his fingers into his thigh to stop a moan from escaping, and to remind his prick to behave itself. No more action, ever. Not unless Sherlock's words were true and, even then, not until they had discussed it fully.

The cab pulled up outside the hospital, John passing the cabbie some notes before climbing out and heading inside. He didn't even have to show a badge when he said the Yard had sent him over. Either people were extremely stupid of his blog had a far wider readership than he realised. The nurse at the desk gave him Mr Oswald's room number, paging the surgeon up as well to meet him there to discuss injuries and such before John could talk to him. John nodded and thanked the girl, striding to the elevator and taking it up to Mr Oswald's room, meeting the doctor outside his room.

'Doctor Watson?' the silver-haired man asked.

'Yes, sir,' John answered out of habit. He held out a hand. 'Doctor Doyle, I presume?'

'You presume correctly,' the man said, taking John's hand and giving it a firm shake. 'Greg sent you over, correct?'

'Yes sir,' John answered, nodding his head and falling back in parade rest when the doctor released his hand. 'He asked me to interview Mr Oswald about his attack. If that's alright with you of course.'

'Well, he's stable now, so I don't see what harm it could do,' Doyle said. 'Here.' He gave John the man's chart, explaining what John was seeing as he read it.

'He suffers from multiple contusions to the face and upper torso, a swollen eye, split lip, and he has marks around his neck suggesting that he was strangled for quite some time. Also, he was kicked and stomped on repeatedly. His shoulder was dislocated, three fingers broken, four ribs cracked, two broken, and many organs were bleeding internally. Honestly, this kid is lucky to be alive.'

'Thanks Doctor Doyle,' John said, scanning over the man's readouts before passing them back over. 'Is it alright if I go talk to him now? Is he awake?'

'He's awake yes, but please be careful. The poor bloke was literally dumped on our doorstep this morning. He might be a little confused and disoriented. Go easy, ok?'

'Yes sir,' John said, almost saluting the man. 'One question though.' The doctor turned to smile at him.

'You want to know why you're suddenly a soldier again, yes?' he asked knowingly. 'It happens a lot. I was a doctor in the war too, an officer. Apparently I just seem to radiate high rank and importance, even now. It's happened before and it will happen again. So, at ease.'

John visibly relaxed, laughing slightly. 'Well, alright then. Thank you sir. I'll do my best not to worry your patient.' Then he actually did salute the man, which he returned.

'Have a good day, soldier.'

'You too, sir.' The doctor nodded and walked off to another room, talking animatedly with a nurse before disappearing. John turned to Mr Oswald's door, taking a calming breath before stepping inside.

**…::-::…**

As Sherlock found himself hammering on the door of his old dealer he questioned what he was doing. He knew that he should be turning around, marching back up the cold, dark alleyway and never looking back. He wanted to too. John would be disappointed in him and furious if he were to get back into the drugs. His brother would drag him through rehab and force him to detox again. Lestrade wouldn't allow him to look into the cold cases. His body wasn't as young as it was before so the likelihood of him handling his drugs wasn't high.

But then for every argument against drugs he found one that was pushing him further into his decision.

_John's already disappointed in me and furious for my actions over the past two months._

_In my dream world my brother didn't force me to detox and my brother is dealing with his own problems. It is unlikely that he will notice mine whilst he is so preoccupied._

_I don't need cases. The drugs will slow my mind down enough. I wasn't on cases when I was doing drugs before and that was fine._

_My body will cope. After all it's been through; getting beaten, being in a coma, muscle wastage._

_I need a fix. One fix. I'll be fine._

**…::-::…**

John entered Mr Oswald's room opening and closing the door softly. The poor man looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a chopper blade and had won. He was hooked up to four IVs, one was probably morphine, one a saline solution, and the other two were anybody's guess. His heart monitor beeped slow but steady. So he was alive. That was good. But how long could he stay awake for John's question?

'Hello? Mr Oswald?' John said softly. The heart monitor jumped slightly when the man registered his voice, probably surprised as he hadn't heard him come in.

'Sorry to surprise you,' John said, coming into the man's view. 'My name is Doctor Watson. I'm a consultant with Scotland Yard. I'm here to ask you some questions about your attack.'

'I... I'm afraid I... I can't give you much,' the man choked out. His throat was probably dry and his lips looked chapped. John looked around for the ice chips, grabbing them and sitting down beside Mr Oswald.

'Do you mind?' he asked, holding up a piece of ice for the man to see.

'No,' he croaked out. John delicately ran the ice along the man's cracked lips, moistening them. He sighed in relief, sucking the ice into his mouth and allowing the melting water to run down his throat.

'Often with attacks like this, the attackers leave little evidence behind,' John said, pulling out another piece of ice and tracing Mr Oswald's lips with it. 'But sometimes they mess up. You scratched one of them, they showed you their faces because they thought you would forget or die, anything along those lines. Anything you remember could help us find the men who did this to you.'

'Don't remember much,' Mr Oswald managed to say, his voice sounding better already. 'They picked me up outside the theatre. I'd gone to see that new Iron Man movie, ya know?'

'Yeah. I've been meaning to see it myself,' John grinned. 'Is it any good?'

'It's excellent,' Mr Oswald grinned brightly. 'Robert is amazing.'

'Yeah, I like him too,' John smiled back. 'I'll be sure to see it soon. But the men, they abducted you when you left the theatre?'

'Yeah. I was walking home. It's only a few streets away, so I figured it was safe, ya know?' He looked up at John and swallowed. 'But I passed by this one particularly dark alley and this pair of huge arms grabbed me and threw me in the back of a van. They kept calling me some stupid name. And it wasn't even mine!'

'What did they call you?' John asked, looking up from his notepad.

'Sherlock, I think?' Mr Oswald shrugged. 'Doesn't even sound like a real name. But I was scared so maybe I misheard.'

'Maybe, yes,' John swallowed. 'But who knows? Maybe it was some sort of code?'

'Yeah, maybe. But they kept saying it like they thought it was my name. I don't know. Maybe they were all high.' John didn't even respond to that. 'And... And when they realised I wasn't this Sherlock person, thing, whatever, that was when they started beating me.'

 _They had been looking for Sherlock?_  John looked up at that. Mr Oswald took that as his cue to continue.

'They kept saying, "Pass on a message. He'll find you. You'll know 'em when ya see 'em." Who were they talking about? Who is this Sherlock bloke they mistake me for?' He looked up at John, fear and trust in his eyes.

'I think I may know,' he said solemnly. He pulled out his phone, flipping to an old photo of Sherlock he didn't have the heart to delete. He showed Mr Oswald the photo, his heart beating faster when he saw.

'So they... They wanted him, but got me instead?' he asked in a wall voice.

'Perhaps,' John said, putting his phone away. 'Or maybe they wanted you because you look so much like him and they wanted to scare him. They did the same thing a few months back with men who looked like me. If it is the same group of men, that is.'

'So is he, like, your boyfriend?'

'Yeah. Well, he was. Now I'm not so sure.'

'What happened?'

'Look, don't take it personally, but I'd really rather not discuss my private life with a trauma patient,' John said.

'Understandable,' the man nodded. 'But, if it helps, I'm studying to be a therapist at London University.'

'Thanks, but no,' John smiled softly. 'But good luck in your studies.'

'Thanks.'

'So, what else can you remember about your attack? What message did they want you to give Sherlock?'

'Well, after they stopped hitting me, they started kicking and stomping on me,' the man shuddered. 'And then... then some sick bastard ripped open my shirt and started carving into my back. The docs here haven't even told me what it says. Have you seen it?'

'Yes, and as of yet we have no idea what the significance of those wounds are,' John sighed.

'But what's it say?' the man demanded.

'"I.O.U.,"' John sighed. Mr Oswald's eyes glazed over, his heart monitor shooting through the roof. 'Mr Oswald? Mr Oswald! Can you hear me?'

'I owe you!' he cried. 'That was the message!' His voice took on an almost sickly quality as he recollected the message to John with astounding clarity and memory. '"I owe you a fall, Sherlock. Protect your heart and your head. Because I will make you fall. Protect your heart. Because I'm coming after him. Protect your head. Because then I'm coming after you. From, your biggest fan."'

The doctor and a nurse rushed in just as Mr Oswald's body lurched up, his mouth hung open in a silent scream. John was pushed aside as the staff worked to calm their patient down, regulate his breathing and heart rate. In the end, they injected him with a sedative, Mr Oswald's body relaxing but he still had a wild look in his eyes as he fell under.

'What the hell was that?' Doctor Doyle demanded.

'I... I don't know. A memory attached to a word, I believe. He went from calm to frantic in under a second. And all I said was "I.O.U."'

'Ok, well, I suggest you don't say it around him again,' Doyle advised. 'And I think that's all you'll be getting for today. I suggest you come back when he's more stable.'

'Of course,' John nodded, closing his notebook. 'Sorry about all that. But, can you give him this when he wakes?' He handed the doctor his card. 'If he remembers anything else, no matter how mundane or unimportant it may seem, can you give me a call? Any information to the case could be important.'

'Sure,' the doctor said, taking the card and setting it on Mr Oswald's bedside table. 'I'll see you out.'

'That's fine, but thank you,' John declined. 'Tend to your patient. He's going to need you when he wakes up.' John waved and exited the room, managing to make it to the lift rather calmly.

He didn't let the force of what Mr Oswald had screamed at him hit him until he made it into a cab and was headed back to the Yard. He covered his face with his hands and breathed deeply. So it was Moriarty. He was going after them both now. He was going to make Sherlock fall. But how? And why?

**…::-::…**

The door Sherlock had been knocking on for the past ten minutes finally opened. There in the doorway stood David Daniels, his old dealer, otherwise known as Dodgy Dave.

David wasn't the typical drug dealer. He was short and scrawny with rat like features. In fact that's just what David Daniels was; a rat

Sherlock shivered in repulsion, regretting his decision to come to the door of a dealer that was well known for screwing over his customers more often than not with bad batches.

If you resorted to getting your drugs from Dodgy Dave then you knew you'd hit rock bottom. Whereas the deals were dodgy they were cheap too, and not even the police ventured down the hidden alleyway.

'Sherlock?' Dodgy Dave gave him a lopsided smile and fixed his beady eyes on the detective. 'What a surprise. Thought you cleaned up? Didn't think you'd be back here.'

'Hello, David,' Sherlock greeted the man with a blank expression. 'May I come in?'

'What, and turn me in?' Dodgy Dave snorted. 'I've heard the stories. You're working for the other side now, with that Lestrade bloke.'

'I can assure you that if I wanted to turn you in I would have done so a long time ago.'

'Spose so.' Dodgy Dave moved aside a little reluctantly. 'To what do I owe the honour then?'

'This isn't a casual visit, David.' Sherlock stepped inside the door and into a small room that smelt like gone off food and sweat. 'I need a batch of your best stuff.'

'Course it ain't a casual visit. No one that comes to see me comes away empty handed.'

_Yes. I can remember that fact clearly._

**…::-::…**

John exited the cab and stepped into the Yard. Was it his imagination, or was everyone staring at him as he walked to Greg's office. Sally was standing outside it, throwing John a sympathetic and guilty look. When he opened the door he understood why.

Anderson was handcuffed to Greg's desk, a look of pure horror on his face when he laid eyes on John.

'What is going on?' John asked, striding over to Lestrade.

'Sally, you want to explain?' the D.I. scowled. Sally entered the room and closed the door, locking it for good measure.

'I... I looked through Sherlock's case file,' she said softly, avoiding John's gaze. 'I saw the photos of his back, and... and I shared them with Anderson. I'm so sorry, John.'

'So, why is Anderson tied up? Where's Sherlock?' John asked, turning to Greg.

'Sally?' Greg glowered.

'I talked to Sherlock, when he came back inside,' Sally said. 'He was crying, I wanted to try to be nice. Anderson was a dick as usual. But, while I was trying to comfort Sherlock and apologise, Anderson opened his fat mouth and–'

'I told him he was a freak, he would always be a freak, and if his own father could see it from such a young age then he was destined to be a freak for the rest of his life,' Anderson finally spoke, nailing his coffin shut. He knew John was going to attack him, so he might as well tell it like it was.

'You what?!' John screamed. 'How could you say that? Why would you say that? Anderson, you have made some dick moves in the past, but this takes the cake. Stand him up.'

Greg moved over and uncuffed Anderson from his desk drawer. He stood him up, locking his arms behind his back. Anderson struggled even though he knew it was futile. He looked back to John, fear in his eyes, just as his fist connected with his jaw. John then punched him in the gut, Anderson doubling over but Greg still held him up. John grabbed Anderson by the throat, forcing him to look at him.

'I promised Sherlock earlier that I would punch you in the face for him,' John growled. 'And I'm keeping that promise.' He squeezed Anderson's throat tightly and brought his fist back. It connected with Anderson's nose with a satisfying crack, blood pouring from it profusely. Greg released him then, allowing him to crumple to the floor. John spat on the crumpled form and turned to Sally, his knuckles still itching for a fight. He settled for slapping her across the face with an open palm. She stumbled back, holding her hand to her cheek, tears forming in her eyes.

'Next time, think about what you share with Anderson,' he growled. 'Or you'll get a lot worse than a red cheek.' He turned to Greg, fuming. 'I don't want to see any assault charges.'

'Assault? I didn't see assault. I saw self defence,' Greg shrugged. 'Let's go look for Sherlock, shall we?' He moved to his door and held it open, John storming out in a huff. 'And guys? Clean yourselves up. Oh, and grow some balls or something. Dicks.' He closed his office door, Sally and Anderson still inside dumbfounded and in pain.

Greg followed John out to the staff parking lot, getting in his squad car and pulling out to drive the London streets, informing his officers on patrol to keep a lookout for the missing detective.

'I'm so sorry, John,' he apologised as they drove around. 'We'll find him. I promise.'

'Well, at least you let me punch Anderson,' John smirked.

'I've been wanting to do it for a while now. I figured you deserved it more than me though.'

'Yes. Yes I did. Thanks for that.'

'No problem. Let's find that crazy git of yours then, shall we?'

'Yes. And as soon as we're home, I don't know. I just know he's going to need me. And I have a really bad feeling that he's up to no good.'

**…::-::…**

Drugs in his pocket, Sherlock strode out into the alleyway once more. Dodgy Dave threw a smug goodbye after him. Sherlock simply kept on walking. He walked until his legs were exhausted. He reached inside his pocket and fished his supplies out, setting everything up.

The needle was his own (he wasn't a complete idiot). He'd had one on him at all times, ever since his cravings had begun. He had known all along that there was a high chance that he'd give in to his cravings and he hadn't wanted to risk using a dirty needle.

In shaking hands he held the needle to his pale arm, and thought nothing of it as it pricked his skin and the drug within it slipped down into his veins.

**…::-::…**

'Greg, we've been driving for hours and there's been no sign of him!' John complained, fidgeting in his seat in worry. 'He isn't answering his phone, none of the patrol officers have seen him. Greg, I'm scared. What if something happened to him?'

'John calm down,' Greg said, pulling onto a new street. 'He's probably fine. His mobile is probably dead, and maybe he doesn't want to be found. Or, maybe he's home already.'

'Ok. Ok, yeah,' John nodded frantically, still trying to calm down. 'Maybe he's home already. Can you take me home, Greg?'

'We're already here.' He pulled up outside 221 Baker Street, parking the car but not shutting it off. 'Look, if he's there, at least let me know he's alive. But if he's not, call me if he isn't back by morning, alright? Then I'll get a search party started, put out an APB, and you can fill out a missing person's report. But I'm sure he's fine. Don't get yourself worried over nothing.'

'Yeah. Yeah. Thanks Greg. I'll call you for sure. Thanks.' John climbed out of the car and Greg sped off. John entered the flat, taking the stairs two at a time.

'Sherlock?' he called out. Sherlock wasn't there. In fact, the flat looked exactly the same as when they first left. Shit.

'God dammit Sherlock! Where are you?' John took a deep breath. Greg had said not to get worried, so he was going to do his damnedest to stay calm. He first filled the kettle and set it on its stand, turning it on before trudging up to his room and putting on pyjama trousers and a fresh shirt. He didn't bother with the razor. He was already numb enough as it was. He went back downstairs and turned on the TV to some random channel, just needing it for background noise. He poured his tea and sat on the sofa, pulling a blanket over his legs and holding his mug in his hands.

He stayed like that until it got dark, and then a little longer, wanting to be awake for when Sherlock returned. His eyes began closing around ten, he sank into the sofa by 10:30, and he was fast asleep by 11.

But where the hell was Sherlock? His mind demanded answers, even in his dreams.

**…::-::…**

The drug pulsed in Sherlock's veins. His mind was blank and, for the first time in a very long time, he felt at peace.

He had been standing in the alleyway for hours. Night fell and with it came a heavy downpour of rain. It drenched him through to his skin. It was freezing but he didn't care.

He wasn't quite sure how or when he got home but at last he was stumbling through the flat door, looking akin to a drowned cat, his curls plastered to his head with rain water, his clothes dripping all over the floor, leaving a mess in his wake.

A loud giggle broke free from his lips as he spotted a sleeping John on the sofa. For some reason he found the image of his flatmate bundled beneath a blanket hilarious.

He dropped to his knees, abandoning his cane, and crawled over to the sleeping John.

He reached out a tentative hand and began petting John's head. 'My preciousss,' he hissed. 'Wake up Baginsss.'

Something wet was on his head. No. Something wet was petting his head. What the hell? John cracked an eye open and nearly jumped out of his skin. Sherlock was kneeling over him, drenched to the bone, and looking all the world like a wet cat. But that wasn't what disturbed John the most. No.

Sherlock's pupils were blown wide. He'd gone back to the drugs. And now he was hissing at him like Smeagol did to the Ring.

'I am not a Hobbit!' John pouted. 'And you're high, Sherlock. Why? Why would you go back to the drugs?'

'Little Hobbitess is lying. What do we do with liars preciousss? We kill! We kill!' Sherlock continued to pet the funny little creature's head, a grin twisting at his features.

'What? No!' John yelled. 'You don't kill! No!' He slapped Sherlock across the face to try to get him to come to his senses. He just hoped Smeagol-Sherlock wouldn't attack him for it.

Sherlock frowned. 'Little Hobbitess is being very mean.' He pulled himself up to his feet and dive bombed onto the little Hobbit-John.

'Gah! Sherlock! What are you doing?' John cried, not knowing what to expect. He's never seen Sherlock high, had only heard stories. But now that he was witnessing it for himself, he honestly didn't know what to do.

Sherlock peered at the strange creature closer and straddled it. 'Little Hobbitess going to play nice,' he growled.

'Um... Ok,' John said softly, swallowing when Sherlock's weight was pressed against him. What the hell was he doing?

'Little Hobbitess must listen. Must do as preciousss saysss.' Sherlock rocked against the little Hobbit-John.

'Gah!' John squeaked, his hands automatically scrambling to grasp Sherlock's hips.

'Little Hobbitess so keen.' Sherlock reached for his zipper and wriggled out of his jeans and boxers, letting them hang on his hips. John didn't speak, just stared at Sherlock's prick hungrily. God damn, he wanted it in his mouth so bad he was actually drooling. Sherlock chuckled darkly and crawled up the little Hobbit-John, wrapping his thighs around the creature's neck. John was panting now, his heart pounding in his chest.

 _Yes. Sherlock please. Let me suck you off. Please. God yes,_  he begged silently. His dark eyes boring into Sherlock's. __  
  
'Little Hobbitess going to choke.' He pushed his member into Hobbit-John's mouth and down his throat. 'Kill! Kill!'

John gratefully accepted Sherlock's hard member, sucking on it greedily. His hands gripped Sherlock's hips tightly, keeping him from thrusting too hard and choking him. He swallowed around Sherlock's cock, feeling it twitch and pulse. God, he'd forgotten how wonderful it was to give Sherlock head. He was always so responsive.

Sherlock moaned and wiggled in Hobbit-John's mouth. 'Suck me harder, Hobbitess.'

John hollowed his cheeks and sucked as hard as he could, his fingers digging into Sherlock's hips so tightly he was sure bruises would be left behind. Sherlock's cock twitched in his throat. John could tell he was close.

_Come on. Come on. Cum for me my delightful idiot. Cum down my throat. Let me taste you. Come on. Please._

With one final thrust Sherlock was coming fast and hard down Hobbit-John's throat. After he was done he pulled out and rolled off of the Hobbit and onto the hard floor with a thud.

Wow the floor was really pretty.

He shucked his trousers and boxers fully off and scrambled out of his hoodie and t-shirt too.

His heart was pounding impossibly fast. Too fast. Fuck.

John swallowed all Sherlock gave him, moaning at the taste. He hadn't had Sherlock in so long, but god damn did he still taste as delicious as ever. He flinched when Sherlock rolled onto the floor. That sounded painful.

'Hey? You ok, Sherlock? That didn't sound too good.'

Sherlock whimpered, closing his eyes, willing his heart to slow down. 'Help me up, halfling,' he begged. 'Help me.'

John stood up, wiping his mouth before slowly helping Sherlock to his feet.

'What's wrong, love?' John asked, easily slipping back into the term of endearment. He rested his fingers against Sherlock's wrist, taking his pulse, gasping when he felt how fast it was beating.

'Oh my god. Shower. Now.' he instructed, gently shoving Sherlock in the right direction.

Sherlock grunted and almost tripped. He glared at the Hobbit. 'Fear me, halfling,' he mumbled grumpily.

'Oh, I'm scared alright,' John sighed, pushing Sherlock to the bathroom. 'But I'm not scared of you, I'm scared for you. You are not overdosing on me.'

Sherlock growled and bared his teeth. 'Do you dare question the power of Smaug?'

John groaned and slapped a hand over his face. Great. Now he was a fucking dragon? And how did he even know what  _The Lord of the Rings_  were? How had that not been deleted?

'Don't test me, Smaug,' John growled. 'Or I'll have the bowman shoot you in your weak spot.' They finally made it to the bathroom. John turned on the shower, making sure it was cold. 'Alright Smaug, in ya go.'

Sherlock snarled and spat at the Hobbit. 'Do you think that a puny little halfling like yourself can order Smaug around?'

John wiped the glob of spit off of himself, frowning deeply. 'When this puny little halfling is extremely pissed off and worried about Smaug, yes, he does.' John all but shoved Sherlock under the spray of cold water, the taller man hissing and spitting at him.

'Fuck!' Sherlock screamed. 'It's fucking freezing in here. Get me out of here you bastard!'

'I'm trying to stop you from overdosing you ungrateful son of a bitch!' John screamed back. 'Now stay still until your body calms down or I swear to god I'll sedate you!'

Sherlock was reduced to tears and whimpers as the freezing cold water battered against his skin harshly. 'Please, just let me out of here!' he begged. 'Halfling, please!'

'No!' John protested, shoving Sherlock back under the spray. 'I am not a halfling, you are not Smaug. You are Sherlock and I am John and you are high as a fucking kite! And you will stand under this freezing cold water until I say so!'

Sherlock was sobbing now. 'Please,' he hiccupped. 'I'll be good. Please.' His legs shook beneath him and he grabbed John's shoulder to support him.

'No,' John repeated. 'But, at the very least, I'll make the water warmer.' John turned the temperature of the water up slightly. Sherlock's pulse had slowed at least, so now it was time to regulate his body temperature to prevent him from getting pneumonia. Hopefully all he'd get was a cold.

Sherlock hummed as his body began to warm. 'It would be far better if the halfling was in here with me.'

'Would it now?' John asked softly. He wiped the tears off Sherlock's cheeks, one hand staying to cup his face. 'Would the great and powerful Smaug like the little Hobbit to join him?'

'Smaug would indeed benefit from the company of the little Hobbit,' Sherlock grinned giddily at the Hobbit-John.

'Well, alright,' John agreed. 'Just let me get undressed.' John toed off his shoes and socks, then tossed his cardigan over his shoulder. It was then that he remembered the fresh cuts on his arm. Would Sherlock say anything in his current state? Maybe he could play it off as something an Orc did? John decided to risk it, taking off the rest of his clothes but leaving his bandage on. He could change it later.

'Is that better, Smaug?' John asked, his hands resting awkwardly at his side.

Sherlock nodded but frowned. 'The halfling is hurt,' he whispered, reaching out to brush his fingertips against the injuries on Hobbit-John.

John swallowed. 'It's just a battle injury. It's nothing.' Well, it was a battle injury of sorts. Only the battle was between his body and his mind.

'You're lying.' Sherlock bared his teeth. 'Don't lie to Smaug. I shall hunt down and kill the person who did this to you. Now, tell the truth.'

'I... I did it,' John said in a small voice, hanging his head so he wouldn't have to look Sherlock in the eye. 'I did it because I was sad and hurt and I did something stupid. And I didn't want to feel like that, so I injured myself.'

'Why, halfling?' Sherlock whispered. 'You could have chosen a different method of coping.'

'Like what? Alcohol or drugs?' John shook his head. 'This one is far more forgiving to my body. At least this method isn't damaging my internal organs or my nervous system. All I get are scars on my arms and thighs.'

Sherlock tugged the Hobbit-John into a hug. 'Don't do it anymore halfling. I love you too much to risk losing you to cutting.'

John's heart stopped.

'You love me?' he asked in a small whisper. His arms found themselves wrapping around Sherlock in a tender hug.

Sherlock nuzzled the halfling. 'I never stopped loving you. Everything I do or say is because I love you.'

'I'm not having this conversation until you're sober,' John said, shaking his head. 'But, since you still love me, would you kiss me? Please?'

Sherlock smiled. 'That, little Hobbit, is something I can definitely do.' He moved his head and gently placed his plump lips on John's. John hummed and kissed Sherlock back, his hands moving to cup Sherlock's face tenderly.

Sherlock pulled back and yawned sleepily, staring intently at the bathroom tiles. 'Mmm tired,' he complained.

'Does Smaug need to return to his bed of gold and go to sleep?' John asked, drunk off of their first proper kiss in months.

'Indeed. Smaug does.' Sherlock kissed John on the lips briefly. 'Want my Hobbit in my bed too.'

'Ok,' John grinned. He pulled Sherlock back to him, kissing him thoroughly before pulling away. 'Sorry. But, in my defence, it's been two months. We have a lot of catching up to do.'

He turned off the water and stepped out, drying himself off before helping Sherlock out and towelling him down as well. John looked down at his bandage. His cuts hadn't been bothering him all that much, so he supposed maybe he could go without the bandage. He unrolled it, his skin wet underneath but not too bad. He looked at the six new cuts, frowning when he remembered what each one was for. He shook his head and pulled his arm away from Sherlock's prying eyes.

'Come along, Smaug,' he smiled gently. 'Let's go to bed.'

'Not to sleep I hope,' Sherlock suggested, kissing John over and over down his throat. 'Make love to me.' He stroked the Hobbit-John's scars gently. 'I have a few apologies to make.'

'I, uh,' John stammered, groaning as Sherlock kissed his throat.  _I can't_ , he thought to himself.  _I literally can't._

'No, Sherlock,' he said instead. 'No love making until you're sober. Let's get some sleep, ok?'

'Mmm alright.' Sherlock placed one more kiss on John's neck and sighed softly. 'At least stay with me through the night.'

'I can do that, yeah,' John smiled softly. He took Sherlock's hand and led him to his bedroom, tucking him in before moving to the other side and crawling in himself.

'I killed myself, you know?' Sherlock mumbled, crawling closer to the halfling.

'I'm sorry, what?' John asked, staring at Sherlock. 'You look pretty alive to me.'

'No,' Sherlock sighed heavily. 'In my dream. I killed myself in there.'

'You... You did?' John swallowed thickly. 'What... Why?'

'I hurt you, made you break, made you bleed. Seemed only logical to end it.' Sherlock wrapped his arms around the Hobbit-John.

'No. Never kill yourself because of me,' John said, hugging Sherlock close. 'Please. Don't ever kill yourself over me.'

'I held the gun to my lips. Your gun. Our children were screaming outside our door. They begged me to stop. I didn't. I couldn't. I hurt you. I deserved to die.' Sherlock shivered and clutched to the halfling like a baby.

'We had kids?' John asked, his mind wandering to the world where he and Sherlock were parents. 'No, not important right now. No one deserves to die that way. Especially not you.'

'I did,' Sherlock sniffled. 'I hurt you. You and the children deserved better. I was an alcoholic. My life was miserable.'

'I would have gotten better,' John protested. 'And we would have gotten you help. You should never kill yourself over another person. Especially me. I'm not worth the trouble.'

'You are worth it. You are worth so much. That's why I lied to you. I thought if we weren't as close I wouldn't hurt you. Because if I did then I really think I would have done it for real. Kill myself that is.' A tear dripped from Sherlock's eye. 'And even now I've hurt you. Your scars are proof of that.'

'Don't you dare kill yourself over me,' John scowled. 'I won't stand for it. Because if you do, I might just follow you. And you won't be able to stop me.'

'But at least I wouldn't have to watch your self destruction.' Sherlock began to tremble violently. 'I've thought about it over these two months. Thought about leaving this world. Every time you went to cut.'

'No,' John choked out, trying not to start sobbing. 'Don't – don't you dare even think that. No.' He clutched Sherlock tight and clenched his eyes shut.

'Why? I can't stand watching you hurt yourself because of me.' Sherlock joined the Hobbit-John in his sobbing.

'I'll stop then,' John choked out. 'I promise. I'll stop. I won't hurt myself ever again. Not on purpose anyway. Please, don't kill yourself because of me. Please. I... I need you. Please.'

'I–' Sherlock gulped. 'God help me. I don't know what to do anymore.'

'What you do is you live,' John stated, pulling Sherlock close. 'Find something worth living for.'

'Like what?' Sherlock choked. 'I don't have you anymore. I don't have anything.'

'Sherlock, I haven't left. I'm still here. You've still got me. I... I never stopped loving you. I've always loved you and I always will.'

'It isn't healthy for us to be together like that.' Sherlock wrapped his legs around Hobbit-John. 'I love you but I need you to respect that I can't be with you like that.'

'Can't be with me like what?' John trembled, his voice breaking. 'Don't you want me?'

'I want you so much,' Sherlock gulped. 'But look at me. I haven't slept more than an hour a night over these two months. I've resorted to drugs. I'm depressed. I'm a mess.'

'I cut myself, haven't been sleeping, would cry for days, and am depressed as well,' John said softly, running his fingers through Sherlock's shorter curls. 'I'm a mess too. What's to say we couldn't help each other get better? Because I was better with you.'

'That's my fault! I did that to you!' Sherlock cried out. 'I put you through that pain!'

'Because you weren't there for me!' John countered. 'No. I am not having this conversation right now.' John climbed out of bed and to the medical cabinet in the kitchen. He grabbed the sleeping pills and poured some water into a mug. He returned to Sherlock and shoved the pills into his palm.

'Take these. We'll continue this when you're sober.'

'I don't want to sleep!' Sherlock chucked the pills to the floor. 'I want to bloody talk!'

'I will talk when you are sober!' John countered, picking the pills up from the floor. 'Now take the bloody pills!'

'No.' Sherlock shook his head. 'I want to talk now.'

'No, Sherlock,' John said, shaking his head. 'You aren't in your right mind. I don't want to talk about this while you're high. Please, just take the pills. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise.'

'I don't want to sleep,' Sherlock grumbled. 'I don't trust you. You might do something stupid.'

'Ok, how about this? You take one pill and I'll take another?' John offered. 'That way we'll both get some sleep and I won't do anything stupid.'

'No.' Sherlock turned his back to Hobbit-John. 'I don't want to sleep.'

'Ok. Fine. Since you won't sleep, I might as well help you stay awake.' John stalked off to the kitchen, turning on the coffee maker and dumping the water out of the mug. He glanced back to Sherlock's bedroom, making sure Sherlock wasn't watching.

'Forgive me,' he whispered to himself as he crushed the sleeping pills into a fine powder, dumping them in the mug and pouring the hot coffee over them. He stirred the coffee, adding a touch of creamer to hide the taste of the pills. He then returned to Sherlock, offering him the mug.

'Here. If you won't go to sleep, at least drink that so you can sober up a bit.'

Sherlock stared at the cup of coffee in horror. 'God no.' Sherlock shook his head, lips trembling, eyes tearing up. 'Not coffee.'

'What's wrong with coffee?' John asked, raising an eyebrow. 'It's always been your drink of choice to keep yourself awake.'

'Thought you didn't want to talk whilst I'm high,' Sherlock snapped.

'Ugh. Fine.' John returned to the kitchen and turned the kettle on, dumping the coffee down the drain and washing the mug out. Well, that was a waste of pills. John pulled the medicine cabinet open and took two more pills out of the bottle, crushing them and putting them in the clean mug.

John sighed and leaned against the counter while the water boiled. How could two people he so good for each other yet be so destructive to one another? The kettle turned off before he could consider an answer. He poured the water in the mug, allowing the pills to dissolve in the water before steeping a bag of Earl Grey in the hot water. He added a spoonful of milk and some honey to it, just the way Sherlock liked it.

He took the bags out and threw them in the bin, making his way back to Sherlock. 'Here. Earl Grey, just the way you like it. Is that better?' he asked softly.

'Spose so,' Sherlock mumbled, taking the cup and sipping at the beverage gingerly.

'Ok. Good,' John said, sitting down on the bed. He watched Sherlock sip at the tea, hoping he wouldn't taste the pills dissolved within it. He shouldn't. The tea was strong and the honey was sweet. They should cover up the taste.

'What do you want to do, then? Since I'm not talking about this until your sober and you don't want to sleep it off. What do you normally do? Play violin?'

'Yes,' Sherlock whispered. 'But I don't like you listening to me play. Not since the dream.' Sherlock wrinkled up his nose. 'This tea tastes strange.'

'Really? Oh, crap. I didn't check the milk. Did you have an experiment in there?' John lied, raising an eyebrow for added effect.

'No. It tastes like – oh.' Sherlock glared at the Hobbit. 'How could you halfling? I said I didn't want to sleep.'

'What are you talking about?' John asked playing dumb.

'The pills in my drink,' Sherlock grit out. 'Don't play fucking stupid.'

John scowled at Sherlock. 'Ok, fine, yes. I drugged your drink. Because, forgive me, but I want you to get a good night's sleep. Now drink it or I'll sedate you properly.'

'That's exactly what you threatened to do right before I hurt you!' Sherlock wailed, tossing the cup along with the tea across the room with an almighty crash.

John flinched and ducked just as the mug flew over his head, the tea splashing against the wall as the mug broke. John looked up at Sherlock, scared but not wanting to go anywhere.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry,' he apologised.

'Shut up!' Sherlock barked. 'You think you can just do what you like with me! Well fuck you!'

'I was trying to take care of you!' John wailed, collapsing in a heap on the floor. 'I'm your doctor, and I want you to be healthy. I... I only want what's best for you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

'You can start by lying by my side and giving me a cuddle,' Sherlock whined.

John nodded, crawling over to the bed and climbing atop it. He pulled the covers and clung to Sherlock like a baby bat would to its mother.

Sherlock snuggled closer to the Hobbit. 'Are you sure you want to wait till morning to make love?' He kissed the creature on the lips gently and pushed his growing arousal against him.

'I... I'm sure,' John said, pulling away from Sherlock's lips.  _I'm not even sure I can anyway._

'It'd help me sleep,' Sherlock pouted, kissing John again. 'Please.'

'Thought you didn't want to sleep?' John mumbled against Sherlock's lips.  _I can't, I can't, I can't_ , he chanted in his head.

'You pleasured me.' Sherlock chewed on the Hobbit's lower lip. 'Now let me do the same for you.'

John groaned against Sherlock's mouth, his hips canting against his will.

'I... I can't,' John said, tearing his lips from Sherlock's teeth. 'I physically can't.'

'Yes you can.' Sherlock rubbed himself against the Hobbit. 'Feel that?' he moaned. 'Concentrate on that.'

John's face contorted in pain. 'Gah! I can't! I can't! It hurts!' he cried out. He pushed Sherlock away and sat up. 'I'm sorry. But, I can't. Look.' He lifted the sheets to show Sherlock his flaccid penis.

'It's not that I'm not interested, believe me, I am. It's just–' John sighed, lowering the sheets. 'Sherlock, I haven't had an erection in a month and a half. I've trained myself to feel pain every time I get one, and now my body has come to learn to feel pain before one even starts. So I actually can't make love to you.'

'I – no. I should be the one who is sorry,' Sherlock murmured. 'This is my fault.'

'I did it because I thought you didn't want me,' John whispered, turning his head away. 'But, training goes two ways. You can learn it, and you can forget what you learned. So, do you want to help me get back to normal?'

Sherlock smiled softly. 'I'll try.' He reached a hand under the covers to stroke the Hobbit's member.

'Ugh! Fuck!' John cried, his body arching off the bed.

'Shh. It's ok,' Sherlock whispered. 'I love you. It will be ok.'

'I love you too,' John moaned, pulling Sherlock into a kiss. 'I love you so much.'

'Mmm sorry,' Sherlock groaned against the Hobbit's lips. 'For everything. Especially the drugs.'

'I'm sorry for the cutting,' John said, pulling Sherlock closer so his tongue could delve inside his mouth. His hips jerked, pushing his cock through the ring of Sherlock's fist. It gave a twitch of interest before going limp again.

Sherlock hummed and squeezed John's member. 'John,' he mumbled as his tongue danced with the older man's, seeing his flatmate instead of a Hobbit for the first time.

'Sherlock,' John moaned, flicking his tongue along Sherlock's playfully.

'I'm scared.' Sherlock pulled away from John's lips. 'Really scared.'

'Scared of what, love?' John asked, a hand moving to hold Sherlock's face gingerly.

'Being back on drugs,' Sherlock whimpered. 'You don't know what I'm like when I'm an addict.'

'You only took them this once, right?' John asked.

'It only takes one time.' Sherlock rested his forehead against John's and let go of his member. 'It's likely I'll go back to the way I was.'

'No. I won't let you,' John said, shaking his head while grabbing Sherlock's firmly in his hands. 'I'll handcuff you to the bed if I have to, but I won't allow you to become an addict again.'

'Handcuffs won't stop me,' Sherlock snorted. 'Nothing will. And maybe I don't want to stop.'

'Shut up,' John scolded. 'Shut up. I won't let you. I'll stop you. I'll put you in rehab. You will not become an addict again. I refuse to allow that. You won't.'

'Feels so good,' Sherlock growled. 'Feels bloody amazing even.'

'Drugs make you feel that way for a while, but then they turn ugly. I am no stranger to their effects,' John admitted. 'And I won't let you make that mistake again. Please, let me help you.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'What if I don't want to be helped?'

John scowled, dropping his hands from Sherlock's face and scrambling out of bed. 'I'll get Mycroft to help,' he threatened. 'Because I refuse to watch you destroy yourself.'

Sherlock chuckled harder. 'He won't help. He didn't help in my dream. He let me get worse. And then of course there's his own problems he has to deal with. You wouldn't dare bother him with my problems too. He's already gorging himself like a fat piggy.'

'Shut up, Sherlock! Shut up!' John cried, holding his hands over his ears and curling up in a ball on the floor. 'No! I don't want to hear it! No! I don't want you to go back to drugs! Please! Please!' He began sobbing, his hands still clamped over his ears, his sobs echoing in his own head.

'Then stop me!' Sherlock yelled. 'Do what it takes to save me from myself!'

'You said you didn't want to be helped,' John sobbed. 'How do I help someone who doesn't want my help?'

'Perhaps you should call my fat pig of a brother,' Sherlock snarled. 'See what good that does. Go on. I dare you.'

'What happened to us?' John asked himself, ignoring Sherlock's harsh words.

 _'He broke your heart and you want to know what happened?'_  a voice hissed in his ear. John froze and looked up. His deranged version of Sherlock was grinning down at him. 'He's not the one who can't get it up. He's not the one seeing me. Despite being on the drugs he's the sanest one here.'

'Go away!' John shouted. 'I got rid of you! Go away! Why are you back?'

 _'Oh Jonathan,'_  the deranged Sherlock tutted.  _'I never left.'_

'Fine!' Sherlock roared. 'I will!' He rolled from the bed and began to crawl away.

'What? Sherlock, no!' John cried, grasping onto the real Sherlock as the fake one chuckled in his ear. 'I... I didn't mean you, the real you. I meant the fake you. He's still here. And he's sitting behind me, chuckling darkly. And now he's flicking my ear.'

'Is he now?' Sherlock frowned and shuffled forwards, pulling John's body into his arms. He covered John's ears with his hands. 'Better?'

'Yes,' John smiled. 'But, oh god.' John paled considerably. 'Sherlock, he's... he's stabbing you in the neck. No! Leave my Sherlock alone!'

'No he's not,' Sherlock smiled. 'I'm fine.'

'I know, I know,' John sighed. 'But that's not stopping my mind from seeing it.'

'Then maybe this will.' Sherlock brought two of his fingers to his lips and sucked on them. 'I'm going to make love to you, and you'll forget him.' He placed a finger near John's entrance. 'Ready?'

'Yes,' John groaned, pushing against Sherlock's finger. 'Make love to me, please. But, can we get back on the bed first?'

'No.' Sherlock shook his head. 'Here. Now. Make love.' He pushed his finger inside with a loud moan.

'Gah! Fuck!' John groaned, pushing against Sherlock's finger. 'Yes, yes. Oh god, yes!'

Sherlock laughed and added the second finger, stretching John. 'Feels so good to be doing this.'

'Feels bloody fantastic!' John panted, falling down to the floor and spreading his legs open. 'God yes! Oh fuck! Gah!'

'I want you.' Sherlock kissed John heavily, pumping his fingers in and out at a frantic rhythm.

'Yes! I want you too! Fuck!' John swore. His prick wanted to harden but the phantom pain in his leg wouldn't allow it. He pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, tangling his fingers in his hair, shoving his tongue down Sherlock's throat.

'Take me!' he gasped when Sherlock's fingers found his prostate. 'Take me now!'

Sherlock smirked and wriggled his fingers back out. 'I'm going to pound you like the halfling you are,' he snarled, shoving his prick inside of screamed bloody murder, his back arching up off the floor as his legs wrapped around Sherlock's waist.

'Yes! Sherlock yes! Fuck me! Pound me! Do whatever you want to me! Just fuck me, please!' John cried out. His prick gave a flicker of interest, the blood flowing from his brain down to it. It slowly began to harden and the phantom pain began to fade. Sherlock thrust manically. His drug addled mind made everything feel so slow. He wasn't moving fast enough.

 _Harder_ , his mind called out.  _Faster._

Two whole months of fear, emotions that he couldn't explain, and no sex had left him lusting for hard and slightly painful love making.

'Yes! Yes!' John screamed, meeting Sherlock thrust for thrust. Two months of pent up sexual need had made John a whiny, needy excuse of a man. And now that he was being fucked hard and fast for the first time in six months he knew he wouldn't be able to last. His balls were already drawn tight against him and his prick, hard for the first time in weeks, was already leaning profusely.

'Close,' John gasped out, clutching to Sherlock tightly. 'So close. Won't last. Oh, fuck!'

Sherlock thrust particularly harshly. 'John!' he screamed, spilling inside of him.

His entire body arched and he fell onto John with a thud, still thrusting in and out, but this time with the added sound effects of snoring as his drug high was starting to end now and he felt exhausted. He was practically asleep in fact.

'Sherlock,' John whined, desperate to cum. 'Come on, love. Help me over the edge. Please. Please. Don't go to sleep yet. I need you to make me cum. Please.'

Sherlock whimpered and began to run a hand up and down John's member. All the while more snores escaped his lips. John rut against Sherlock's hand, Sherlock's softening prick still up his arse. It all felt so good, even Sherlock falling asleep, because his weight was pressed against him, causing him to squeeze John tighter.

'Oh. Oh god. Yes! Sherlock yes!' John cried, shouting Sherlock's name as he came almost painfully hard. He collapsed against the floor in a heap, Sherlock falling with him. His entire weight pressed against him now, and he had begun snoring softly.

'Oh god,' John laughed, very much out of breath. 'Oh, thank you for that. Time for bed now.' He rolled Sherlock off of him, standing up and wiping his cum off his stomach with one of Sherlock's old pyjama t-shirts. He picked Sherlock up off the floor, cradling him in his arms as he carried him to bed. He set Sherlock in the bed, pulling the covers around him and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead before climbing in himself.

'Thank you so much for this,' John whispered, cuddling up to Sherlock's sleeping form. 'You have no idea how much that meant to me. I... I love you. So much.'

Sherlock didn't answer, but John hadn't expected one. John simply snuggled closer, resting his head on Sherlock's chest, falling asleep to the beating of his lover's heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was some sexy times! Yay! Though I know parts of it seemed like dubious consent, but each participant was all for it I swear.
> 
> We'll be facing drug withdrawals in the next chapter, as well as more sexy times. Ones where everyone involved is a willing participant. So that'll be a nice chapter to have on Red Pants Monday ;) Hope you all have a wonderful weekend and I'll see you in September!
> 
> TSA + IB


	30. Making Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone! So this is a combination chapter of fluff, smut, and angst. A triple threat. But our boys are officially back together and things will start to look up a bit.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, Greg, Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: coming down from a high, nearly passing out from having too high a fever, comfort sex, I-really-fucking-missed-you sex, blow jobs in the kitchen, light bondage, and mentions of a possible eating disorder.

Sherlock awoke with a start.

The first thing he noticed was his inability to breathe through his nose. The second was the familiar shitty feeling of coming down from a high. And the third was that he was snuggled in John's arms. When had he gotten here? Why were they snuggled together?

He groaned and shifted in John's arms. He was hot. Burning up then? Fever? He was ill. Brilliant. Ill and disoriented, and craving more drugs.

John felt Sherlock shift beneath him and moved closer. Sherlock was incredibly warm. Feverish even. Oh dear. Had he gotten sick? John wrinkled his nose and blearily opened his eyes, blinking the sleep away. He sat up and stretched, his back sore from being fucked so rough yet brilliantly against the hardwood floor.

'Morning,' he yawned, glancing down at Sherlock. 'How are you feeling this morning? Because you look a little pale.'

'Like shit,' Sherlock groaned heavily, his voice sounding odd, distorted by his blocked nose.

'You sound a little stuffy,' John noted. He placed the back of his hand against Sherlock's forehead, taking his temperature. 'And you seem to have a fever. A cold, perhaps, brought on from you standing out in the rain while you were high.'

Sherlock hummed. 'Maybe. Sorry about that by the way. I don't know what I did last night but sorry.' A small cough broke out of his lips. 'How did we end up here... together?'

'You... You don't remember how we got here?' John asked, his lower lip trembling in fear.

'No. I'm gathering it was significant?' Sherlock ran a hand through John's blonde locks.

'It was highly significant,' John pouted, climbing out of the bed and moving to the door. 'Root around in your mind palace for a while until you find it. I'm sure it must be in there. I'm gonna go make tea. Do you want some?'

Sherlock screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, covering a hand over his mouth as nausea washed over him.

'Up,' John instructed. 'If you're gonna be sick, don't get sick in here. Use the kitchen sink or the loo. Can you make it?'

Sherlock shook his head and sank further into the bed with a whimper.

'Ok. Fine. Here.' John went into the kitchen, pulling a bucket out from the cupboard under the sink. 'If you're going to be sick, get sick in this, ok?'

Sherlock nodded and groaned. 'I think I'm dying,' he mumbled into his hands.

'Don't be ridiculous, love,' John smiled lightly. 'You aren't dying. It's a head cold. And a pretty bad one from the looks of it. I can make you some soup if you'd like?'

'I am dying,' Sherlock complained. 'But soup might help me go less painfully, so yes. I'll have some soup.'

'Since you're dying, can I move into your bedroom when you're gone?' John asked playfully.

Sherlock shrugged. 'You can do whatever you like,' he sighed and wriggled further under the covers.

'Alright. Go back to sleep. Soup will be ready for you whenever you wake up.' John strode to the door, pausing before he left. 'But, do root around in your palace for what happened last night. Because I'm sure as shit not gonna tell you if you can't remember.'

'It has something to do with us, doesn't it?' Sherlock asked sleepily. 'An easy enough deduction to make. Especially since you're back to calling me "love."'

The detective was too busy concentrating on looking through his mind palace that he didn't even notice that John was already gone.

John could hear Sherlock muttering to himself as he walked away. Or maybe he thought John was still there and was talking to him. John smiled at the thought. He quickly went upstairs to his room and put on some comfortable clothes. It was Sunday, he didn't have to work, but it would seem he would be taking care of a patient anyway.

He went back downstairs and put a pot on the stove, pouring a can of tomato soup in it and half a can of milk, just to thicken it up. As the soup heated John made himself a piece of toast, spreading some raspberry jam on top when it popped up. He stirred the soup, added just a little more milk, then stirred it again. He tested its temperature with his pinkie. Nope, not yet.

John made himself a cup of tea while he waited, steeping the bag in the water for a bit longer than he normally would.  _Is Sherlock really asleep? Or is he rooting around in his mind palace like I asked?_  
  
Sherlock shifted through phases of lightly dozing to filtering through his mind palace.

It was slowly coming back to him. The events of last night could be seen in two ways. They could be catastrophic to his and John's relationship, or they could sew the raging gap that had been between them back together.

John knocked on Sherlock's door lightly, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep.

'Hey, Sherlock. You awake?' he whispered, opening the door just enough so that he could peer in. 'Soup's ready.'

'So, as I was saying, after yesterday's events–' Sherlock trailed off. 'John?' he questioned, peering over his covers. 'How long have you been gone?'

'You really do just keep talking when I'm away, don't you?' John smiled. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and stroked a stray curl off of Sherlock's forehead. 'I've been gone at least twenty minutes, maybe thirty. What were "we" talking about during that time?'

'We were discussing what happened last night. It's hardly my fault that you weren't listening.' Sherlock sniffed and coughed loudly.

'Well then, I apologise. I'll try to pay more attention next time,' John grinned. 'So, start from the beginning. What about last night?'

'I was high, and the moment I stumbled through the door I was on you and begging for you to suck me off,' Sherlock groaned. 'And what a marvellous job you did.'

'Mmm,' John hummed, smiling at the memory. 'Thanks. You tasted just as delicious as I remembered.'

'I'm a little surprised that you gave in so easily. I was high and you usually take the moral high ground.' Sherlock smiled softly. 'It's about time you were a little selfish.'

'I, uh, yeah,' John blushed. 'I think it was also because I was half awake. But selfish works too. I just, I wanted to remember how you tasted.'

'Understandable.' Sherlock reached out and gripped John's hand in his. 'I would have done the same.'

John ran his thumb over the back of Sherlock's hand, running it over his knuckles.

'Yeah. I also didn't want Smeagol-Sherlock to "kill" me,' he grinned. 'But mostly I was selfish and just wanted to have you.'

'You always had me, idiot. All you had to do was slap me and talk some bloody sense back into me,' Sherlock smiled fondly.

'And I wanted to, believe me,' John sighed. 'But every argument I came up with the fake you shot down.'

Sherlock nodded and glanced sorrowfully at the scars on John's thighs and arms. 'So you hurt yourself instead.' It wasn't a question.

'Yes,' John answered honestly. 'It was easier than facing my feelings and the thought that you didn't want me anymore. Or that you never did.'

'I wanted you to see through my lies. You usually do,' Sherlock sniffed loudly. 'You're the detective of hearts. All I wanted was for you to deduce what was going on and stop it. Because I couldn't stop it myself.'

'But your actions were so confusing,' John said. 'In hospital you were very caring and loving, like the lover I knew. You chased the voice away and told him not to come back. But at home you were distant and secluded, causing the voice to come back but he manifested. I can see him now. And he looks like a deranged version of you. How I picture you would look if you ever became an addict again. But then I got you off in the shower and we had a case and we were happy. But then you took drugs again and had me suck you off, and then you chased the voice away again and everything was ok. You said that you loved me, and that made it all okay. I know I shouldn't accept you back into my life so easily or quickly, but if you want to get back together I am more than willing.'

'My actions confused myself. I wasn't in my right mind. I was scared and craving drugs. If I thought I was a danger to you before, then when my cravings came along I felt even more likely to hurt you. Which is why I pulled away from you.' Sherlock was a little teary eyed now.

'Because I am so scared of hurting you, John. So bloody scared that one day you'll say something that will hit a raw nerve and I'll flip out and hurt you. I might kill you even!'

'Like I did in your dream?' John asked softly, squeezing Sherlock's hand tightly.

'I had dementia in the dream and you commented on the fact that I had started to forget how to play my violin. My violin is everything to me. I got angry. I hadn't slept in a week. I had more caffeine in my veins than blood. And I... I snapped.' Sherlock hid his face in his hands. 'I'm sorry!'

'Shhh, love. Shhh,' John hushed, pulling Sherlock into his lap and hugging him close. 'It's alright. It was just a dream. I would never actually insult your violin playing. I wouldn't be so reckless. I know how much you love her. How much she means to you. It's ok now. Shhh. Shhh.'

'It was so real,' Sherlock sobbed. 'I can still feel the pressure of the gun in my mouth. I can still see the look in your eyes as you tumbled down the stairs. I can hear the screams of our children and the pounding on the door as they tried to get me to stop.'

He gasped for breath. 'And as I woke I lost everything. I lost my children, my nephew, my husband. I lost everything! They all died!'

'Nephew?' John asked, clutching Sherlock tightly to him. 'Is that who Mark is? The one you were talking about after you woke up?'

'Yes,' Sherlock squeaked out. 'Little Mark.' His face broke out in a grin despite himself. 'Imagine a really tiny Mycroft with even redder hair, and an outrageous temper.'

John ran the image through his mind and smiled. 'Sounds like he'd be a handful but completely adorable. You know, if Mycroft could ever be adorable.'

'He was the definition of adorable,' Sherlock agreed. 'And now he's... dead.' Away went the grin and back came the tears.

John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, humming a wordless tune and rocking him gently.

'I'm sorry you lost so many good people,' he whispered. 'I only wish I could comfort you more. How do you console someone who is grieving over fictional people?'

'They seem so real to me,' Sherlock's voice shook. 'There is nothing you can do. You'll never understand.'

'No, I won't,' John said, not even attempting to deny it. Instead he placed a kiss to Sherlock's temple, then beside his eye, slowly working his way down Sherlock's face and neck.

'I'm sorry that you lost your family,' he muttered against Sherlock's pulse. 'May I comfort you in the only way I know how?'

Sherlock clutched to John, whimpering. 'Please,' he begged. 'Please.'

John kissed his way back up Sherlock's jaw, slowly lowering him down to the bed before climbing atop him and finally connecting their lips. The kiss was slow, languid, and absolutely perfect. Sherlock felt utterly dizzy under John's influence. His feverish body shivered under his lover's cool skin and more whimpers emitted from his lips.

'Tell me what you want,' John whispered against Sherlock's lips. 'Tell me what you need.' He rocked gently against his lover, feeling them both harden as he moved.

'I need you, slow, but hard,' Sherlock whispered back. 'I need you to show me that things will get better.'

'Ok,' John agreed, kissing Sherlock slowly and lovingly again. When he pulled away he grinned. 'Do you want to be the one to undress me?'

'Yes,' he nodded eagerly, allowing his hands to study the flat planes of John's chest before gently helping him out of his clothes.

John shivered as Sherlock's fingers ghosted over his flesh. He lifted his arms as Sherlock took off his shirt and wriggled his arse in the air as he took off his trousers. He laughed when Sherlock ran his fingers down his ribs, pressing his head into Sherlock's shoulder.

'Do you–' Another laugh. 'Do you still have lube in your bedside drawer?' he asked, sitting up and sitting on Sherlock's hips.

'Mmm, yes,' Sherlock replied, not really paying attention.

He moved his hands to trace over John's scars. 'Can you ever forgive me?'

'I'm starting to,' John said softly. He moved to the drawer and pulled it open, pulling out the lube and noticing it was brand new.

'Have you been hoarding this in the hope that we'd get back together?' he asked with a grin. He moved back over to Sherlock but sat between his legs, nudging them further apart.

Sherlock blushed. 'Perhaps I was,' he admitted shyly.

'Good,' John grinned, kissing him until they were both out of breath. 'Raise your knees, love. And let me treat you right.'

Sherlock shifted his knees upwards. 'I love you so much,' he gasped out.

'I love you too, Sherlock,' John moaned. He opened the lube and poured a liberal amount on his fingers, wanting Sherlock to feel comfortable after six months of nothing.

'Ready?' he asked, swirling his slick fingers around Sherlock's entrance, pushing gently.

'Not really, no.' Sherlock tensed. 'It feels like my first time again.'

'I felt like that last night too,' John said, continuing to push gently against Sherlock but not breaching into him just yet. 'I'll go slow, make sure you're comfortable.'

'Why? I practically raped you last night. I wasn't slow and I didn't check if you were comfortable.' Sherlock wriggled against John's finger.

'I didn't care. You asked and I said yes. That was good enough for me.' John pushed back against Sherlock, his finger sliding in slowly to the first knuckle.

Sherlock's mouth flew open. 'Oooh,' he grunted.

'I should have been gentle,' he mumbled. 'Should have at least brought you to the bed.'

'It's fine, love,' John murmured, pushing his finger further inside. 'You were high, we were both desperate, and I wanted you so bad.'

Sherlock groaned and shuddered. 'Shouldn't have been high in the first place.'

'No, you shouldn't have,' John agreed. He began pumping his finger in a steady rhythm, watching Sherlock closely.

Sherlock smiled and moaned loudly. 'Mmm sorry,' he apologised, making small noises of appreciation all the while. 'I knew it was wrong. That's why I went to Dodgy Dave–'

'Shhh,' John shushed him sternly. 'I don't want to hear it. Focus on this, not what you did. We'll discuss that later.' John added his second finger and pushed in slowly, Sherlock clamping down around him.

'Sorry,' Sherlock exhaled, rocking against John's fingers slowly but enthusiastically. John pushed his fingers in more, scissoring them slightly to stretch Sherlock out more. Sherlock watched John carefully, allowing the feeling of pleasure to rip through him. He allowed himself to feel everything he had been trying to hide and lock away inside himself over the past two months. He moved in time with John's actions, rejoicing in finally being reunited with him. His lover looked like an angel, hovering above him. A thin sheen of sweat was beading on his skin. He had never looked so utterly beautiful.

'I want you,' John gasped, pumping his fingers quickly. 'I want you so much.'

'You can have me,' Sherlock purred. 'You can have me.'

 _Please, John. I've never needed you more than I do now._  
  
'Then I'm taking you,' John growled. He removed his fingers and slicked his very erect prick. He hadn't even felt a phantom pain that time. He grabbed one of Sherlock's thighs and pushed it down, opening Sherlock further.

'I am taking you all for myself. No one but I can have you,' he growled, shoving his prick inside Sherlock fast and hard. 'You're mine. Mine.'

Sherlock's eyes slid closed, his eyelids becoming heavy with pleasure. 'I've missed you. I've missed this. I love you!' He laughed. God it felt good to laugh. Why did he put himself and John through hell over the past few months? The answer was lost on him as John hit his prostate. John thrust hard and slow, just as Sherlock asked. He managed to find Sherlock's prostate rather easily, hitting it as often as he could.

'I want you to scream for me Sherlock,' he said in a hushed voice. 'It's been too long since you've screamed for me. Please, let me know how much I'm pleasing you. Please. Scream.'

Sherlock opened his mouth and a high pitched sound rang out from the depths of his throat. Louder and louder his screams got, spiraling higher and higher into the air.

'That's it Sherlock,' John purred, thrusting harder. 'Yes, yes!' He felt fantastic, his cock throbbing in Sherlock's arse. Sherlock's was twitching and leaking from being left unattended. John grabbed it with his lubed hand and squeezed, stroking in time to his thrusts.

'John, I'm going to–' Sherlock's prick tensed before exploding, jetting cum everywhere. He arched and screamed again before coming to a standstill.

'Jesus fuck, Sherlock,' John gasped, watching his lover cum all over their chests and stomachs. 'God damn, I think that was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Oh. Oh fuck.'

John's hips stuttered as he neared his release. He released Sherlock's prick and grasped his hips instead, thrusting harder and faster. He was close, so close. He was nearly there. Just a few more. Just a–

A loud cry erupted from John's throat as he came hard. His mouth fell open, he threw his head back and grit his teeth, his entire body convulsing as he came. He collapsed against Sherlock, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath coming in short gasps.

Sherlock chuckled and kissed his lover on the lips. 'That was the most pleasurable and fantastic love making session that we have ever been through.'

He rocked back on John's member and hummed. 'Thank you. I did not deserve this.'

'Gah! Fuck!' John swore, pulling out of Sherlock. 'Sorry. Really sensitive.' He leaned up and kissed Sherlock briefly before collapsing on him again.

'I think that was the most powerful orgasm I've ever had. I'm boneless and shaking,' John laughed. 'And yeah, you might not have deserved it, but you needed it. I needed it too. Thanks for letting me do that. I... I love you.'

'I love you too,' Sherlock sighed happily. 'I just hope I don't end up hurting you, physically at least. The emotional damage is already done.'

'We'll work through it,' John sighed. His eyelids were beginning to feel heavy. 'Wanna nap now.'

'Don't suppose that soup is still up for grabs first?' Sherlock asked, kissing the tip of John's nose. 'Though it's probably gone cold by now.'

'Soup's still on. Just turn the burner on to its lowest setting. Should heat up pretty quickly,' John mumbled, burrowing against Sherlock's side.

'I don't know if you remember, but my cane's still abandoned in the lounge.' Sherlock shook his head in amusement, John already falling asleep cuddled up against him.

'Then crawl and get it,' John mumbled. He tossed an arm over Sherlock's waist and pulled him close, clearly saying, 'don't you dare go away.'

'Wasn't hungry anyway,' Sherlock grumbled, clutching John to him.

**…::-::…**

John slept dreamlessly, clutching to Sherlock and nuzzling against him in his sleep. He knew he hadn't slept long when he woke up. The sun was higher in the sky, but not by much if the shadows in the room were anything to go by. He shifted against his warm lover, humming against his chest. John hitched a leg over Sherlock's and began rutting against his hip.

'We have a lot of time to compensate for,' John whispered huskily. 'I want you to pound me now, my arse in the air, and I want you to spank me as you see fit.'

Sherlock's fever had spiked during the short space of time he and John had been sleeping but he wasn't going to mention it.

'Alright, your royal highness. As you command.' He moved so he was on top of John and kissed him fully on the lips. John's hands cupped Sherlock's face as they kissed, noticing how warm his cheeks were but thinking nothing of it. They roamed down Sherlock's back, dipping in between his ribs, before stopping in the curve of his lower back, just above his bum. John squeezed and kneaded the flesh there, slowly dipping down and grabbing a handful of Sherlock's luscious arse and squeezing, rocking him forward slightly.

Sherlock grunted and tried to move his arse away from John's hands. 'Still sensitive. You worked your usual magic on my arse and now I'm paying for it.'

'Mmm, good,' John hummed. He released his hold on Sherlock's arse and moved his hands to his hips, pulling him down so their hardening cocks could slide together.

'That better?' John moaned as he pulled Sherlock in for another kiss.

'Far better, yes.' Sherlock vibrated against John, rubbing himself against his lover whilst allowing his hands to explore every part of him. John arched into Sherlock's touch, giggling slightly when his fingers ghosted over his ribs. He continued rutting against Sherlock all the while, holding onto his hips and pinning him against him.

'You're beautiful,' Sherlock whispered softly. 'So beautiful.' He grabbed the lube from earlier, or what was left of it at least, and squeezed it onto his fingers. 'It's about time I showed you just how beautiful you are.'

'Mmm, yes,' John said breathlessly. He turned onto his stomach and rose up on his knees, wiggling his arse teasingly. 'Make me feel gorgeous.'

Sherlock inserted one finger, bending it as he pushed it deeper. 'I plan to make you feel extremely gorgeous.'

John groaned and pushed back on Sherlock's finger. His hands grabbed the bed sheets tightly, rocking back on Sherlock's finger steadily.

Sherlock chuckled as he added another finger. 'I wish I could film you.' He laughed harder. 'Not in a creepy way. Just so I can replay it when I'm having a bad day. It's most amusing indeed, watching what I can do to you.'

John mulled that one over. In his current state it didn't sound too bad. 'Maybe another time, love. Could be highly erotic if used properly.'

'Oh, it was.' Sherlock kissed John, forcing his tongue down his throat without another word.

 _It was? Did we–? In the dream?_  John moaned into their kiss, reaching his own tongue out to dance with Sherlock's. He rocked back on Sherlock's fingers, begging for more. Sherlock's and John's tongues tangoed for a while as he stretched his lover further. He gazed into John's eyes, still begging for forgiveness that he wasn't sure he really deserved.

John gently held Sherlock's cheek in his palm, caressing it with his thumb. 'We'll work though this. We'll work through this,' he chanted against Sherlock's lips. 'Take me. Take me now. Please.'

Sherlock shivered, John's hands seeming so cool against his feverish skin. 'As you wish, my love.' He slipped his fingers back out and replaced them with his member, working himself in like a corkscrew on a wine bottle. John pressed his face into the mattress, groaning as Sherlock entered him. He pushed back against him, wanting him buried balls deep as quickly as possible.

'Pound me into the mattress,' he growled. 'Fuck me with no mercy. Make me feel gorgeous.'

'Be careful what you wish for,' Sherlock growled as he began to carry out John's orders to the letter.

John grunted and groaned and moaned as Sherlock fucked him. His hands grasped the sheets tightly, his face pressed into a pillow to muffle his screams. He sank down on his knees, spreading them further apart, revealing more of himself to Sherlock. God, it all felt so bloody fantastic. His skin felt like it was on fire, his heart felt like it was going to explode, and his legs ached from how they were stretched. But he didn't care. Sherlock, his love, was fucking him into their mattress and everything was finally right with the world. They would be ok, they would work through this rough patch, and they would be happy.

John's thought process stopped completely when Sherlock found his prostate, hitting it again and again, turning John into a writhing, stuttering mess of arousal and need.

Sherlock loved this, the way he made John feel. He'd forgotten how good it felt to make love. All that emotion then bundled and packaged into something physical. It was magical.

'Don't hide your screams,' he hissed down John's ear.

That was all it took for John to explode. He screamed Sherlock's name at the top of his lungs, some profanities mixed in there as well. He thrust back against his love, his body shaking from exertion and pleasure flowing through him.

'Touch me,' he begged, turning to look at Sherlock. 'Touch me please. Make me cum.'

Sherlock grinned and wrapped his long fingers around John's member. He gave it a tight squeeze and thrust forwards harshly at the same time. John gave a harsh cry and pushed into Sherlock's fist, whimpering at the dual sensations.

'Close, close,' he mumbled, his hands clutching the sheets tightly. 'Almost, ah!' Sherlock twisted his hand and pumped himself in and out frantically.

'Come on!' he ordered. John screamed until his throat hurt and his voice was hoarse. He thrust against Sherlock's cock and into his fist frantically, finally cumming long and hard with a hoarse shout of his lover's name. Sherlock continued to pump himself in and out until he too found himself cumming with an almighty explosion and cry of John's name. John reached back and clutched Sherlock's hip tightly.

'Stay... Stay in me for a bit,' he panted. 'Stay. Then... Then I'll take care of you.'

Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder and groaned loudly. He was quite happy to just lie here. He was fairly sure that his fever had spiked further and he truly felt tremendously ill.

'You're really hot,' John commented. 'And I don't mean just in looks.' He held a hand to Sherlock's forehead and frowned.

'I wasn't going to mention anything,' Sherlock mumbled.

'Love, I don't want you to get sicker,' John sighed. 'Let me do my doctorly duty and nurse you back to health.'

Sherlock didn't reply. He suddenly found himself too weak to do anything. He simply molded his burning body further into John's.

'Ugh, Sherlock, love, you're heavy,' John groaned. 'Sherlock? Sherlock? Don't you dare pass out on me!'

Sherlock managed to grunt in reply as his eyes fluttered shut and his body slumped further.

'Sherlock? Love, you're scaring me!' John was outright panicking now. He had to get Sherlock's fever down, and fast. He managed to crawl out from underneath Sherlock and dashed to the bathroom, filling the tub with ice cold water. He ran back to the room, Sherlock covered in a thin sheen of sweat. John gingerly picked him up and carried him to the tub, placing him in the water with his head near the faucet. He let the cold water run over Sherlock's forehead, splashing a bit onto his face to see if he would wake up.

'Come on, love. Come on,' John begged. 'Don't do this to me. Not when I've just gotten you back. Wake up. Please. Wake up.'

Sherlock's head lolled to one side as he tried to speak but no sound came out. He opened his eyes briefly before shutting them again. His fever was a stubborn bitch and still writhed beneath his skin and god dammit did everything ache and burn.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, come on baby. Stay with me,' John pleaded. 'Sherlock, I swear to god, if you die on me–' John didn't want to complete that thought. He didn't even want to imagine living in a world where Sherlock didn't exist. He shook his head of the thoughts, turning to gently slapping Sherlock's face instead.

'Come on. Wake up! Wake up you stupid git!'

Sherlock batted John's hands away, scrunching his eyes shut. 'Honestly, I'm fine,' he croaked. 'Just sleepy.'

'Sherlock, your fever is too damn high if you're this tired. That, and you haven't said anything about how cold the water is. So don't tell me you're fine when it is very clear that you aren't!' John closed his eyes and took a deep breath, calming himself down.

'Sorry I yelled. You just had me worried. I thought you were going to pass out on me because your fever was so high. Here.' He reached in the cupboard under the sink and pulled a small medical kit, pulling a thermometer out of it. 'Hold this under your tongue for a minute and we'll see how hot you really are.'

Sherlock pulled a face as he held the foreign object underneath his tongue. His body was beginning to shake now, and his breathing was uneven. 'Told you I was dying,' he mumbled around the thermometer.

'Shhh. No talking. I want an accurate reading,' John grumbled. He turned the faucet off at least, allowing Sherlock's head some relief from the cold water. Sherlock moaned and found his head rolling to one side again.

'Bah! Hey! Focus!' John said, grabbing Sherlock's chin and shifting his head back. 'Try to stay conscious, alright? I'll let you sleep once I see where we stand.' Sherlock blinked sleepily and hummed, trying his hardest to stay awake. John took the thermometer out of Sherlock's mouth, pinching Sherlock slightly to wake him.

'You've got a fever of forty,' John tsked. 'And that's after being in this cold water for a while too. It's not life threatening until it gets to forty two, so you aren't dying. I'll let you sleep now. Just let me get you in some warm pyjamas and back into bed.'

Sherlock groaned but nodded his head in agreement. 'Alright,' he sighed. 'Help me out then.'

John grabbed Sherlock and hoisted him out of the tub, water dripping everywhere. John didn't care at the moment. He'd lay some towels down later. He dried Sherlock off and drained the tub. He then carefully hoisted Sherlock into his arms, carrying him back to bed. He rooted through Sherlock's drawers before he found what he was looking for: a pair of blue silk pyjamas that matched the dressing gown perfectly. He helped Sherlock into a pair of pants before pulling the trousers on, the shirt going on much easier.

'I'm going to go to the store and get some supplies, alright? Call my mobile if you need anything.'

Sherlock settled under the covers, burying his head in his pillow. 'Ok. Please hurry,' he whispered hoarsely. 'Missing you already.'

'Miss you too, love,' John smiled softly. He placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead before disappearing upstairs to get dressed. When he trudged back downstairs he noticed Sherlock's hoodie still laying on the floor. John examined his jacket and quickly took it off, replacing it with Sherlock's hoodie. It smelled of rain and Sherlock, causing John to smile. It was still quite damp from the rainstorm but the sun was shining and John figured it would dry a bit more on his walk to Tesco's. He grabbed his keys and his wallet, propping Sherlock's cane outside his door should he want it.

The walk to Tesco's was refreshing. It felt good to get out of the house after all that had happened. Drugged sex, healing sex, comfort sex, and making up for lost time sex. All those emotions really took it out of John. The air was crisp and clean, the sun was warm and bright. All in all, perfect. John grinned as he made his way down the block, walking into Tesco's feeling refreshed and ready for anything.

He grabbed what he needed and quickly made his way out. Liquid cold medicine as well as pills, three boxes of tissues, some more soup, some oranges, and some Jammie Dodgers. They were Sherlock's guilty pleasure snack and John was partial to the biscuit as well.

He made it back to Baker Street and entered the flat, putting the groceries away before knocking on Sherlock's door.

'Love? You awake?' he asked softly. 'I brought some medicine for you to take and then you can go back to sleep. Ok?'

Sherlock was in a deep, feverish sleep. He was back in the dream world, hugging his children to him. Mycroft was there too, and little Mark who was currently possessing a very cheeky grin.

But then there was John. He was on the ground in a puddle of blood.

'John!' he screamed. 'God no! Please! I'm sorry!'

'Sherlock?' John asked, worried. He entered the room, setting the pills and water on the bedside table. He shook Sherlock's shoulder gently, trying to rouse him.

'John!' Sherlock sobbed. 'I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you!'

'Sherlock. Sherlock, honey wake up,' John said a little louder, shaking him harder. 'I'm fine. I'm safe. I'm not hurt.'

'I can't wake up!' Sherlock cried. He couldn't for the life of him escape the dream.

 _What do I do? What do I do?_  John panicked.  _Smelling salts!_  
  
He dashed off to his room, rooting through his bigger medical kit and pulled out three little packets of smelling salts. He dashed back downstairs and rushed into Sherlock's room. He was shaking now. Dear god. What was he dreaming about? John broke open the first packet and held it under Sherlock's nose. The man began coughing and spluttering as he began to wake, John almost crying in relief. Sherlock bolted upright, panting, sweat dripping down his feverish skin.

'John!' he squealed in delight, seeing the man unharmed.

'Hi Sherlock,' John grinned in relief. 'Welcome back.'

Sherlock collapsed back onto the bed with an audible groan. 'I feel crappy.' He wiped a hand over his forehead, removing layers of sweat.

'Do you want some food? I got more soup, and the stuff from earlier is still on the stove,' John offered. 'I'd like you to have some more fluids in your body, ok?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Here's hoping I can keep it down.'

'Yeah. Same here,' John muttered. He helped Sherlock sit up, stopping when Sherlock paled and looked a little dizzy. They made their way to the kitchen like that, pausing every few steps or so to make sure Sherlock didn't vomit all over himself or the floor or John.

John managed to sit Sherlock at the table, clearing as much of it off as he could. Sherlock had been running experiments more frequently in the past few weeks or so, and the table had paid for it heavily. John made a mental note to go out and buy another one.

John turned the stovetop back on, heating the soup from earlier. He dampened a washcloth in warm water and dabbed at Sherlock's forehead, cleaning it of the layers of sweat.

'Do I dare ask what you were dreaming about?' he asked softly.

Sherlock took a deep breath. 'You,' he said, voice shaking. 'My nightmares are always the same now. They all involve me hurting you.'

John pressed the washcloth a little too hard against Sherlock's head at that. He pulled it back when the man grunted in discomfort.

'Do you always hurt me the same way?' be asked softly.

'No. Not always,' Sherlock said in a small voice. 'You'd be surprised by the amount of ways that I can hurt you. My twisted mind has come up with many.'

'Ok. Let's not focus on that then,' John said, still dabbing at Sherlock's forehead. 'I'm safe now. You haven't hurt me. Look.' He stood back for Sherlock to sweep his gaze over his form, probably taking in that John could wear his hoodie with ease if the crease in his forehead was anything to go by.

Sherlock smiled softly after a while. John looked like a purple hedgehog in his hoodie. The sight was beyond adorable. 'Yes. I know.' He reached out a hand to stroke John's chin.

'Trying to grow facial hair?' he asked in amusement, glad of the change in subject.

'No. Just haven't shaved in a couple days,' John said, leaning into Sherlock's touch. 'And it's my day off so I probably won't until Monday morning.'

'Shame,' Sherlock sighed in disappointment. 'I think it's rather sexy on you.'

'Oh? So you like me with a little scruff?' John asked, playfully rubbing his whiskered cheek against Sherlock's palm.

'I certainly do,' Sherlock moaned. 'Is it bad that I find stubble on you almost erotic?' He rubbed his hand against the facial hair frantically.

'I don't think so, no,' John grinned. 'Know where else I can give you whisker burns?' He grinned and licked his lips.

'Go ahead.' Sherlock, in turn, ran his tongue over his lips too.

John sank to his knees and pushed Sherlock's apart, sliding between them. He laughed at Sherlock's expression. He had clearly been expecting a kiss and not what John was about to give him. John grinned triumphantly and nuzzled against the erection growing in Sherlock's trousers.

'Mmm, you smell so good,' he moaned, rubbing his whiskered cheek against Sherlock's clothed thigh. 'I want these off. And your pants too.'

'Do you now?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'Isn't that lovely.' He rubbed his erection against John. 'What are you going to do about it?'

'As I have said before, you are a terrible submissive,' John smirked. He trailed his hands up Sherlock's thighs, squeezing them slightly before moving up and grabbing the waistband of both trousers and pants and hoisting them down so they fell around Sherlock's ankles. Sherlock's erection bobbed free, almost reaching for John's lips. John smirked and groped it, pumping it enough to get it completely hard and to make the man it belonged to keen with want.

Sherlock slipped down his seat, a whimpering ball of lusting detective. 'Being the submissive one is dull,' he gasped out. 'Quite dull indeed.'

'Oh, but I do enjoy watching you lose control,' John purred, groping Sherlock a little harder. 'Makes me feel... powerful.' He licked Sherlock from base to tip but didn't suck him into his mouth just yet. He wanted Sherlock to be completely at his mercy.

Sherlock sighed, giving in. 'Yes!' he shouted. 'You're powerful. You're my powerful army doctor!'

'Thank you.' John grinned smugly before swallowing Sherlock whole, making sure to brush his whiskered cheeks against Sherlock's thighs. Sherlock was completely out of it. He wasn't sure whether it was John's ministrations or the fever he still possessed. Maybe both.

He was off his game and if he heard the steps creaking he ignored it. It wasn't important right now. He thrust forwards with a loud grunt and rubbed his thigh against the rough texture of John's stubble. John swallowed around Sherlock's cock, feeling him pulse and throb. He rose up and hollowed his cheeks, sucking on his head before he heard it.

'John? Sherlock? It's Greg. I just wanted to see how you guys were doing since yesterday. And Myc's here too.'

John's eyes widened in fear.  _Don't walk in. Don't walk in. Don't walk in._

'Where are you guys?' Greg opened the door and walked into the sitting room, glancing around before turning to the kitchen. 'Oh my god!' He scrambled from the room and John released Sherlock's cock with an obscene pop.

 _Fuck._  
  
'Well that rather killed the moment,' Sherlock grumbled, pulling his trousers back up over his hips.

He sighed and wiped a hand down his face. 'You can come in now,' he sighed, not in the least bit happy. Greg peered around the corner, making sure it was indeed safe before entering.

'So, yeah. Good afternoon,' he coughed awkwardly. 'I came by to check if Sherlock had returned. When you didn't call last night I figured you'd probably gone to sleep. But this morning – I just wanted to be sure.'

'Yeah. Sorry Greg. I was a bit... preoccupied,' John blushed, standing up and sitting down in a chair. His knees were weak from sitting on them but also from pure embarrassment.

'That doesn't explain why my brother's hovering around the corner,' Sherlock snarled. 'What is he now? Your lap dog?'

'I can't be concerned for my little brother's safety?' Mycroft asked, still hiding around the corner.

'Myc, you might as well come in,' Greg sighed. Mycroft slowly emerged, his umbrella stabbing into the carpet as he slightly leaned against it.

'So, I see you two have settled your differences then?' he asked casually.

'Yes, quite,' Sherlock said before going into a coughing fit. He doubled over, shaking with the effort of trying to breathe normally despite his painful coughing.

'What the hell happened to you?' Greg asked, stepping away in case Sherlock was contagious. John didn't even flinch. He moved right in front of Sherlock, probably getting coughed on in the process, and helped Sherlock get back to a normal breathing pattern.

'Stood outside in the rain for too long,' John finally answered when Sherlock calmed down. 'Got soaked to the bone and caught a pretty severe cold.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that. 'You were outside in the rain? For hours, I see. Why didn't you return back here? Oh. Oh no. Brother, tell me you didn't.'

'I didn't,' Sherlock mumbled. It lost the impact and sarcasm he had intended it to as he coughed again.

He wrapped his arms around John. 'This is bloody Anderson's fault.'

'Don't change the subject!' Mycroft growled. 'Did you or did you not relapse last night?'

'Relapse? Oh dear,' Greg sighed. 'I should go. As an officer of the Yard I would hate to turn you in for illicit drug use. I'll be downstairs if you need me.' He trotted down the stairs, Mrs Hudson spotting him and offering him a nice cuppa. Greg smiled and accepted, but he would probably need something a lot stronger than tea later. Plus, if Sherlock had relapsed he didn't want to be around him should he cause Greg's cravings to start up again. No. Never again.

'Maybe I did,' Sherlock huffed. 'But I'm not apologising for it. I needed a fix.'

'Because of Anderson?' John asked in a quiet voice. He moved to sit in Sherlock's lap and held him close. Mycroft sighed and stalked off to Sherlock's chair, plopping down in it with a huff.

'Don't give Anderson all the credit. He was simply my last straw.' Sherlock snuggled against John. 'I knew I was going to relapse at some point. I knew not long after I woke up. I tried to fight it but it was becoming harder and harder by the day. I wasn't about to burden you by talking to you about it, and I couldn't go to Mycroft–' he trailed off with a sigh.

'Why?' Mycroft asked sharply, looking up at them. 'Why couldn't you ask me for help? I would have helped you. I would have dropped everything for you. You're my little brother, Sherlock. I would do anything for you. You know that. So why didn't you ask me for help?'

'Because I heard about the problems I was already causing you,' Sherlock gulped loudly. 'I didn't want to risk putting you under further stress.'

He gazed at his brother sadly. 'And my coma dream made me resent you.'

'I've got the binge eating under control,' Mycroft sighed. 'Gregory has me on a very strict diet and exercise regimen. And mother told me a bit about your dream, but not much. What did I do, or not do, to cause you to resent me so?'

Sherlock shifted awkwardly beneath John and shivered. 'You didn't help me. You let me hurt John. You broke the promise you made.'

John clutched Sherlock tightly, resting his head beneath Sherlock's chin. He felt like a small child, clutching to his mother while she tried not to start another row with his father. John rubbed his stubble against Sherlock's neck, grinning when he felt his pulse quicken and his cock give a lurch.

'What promise did I break?' Mycroft asked. 'And you hurt John? How?'

'You promised that if I became a danger to my family you would remove me from the picture,' Sherlock said, wiggling a little to show John his affections were appreciated. 'I had dementia, I was depressed, and I became an alcoholic. And still you did not remove me. And yes, I hurt John. I pushed him down the stairs and watched as he lay there bloody and broken.'

He hugged the real John tighter and whispered a 'love you' down his ear. John hummed and scratched his whiskers against Sherlock again, silently telling him the feeling was mutual.

'Oh,' Mycroft frowned. He looked down at the carpet and sighed. 'I must have been the manifestation of how you see me. I would never leave you with your family if you suspected you were a danger to them. I am just sorry that you see me as a man who would ignore you in a time of crisis. I shall fix that.'

Sherlock smiled softly at his brother. 'You weren't all bad in there.' He tapped his head. 'Just a little softer than usual. Wouldn't stand up to my husband. And you were really... huggy.'

'Huggy?' Mycroft scoffed, raising an eyebrow. 'Dear Lord, what went on in that dream? Were...' He shifted forward in his chair. 'Were Gregory and I still together?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Of course Mycroft would completely miss the fact he'd said husband and would be more concerned about his own relationship in the dream.

'Yes. You were together. You got married. You had a son too.' He swallowed and closed his eyes. 'Little Mark.'

'Married with a child,' Mycroft mused, sitting back in the chair and stroking his chin thoughtfully. 'Perhaps, one day.' He smiled softly at the idea. John hugged Sherlock tighter, knowing he was slipping back to his dream family. John was losing him to the dream again. John didn't want to lose Sherlock to the dream. He shifted over Sherlock, rubbing against him and scratching him with his scruff. His actions said, 'Focus on me. I'm right here. Stay here. Stay with me.'

Sherlock whimpered loudly. 'It's so hard.'

The dream world flickered in front of him, blinding him. 'I'm sorry, Princess. I'm sorry, Benny. I didn't mean to.' He shook violently where he sat.

Mycroft looked up at that.  _Who were Princess and Benny? Sherlock had mentioned he had a family. Were they his children? Wait... He had said husband earlier. Were he and John married with children? Oh. No wonder he hadn't wanted to wake up._

'Sherlock. Sherlock, love it's alright,' John said, pulling at Sherlock's face so he was looking at him. 'Look at me. I'm not bloody and broken on the floor. I am alive and well, sitting on your lap in our kitchen. It's alright, love. It's ok.'

Sherlock forced himself to open up his eyes. 'I know.' His lips shook and jutted out. 'I just really miss them.'

'I know, love,' John said softly. 'And I wish I could help but I have no idea what you're going through. I'll probably never understand but I'll help you through this as best I can.' He placed a tender, loving kiss to Sherlock's pouting lips.

Sherlock hummed gently. 'I love you,' he whispered again, a little louder that time.

'I love you too,' John grinned.

'And that is my cue to leave,' Mycroft said, standing up and buttoning his waistcoat. 'Sherlock, I am happy you are alive and safe. John, take care of him. Good day.'

He walked downstairs and pulled Gregory away from Mrs Hudson. She had given him sweets, a sure way to win over his company no matter how much he wanted to leave. He shoved Gregory into his car and climbed in behind him, his driver pulling away quickly. Mycroft turned to look at Gregory. He still had some biscuit crumbs on the side of his mouth. Mycroft grinned as he pulled Gregory close, kissing him thoroughly while also licking the crumbs from his mouth. Mmm. Delicious.

'Something I said?' Sherlock giggled, kissing John harder now. Back to business.

'Whatever it was, thank you,' John hummed, sliding back down to the floor. 'Shall we pick up where we left off?'

'Let's,' Sherlock purred in agreement, spreading his legs wide. John pulled Sherlock's trousers down to the floor and moved between his lover's legs. He grasped his cock, pumping it a few times before sucking on the head. He sucked it slowly into his mouth, making sure to rub his scruff against Sherlock's thighs. Sherlock wanted whisker burns? John would damn well give him whisker burns.

'Oh god,' Sherlock panted, eyes rolling in his skull. 'Feels amazing.' He shifted so his thigh was rubbing more of John's stubble. John hummed around Sherlock's cock, sucking more of him down until he hit the back of his throat. John hummed again as he swallowed Sherlock down slowly. He could feel him twitching and throbbing in his throat. It was such a glorious feeling that he could reduce Sherlock to such a state. He made sure to press his cheek against Sherlock's thigh roughly, scratching him with his stubble. Sherlock wanted to hold on but he was already slipping. The rough scratching sensation on his thigh and the heavy pressure on his cock was proving to be a little too much for him. He shoved himself deeper into John's mouth.

'Not long now,' he said, voice husky.

John growled around Sherlock's cock, swallowing roughly before rising and sucking on the head. He bobbed furiously, sucking Sherlock tightly while making sure to scratch him just as rhythmically. He snaked a hand down to Sherlock's sac, noting how tightly it was drawn against his body. John growled again and pulled, letting it snap against Sherlock as he swallowed him whole once again. Sherlock arched against the chair he was slowly sliding down on and cried John's name. He felt his cum jet out and slide down John's throat. It was a beautiful moment that warmed him to the core. He was happy as his mind was briefly wiped of its worries and John was smiling up at him. John swallowed all Sherlock gave him, smiling gleefully as he released Sherlock's cock. He hummed and rubbed his cheek against Sherlock's thigh, scratching him just a bit more.

'Enjoy those whisker burns,' he said huskily. 'Lord knows I'll enjoy seeing them on you.'

'As I'll enjoy having them,' Sherlock grinned. 'So you'll keep the rough look then?' he asked.

'I'll start growing it out to tease you,' John grinned, moving to sit in Sherlock's lap again. 'I won't keep it all the time, then it wouldn't be a surprise. So when I do grow it out you'll be quivering in anticipation, waiting for me to go down on you again and rough you up.'

'You utter tease,' Sherlock tsked. 'Well, if we are going to play that game than I shall grow some stubble too.'

'Oh? I think I'd like you with some stubble,' John purred. 'I can see you now, and you look sexy as hell.' John slowly rocked against Sherlock, letting him know of his current state.

'John,' Sherlock moaned. 'Can I have some soup now? You said that I need more liquids in my body, not out.'

'Yes. Yes, of course,' John hummed. He stood and pulled Sherlock's trousers back up gently. He moved over to the stove and tested the temperature of the soup. Perfect. Not too hot, not too cold, ready to be eaten at a moment's notice.

He grabbed two bowls and poured a liberal amount into the first one, passing it and a spoon over to Sherlock. He put a less significant amount in his own bowl and sat down across from Sherlock, bumping his knee affectionately.

Sherlock shook his head. 'I don't think I'll be able to keep this much down. Besides, you need to put on some weight. Where's that poochy belly that I love?' He frowned. 'Here, we'll swap bowls. Makes sense.' He switched the bowls before John could even protest. John frowned. He didn't want to gain weight. He was finally comfortable with his body and he didn't want to change it. A thought entered his mind and he smirked, the bad mood disappearing.

'I'm not sure I'll be able to finish all this,' he said. 'After all, I just had a rather delicious and quite filling meal.'

Sherlock scowled. 'Eat, John. We can only afford one ill and malnourished person in this flat.'

'I'm not malnourished,' John pouted. He stirred his soup for a while, not really wanting to eat it. He wasn't malnourished. He was finally at a healthy weight. He should probably start going to a gym or something to get some muscle mass back. But he wasn't malnourished. He wasn't.

'Have you looked in a mirror lately?' Sherlock questioned his lover. 'Your ribs are starting to show.'

'No they aren't,' John protested. 'I'm not malnourished. I'm finally happy with my weight. I'm fine.'

'Ok. You're fine?' Sherlock held the bowl of soup in one hand and used the other to stroke down John's side. He could feel John's ribs under his fingertips. 'What are these then?'

'Ticklish,' John shot back, moving away. 'Just stop, ok? I'm fine. I am.'

'No, you're not.' Sherlock's frown deepened. 'Now eat.'

'Yes, I am,' John pouted. He stared down at his bowl, suddenly not hungry. But he knew he should eat. He should. But he didn't want to. He slowly dipped his spoon in the soup, stirring it before pulling back up with a spoonful of soup. He closed his eyes and put the spoon in his mouth, the warm soup sliding down his throat. John grimaced, not from the temperature but from the soup itself.

Sherlock ate his soup carefully, glaring at John all the while. He wasn't particularly hungry but he knew if he didn't eat, neither would John. John ate his soup slowly, closing his eyes every time he brought his spoon to his lips. He'd never considered that he looked malnourished. He was too worried about Sherlock to be concerned about himself. He just assumed it was stress. But now that Sherlock had been awake for two months he wasn't so sure anymore. Now, it was starting to look like an eating disorder.

Sherlock slurped the last bit of his soup. He eyed John and shook his head. 'I did this to you,' he noted out loud.

'It's not your fault,' John mumbled, pushing his soup away. 'You were asleep. I did this to myself. It's not your fault.'

'I'm going to help you,' Sherlock assured John. 'I'll help feed you back up to health.'

'I don't need feeding up,' John pouted.

Sherlock growled under his breath. 'Yes you do. Don't argue with me.'

John sighed in defeat. He knew it was fruitless to argue with Sherlock now. He rested his head in his hands, closing his eyes and grimacing as the smell of the soup permeated his senses.

'Hey.' Sherlock shoved his empty bowl to one side. 'Come here.' John stood up slowly and moved over to Sherlock's side.

Sherlock tugged John into a firm hug. 'We'll be ok.' He rocked his lover like a baby. 'We'll get through this, together.' John moved into Sherlock's lap and held onto him tightly.

'Shall we retire to the bedroom and cuddle?' Sherlock questioned gently. John nodded gently, holding Sherlock close.

'You're going to have to carry me there or at least help me.' Sherlock nudged John's jaw lightly.

'K,' John mumbled. He stood up and grabbed Sherlock by the hand. He helped him up and led him back to their room. The mug and pills were still on the bedside table.

'Here. Take these,' he said handing Sherlock the pills.

Sherlock took the pills before tugging John down onto the bed. 'Cuddle me.' He pushed his hand up John's top and smiled broadly.

'You have a very erotic definition of cuddling,' John grinned, straddling Sherlock and humming as his cool fingers explored his chest. Sherlock let his fingers run up and down John's body.

'Maybe I don't just want to cuddle.'

'We can cuddle after,' John moaned, arching into Sherlock's touch. 'But after what is the question. What do you want to do? Blow job? Hand job? Kinky sex? Or plain vanilla?'

'You decide,' Sherlock whispered against John's Adam's apple, sucking on it lightly. John wracked his brain, searching for a fantasy he and Sherlock would be able to play out. When he found one he grinned and moaned loudly as Sherlock had sucked a bright red mark on his neck.

'I want to try some light bondage with you,' he said, his voice thick with lust. 'Like when you tied my hands with your scarf. I want to try something like that with you.'

Sherlock smirked and writhed in excitement. 'Yes!' he exclaimed enthusiastically. 'God yes.'

'Oh. Settle down boy,' John smirked. He stood up and moved to Sherlock's wardrobe, pulling out that scarf from their first foray into restraints. He settled back on Sherlock's lap, twisting the scarf around his hands and pulling it taut.

'Now, my dirty boy, how shall I restrain you?' John grinned cheekily. 'Shall I bind your wrists? Or perhaps tie you to the headboard? Ooh. I rather like the sound of that, don't you?'

Sherlock nodded eagerly. 'Yes! Tie me up! Take me!'

'Settle down boy, or I'll fetch the riding crop,' John scolded. His dominant captain side was coming out. God, it felt good to give orders again. 'Take off your shirt, slowly, and sit at the head of the bed.'

Sherlock did as John instructed. He sat at the head of the bed and threw his shirt to the ground.

'Good boy,' John purred. He crawled over to Sherlock, trailing the scarf over his thighs almost absently. 'Now, lay down. Stretch your arms out behind you.'

Sherlock flipped onto his front a little cautiously. He hated the scars on his back even more after his dream. Like the dream his back was sore and agitated. He presumed it was because so many memories attached to them had been unleashed.

Swallowing down his insecurities, he held out his arms for John to tie.

'Did I say lay on your stomach?' John growled. He twisted the scarf up tight and smacked it hard against Sherlock's arse. 'On your back. Now. Hands outstretched behind your head. I'm tying you to the headboard.'

'Sorry,' Sherlock grumbled. 'I'm not with it.' It was true that both his fever and John not eating properly were distracting him to no end. He flipped over, holding his hands above his head.

'Apology accepted,' John said. 'Clear your mind. I can see your mind whirring behind those bright eyes. Focus on this.'

John grasped Sherlock's left wrist tight, knotting one end of the scarf around it. He twisted the other end around two of the bars in the headboard before tying what was left around Sherlock's other wrist. He tested the scarf's strength and the secureness of the knots. Deeming them fit, he straddled Sherlock's thighs, sitting on his hips and rocking slowly.

'Feel good dirty boy?' he purred, pressing back against Sherlock's hardening cock.

'I feel fantastic,' Sherlock gasped, rocking up in response and releasing a few delicious moans.

'Mmm. Good,' John hummed. He continued to rock against Sherlock as he began slowly stripping off his clothing. He let Sherlock's hoodie slide down his arms, pooling at his waist before he pulled off the sleeves and dropped it to the floor. He slid his hands under his t-shirt, teasing his own nipples and moaning obscenely before wrenching it off and tossing it across the room. He finally fiddled with the button of his jeans, his hand delving inside his pants and cupping his hardening cock. John moaned at the contact, laughing out loud when he saw Sherlock's expression. He looked almost angry, but his eyes were full of maddening lust. He was absolutely debauched and dishevelled. John liked it. He liked it a lot.

'Oh you dirty, lustful boy,' he grinned. 'You want to touch me so bad. Want to caress me, mark me, claim me. It's pure torture only being able to watch, isn't it?'

Sherlock growled and lifted his legs into the air, wiggling his arse. 'I hate being the sub,' he complained for the second time that day. 'You better treat me right or I swear I'll get out of these restraints before you can blink,' he threatened.

'My, my. We are touchy today, aren't we?' John smirked. He snaked a hand into Sherlock's pants and gave him a tight squeeze. 'Don't worry. I'll treat you right. I'll fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk straight or sit down properly for days.'

'You'd be touchy too if you had a temperature of one hundred and four,' Sherlock grit out but it soon turned into a groan as he bucked into John's hand.

'I'm sure I would, which is why I would try to calm down and listen to my dom,' John commented. He groped Sherlock harder, pumping his cock until it was hard and throbbing.

'Now lay there for a minute while I take of my jeans.' John hopped off the bed and undid the button and fly of his jeans, pulling them down slowly before realising he was still wearing his shoes. Well crap. There went the elegance of his moment. He sat on the floor and wrestled off his left shoe, panting for a moment before doing the same with the right. He then yanked his jeans off as well as his pants and socks before standing back up, flushed deep red from exertion and embarrassment.

Sherlock chuckled. 'Shame. I could have saved you from such embarrassment. I've never seen you so red in the face from such a small task. Somebody needs to start chasing criminals.'

He rubbed his legs together tighter, his erection throbbing painfully. 'Now come and worship me,' he whined.

'Don't laugh at me,' John pouted. He moved over to the other side of the bed, grabbing the lube from the drawer before sitting back on the bed. He removed Sherlock's trousers, tossing them to the floor. He spread Sherlock's legs wide, bending his knees slightly with his feet resting on the bed.

'Stay like that when I prep you,' John instructed, spreading lube onto his fingers. 'I'll shift your position once I've taken you.' He pushed a finger against Sherlock's hole, entering him briefly before pulling back out.

'Pick a safe word,' John said suddenly, his eyes soft but sullen. 'Not that we'll need one, but just in case. I don't want to hurt you. Especially since you're sick.'

Sherlock moaned and chewed his lower lip in thought. 'We've never needed one before.' He shrugged. 'I'll just tell you to stop but it's not as if I'll want you to.'

'I know we've never needed one, but it's been a while. Plus, you're sick. I'm not taking any chances. Just choose a bloody word please,' John sighed.

'Fine.' Sherlock blew air out his mouth. 'Anderson.' He pulled a face. 'If I'm in any pain or discomfort then I'll shout Anderson.'

'Thank you,' John sighed. He offered Sherlock a small smile before slipping back into the game. He pushed a finger against Sherlock, pushing past the first ring of muscle with ease. He stayed there for a moment, twisting his finger and curling it slightly to make sure Sherlock was stretched and comfortable. Then, he pushed it in all the way and just held still.

Sherlock's world froze and he arched upwards. 'Hmm,' he hummed and wriggled down on John's finger. John grinned and added a second finger. He wasn't nearly as hesitant that time. He pumped them quickly, scissoring them to stretch Sherlock. A range of wolf like sounds escaped the detective's throat as he writhed against the headboard he was tied to.

'Feeling good my dirty boy?' John grinned cheekily as he added a third finger.

Flushed in the face and panting, Sherlock nodded. 'So good,' he ground out.

'Think you're ready for me now?' John asked, curling his fingers and stimulating his lover's prostate.

'I'm always ready,' Sherlock tried to purr but it came out as a high pitched squeak as John hit his prostate with accurate precision with his fingertips. John laughed and prodded Sherlock's prostate again, turning him into a writhing ball of lust. He removed his fingers sharply, slicking himself before nudging his head against Sherlock's entrance.

'I'm going to change your position now,' he purred. He grabbed Sherlock's left leg and wrapped it around his waist, his right John propped over his own shoulder. Sherlock was deliciously open for him and John moaned at the sight.

'I'm giving you some control over this part,' he explained as he pushed in slightly. 'Squeeze your leg around my waist and I'll go faster. Release it and I'll go slower. Understood?'

Sherlock nodded breathlessly, unable to say anything. The only sounds coming from his mouth were incoherent ramblings of a lusting mad man. He squeezed his leg around John's waist almost painfully tight and wiggled his arse around John's throbbing member. John grinned widely and thrust into his lover, grasping his hips tightly as he pounded into him relentlessly. God damn, seeing Sherlock tied up and completely at his mercy turned John on like nothing else. They'd definitely be revisiting the bondage subject later on.

Sherlock grinned and closed his eyes, letting John take him on a roller coaster ride. He tried using his leg to put different pressure on John's waist and was amazed at how much control he had over John despite the fact he was tied up. Lighter pressure meant slower paced thrusts and heavy pressure sent his flatmate into a rabid rage of deep and fast thrusting.

John felt himself nearing the edge nearly three times, but each time Sherlock would ease up on the pressure and allow John to slow down and gather his wits. They truly did know each other. John leaned down and captured Sherlock's lips in a slow, tender kiss, matching the speed of his thrusts.

'I love you,' he moaned against his lover.

Sherlock hummed and replied, sounding drunk. 'Love you too.' He was drunk. John was his alcohol – oh shit.

He scrunched his eyes shut as a thousand other thoughts spiraled off that one tiny thought. Mainly of the dream and the alcoholism he had experienced there. Damn. Damn. Damn.

He squeezed John tighter, egging him on, hoping that he'd be able to distract him.

John thrust faster. He could tell something wasn't right. He leaned up and gripped the headboard, pounding into Sherlock hard and fast.

'Gonna cum,' he grit out, gasping for breath.

Sherlock put more pressure on John's waist. He was fairly sure he was going to leave bruises but for now he found that he couldn't bring himself to care. He braced himself, ready for John's release and hoping his own would follow soon after. John attempted to thrust faster, his hips stuttering slightly. He managed to find Sherlock's prostate just as he came, his cum jetting out and hitting it. John gasped and nearly collapsed, his limbs shaking from the force of his orgasm.

Despite Sherlock's inner turmoil that final hit of his prostate sent him tumbling over the edge and into cumming. He let out a scream. The scream was filled with lust, anger, frustration, and love for the dear man that was panting above him.

His feverish body slumped tiredly where it lay and his grip on John loosened. 'Mmmm,' he groaned, his body beginning to shake for a numerous amount of reasons.

John couldn't speak, could barely breathe. But somehow he was still able to release one of Sherlock's wrists from the scarf. He collapsed beside him, his limbs weak, and tried to catch his breath. His mind registered that Sherlock was shaking. Why? Pleasure? Illness? Detox?

Sherlock thumbled with the other knot and released himself completely. He sighed heavily and curled into a small shaking ball beside John. John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, scratching his scalp a little too.

'Hey,' John whispered. 'You ok?'

Sherlock hummed softly in reply. He felt unbearably hot and sticky with sweat. His body was still riding out the powerful orgasm he had just received. His mind could barely focus on the real world; it was almost constantly trapped in the dream world. And now his body was begging for another fix.

He was bloody fantastic.

'Hey.' John scootched closer and wiped some sweat from Sherlock's forehead. 'It will be ok. We'll work through this. When I get some strength back I'll start us a bath. Does that sound good? We can cool you down a bit, maybe warm you up. Just a nice, relaxing bath. Ok?'

Sherlock hummed again. 'Mmm k.' He leant into John's touch and smiled a little. 'Gonna sleep now though.'

'Ok. Me too,' John smiled softly. He placed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's clammy forehead. He turned over and pulled Sherlock close so they could spoon. John had always been the big spoon in his previous relationships, but with Sherlock he thoroughly enjoyed being the little spoon. He clasped Sherlock's hand and pulled it around him, holding his hand next to his heart. If Sherlock woke and was worried John was the broken dream version, he'd be able to feel his heartbeat and hopefully calm down.

John hummed and settled against Sherlock, twining their legs together. 'Love you,' he mumbled as he began to drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just makes me really happy and I don't really know why. I think it's the image of John wearing Sherlock's purple hoodie that just makes me really happy. Because he would look so adorable in it.
> 
> So at this point we're almost halfway through the story. Holy crap, right? Seventeen more weeks of this and then it will be completed. That is if I only update twice a week. At some point I may start updating this MWF, but until I get a handle of my class schedule that won't happen for another week or two. Then it would only take me eight weeks to complete this if I start next week. I was a math major (now a journalism major), so of course I did the math for this.
> 
> Happy Red Pants Monday to everyone and we'll see you Friday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	31. Explorations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone! So I just found out that next Friday my campus will be playing Star Trek Into Darkness, so I'm going home this weekend to get my Star Trek outfit ;) Basically it's just a blue shirt, black skinny jeans, and tall, black boots. Though I do have science badge earrings now ;)
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: vomit, hand jobs in the bath, playing with bollocks (balls), blow jobs, sleepy sex, and some angst near the end where Sherlock is concerned.

_'Sher!'_

_'Dad!'_

_'Daddy, please!'_

_'How could you be so idiotic, little brother?!'_  
  
The voices screamed inside of his mind painfully loudly.

But then came one:

 _'Sherlock, love, why?'_  
  
It was John's voice. It sounded broken and hurt.

Sherlock awoke with an almighty cry. He could tell instantly that his body was reaching a dangerously high temperature and he felt sick to his stomach. John stuttered awake, breaking out of his peaceful yet hot slumber. Sherlock was sitting up and shaking, and he looked absolutely pale. Uh oh. John grabbed the bucket from the floor and passed it to Sherlock. Just in the nick of time too.

Sherlock found himself spilling the soup he'd had earlier all back up. Not a single drop was left in his belly. When he was done he groaned and flopped back onto the bed. His skin was sizzling hot still and he was panting harshly. John took the bucket and placed it on the floor. He'd wash it later. Right now he needed to cool Sherlock down, and fast.

'Hey, will you be ok for a few minutes?' he asked gently. 'I'm gonna start a bath for you. I'll come get you when it's ready.' Sherlock nodded, reclosing his eyes. He whimpered as he heard John leave him and the shaking intensified.

John quickly padded off to the bathroom, plugging the drain and turning on the water. He didn't want it to be ice cold, but it shouldn't be scalding hot either. He settled on warm, but leaving enough room for some extra cold water to be added if needed. He padded back to the bedroom when the tub was full, prodding Sherlock gently.

'Ok love. The tub's ready. Do you want me to carry you?' Sherlock whined in reply and gave a small nod. It was all he was able to manage.

'Ok, love,' John said softly. He slid his arms under Sherlock's shoulders and knees, drawing him close before picking him up gently. He carried him out to the bathroom and gingerly placed him in the tub. He wiped a wet hand over Sherlock's sweaty forehead, cleaning and comforting him.

Sherlock grimaced and whimpered again, leaning into John's touch. 'I feel even shittier than before,' he grumbled.

'You don't look too good either,' John commented. 'And you're burning up. If I gave you some more cold meds do you think you'd be able to keep them down?' Sherlock screwed up his face and shook his head, clutching at his belly.

'Ok. Ok. Shh,' John said softly, running a hand down Sherlock's hair. That gave him an idea. 'How about I wash your hair? You like it when I do that.' Sherlock nodded, still pulling the face of revulsion as his stomach twisted itself into knots.

'Shhh, it's going to be ok,' John said softly. He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead, noting how warm it was. He leaned back and grabbed his shaving mug. It was clean, so he could use it to wet Sherlock's hair down. He didn't want to chance lowering him under the water.

He filled the mug with the bath water, slowly running it down Sherlock's forehead. He repeated the motion, starting at one of his temples that time. As he wet Sherlock's hair he massaged his scalp gently, hoping to get him to relax. Sherlock hummed and relaxed a little as John's fingers pressed against his skull, moving in small and methodical circles.

'Too hot,' Sherlock mumbled. 'Feels like I'm on fire.'

'Ok,' John said softly. He turned the cold water faucet on, letting it fill the tub a little more. John grabbed a washcloth and held it under the cold stream of water. He pressed it against Sherlock's forehead for a little while as the tub water went from warm to cold.

'Is that a little better?' he asked, still massaging Sherlock's scalp gently. Sherlock shivered and made a small umpf sound. He still felt unbearably hot but it was a little more tolerable than before. He tilted his head back, allowing John better access. John hummed and moved his fingers along Sherlock's scalp. With his head tilted back the washcloth would be able to sit on his head without slipping off. John grabbed Sherlock's shampoo and squeezed a liberal amount on his damp curls. He slowly began working it through his hair, massaging his head gently yet firmly. He felt Sherlock's shoulders relax as he continued, moving to rub at the base of his skull.

'Oh god,' Sherlock moaned loudly. 'Ooooh.' His whole body vibrated with want. 'Get in this bloody bath right now or so help me.' He heard a small chuckle by his ear. 'Don't laugh at me,' he pouted. 'Just get in.' John chuckled again but stood and moved to straddle Sherlock in the bath. His hands continued massaging his head, working the shampoo through.

Sherlock wiggled against John, feeling himself and John hardening at the contact. Now it was his turn to laugh. 'Ah, good god.' He chuckled deeply. 'If I wasn't so sick I would take you now.'

'I'd rather not sit in water that had our cum mixed in it,' John commented. He scratched Sherlock's scalp experimentally.

'Who said anything about sitting?' he asked cheekily. Sherlock groaned and bucked upwards in response to John scratching his scalp.

Oh. Sherlock liked that. John massaged him gently for a little while, noting how the shampoo was beginning to lather. He'd need to rinse Sherlock's hair out soon. He scratched Sherlock's scalp again.

'Ok, how about this? I would rather not get off in the bath and then be in water that has our cum mixed in it. I would much rather take you back to bed and suck you off.' Sherlock hummed his approval but snaked a hand under the water to give John a brief and teasing stroke.

'Let me at least tease you into nearly cumming.' He smirked and his hips jerked upwards, slicing through the water.

'Oh fuck,' John moaned. His hands clenched Sherlock's head tightly as he buried his face in Sherlock's neck. His hips canted toward Sherlock's fist, moving his cock through it easily. The water had made Sherlock's hand slippery, John sliding through it with ease.

'Oh fuck,' he moaned again, moving faster and sloshing the water as he moved.

Sherlock chuckled and squeezed John tightly. 'Returning the favour any time soon?' he questioned, practically begging for John to touch him.

John moaned and slid his hands from Sherlock's hair and down his torso, trailing shampoo in their wake. His hands dipped below the water, the shampoo dispersing in a milky froth. One hand stopped at Sherlock's hip, the other venturing further to grasp his cock and tug it playfully.

Sherlock bucked up with a startled gasp. He moved a finger to massage John's sack. 'You're close,' he stated, smirking.

'Oh fuck,' John groaned, shaking from Sherlock's touches. 'Want to... But not here. Fuck!'

'Oh, John,' Sherlock pleaded. 'Pretty please.' He massaged John rougher. 'I'm sick. Allow me this.'

John leaned his forehead on Sherlock's, the cold washcloth still plastered there. The cold was a shocking relief to how hot his body suddenly felt. He rocked against Sherlock, letting go of his hip to grasp his shoulder.

'Ok. Ok, yes. Fuck! Won't take long. Oh god.' John moaned loudly and pushed against Sherlock's hand. 'Oh. Oh god! Oh shit! Gonna–' That was the only warning he was able to give before he came. He gripped Sherlock's shoulder tight, leaving red crescent moons on his skin. He whimpered and moaned as he came, rocking against Sherlock's hand all the while.

Sherlock laughed joyfully. 'Thank you, dear,' he whispered, kissing John delicately on the crest of his head.

He then rubbed himself against John urgently. 'Care to help me out?' He tugged John closer onto his lap. 'Pretty please.'

'Want to... to suck you,' John gasped out. 'Which... which would you... prefer? Hand? Or mouth?'

'Whichever is easiest for you.' Sherlock purred and smiled to himself. 'Are you ok?' he asked. 'You sound a little flustered.'

'Just... never cum like that before,' John panted. 'Never had anyone play and massage my bollocks before. It was... I don't even know. But I loved it.'

Sherlock grinned and picked up his massaging again. 'You mean like this?' he whispered. 'Yes, it is rather erotic.'

'Oh god!' John moaned, his head falling to Sherlock's shoulder. He whimpered at the touch, wanting it but not. 'Please. Please. Don't. Sensitive.'

'But you clearly want it,' Sherlock pointed out, persisting in his massaging. 'I can feel you becoming aroused again.'

'That – ugh – is a terrible excuse,' John protested. 'That's a – oh god – a rapist's excuse. Just because my body is – fuck! – reacting to your touch doesn't mean I want it.'

Sherlock froze and swallowed down hard. John was accusing him of trying to rape him. Dream John had done the same. Except this time it was worse. This was real and he was sober.

He let go of John and pushed him lightly away, refusing to look at him.

'I didn't say stop,' John said. He frowned when he saw Sherlock's grave expression. 'Hey. What did I say? Was it the rape thing? I didn't mean for that to sound like you were raping me. I was just... talking without thinking. I'm sorry. Hey. Will you at least look at me?'

'No,' Sherlock grit out. 'No, I will not look at you.' His jaw locked and his nostrils flared. 'I want to get out. Now.'

'I still need to rinse your hair,' John stated. 'It'll be easier if I just turn on the shower.' John unplugged the drain and turned the shower on, changing the water's temperature back to warm. He took the washcloth off Sherlock's forehead and hung it on the side of the tub.

'Can you stand?' he asked gently. 'Or would you like some help?'

Sherlock glared at John wordlessly. He wasn't prepared to do anything. He was going to sit there and make things as difficult for John as possible.

'Sherlock? What's going on? Is this really about the rape thing? Because I didn't mean for that to come out like I was accusing you of rape. I already apologised. And, if it makes you feel better, I nearly raped you when you woke up. Remember that? Me trying to get off with your sleeping form? How was that not rape? I'm just glad you didn't press charges. Not that you would–'

Sherlock softened a little. 'I didn't particularly mind. In fact I was rather touched that even with my atrophied muscles you wanted me in that way. It's just – you reminded me of something from my dream just now.'

'I... I did?' John asked, raising an eyebrow. The tub had long since drained by now and the shower water was pelting down on John's head, plastering his hair down. 'Do I want to know what memory I triggered?'

'I nearly raped you,' Sherlock whispered in shame. 'I violated your body – god, I–' His lips trembled as he fought back tears.

'Oh. Oh baby.' John leant forward and wrapped Sherlock in a tender hug. 'It's ok, love. I forgive you. Both from the dream and just now. It's alright. I forgive you.'

'Funny thing is, all I ever wanted both times was to please you.' Some tears flickered down Sherlock's cheeks. 'You seemed to be enjoying it this time at least. I just–'

'Shhh, love. Shhh,' John soothed him, rubbing small circles onto his back. 'It's ok now. It will be ok.'

'How is this ok?' Sherlock sobbed. 'I used you. I needed a distraction and I used you!'

'People do it all the time,' John said softly. He held Sherlock close, the warm water cascading down around them. 'Lord knows I've used people as distractions before. One night stands, a quick drunken snog in a pub. I once even used you blowing something up in the flat as an excuse to get out of a bad date.'

'But you're not just some date! I love you. You're my soul mate. You're my everything. And what? I played with your bloody bollocks because I wanted a distraction and because the sounds you were making were utterly delicious.' He shook his head. 'I hate myself.'

'If you remember, I never told you to stop and I was thoroughly enjoying you playing with my bollocks,' John stated.

Sherlock cocked his head and looked at John sceptically. 'So you wouldn't mind me doing it again... now?' he asked in a small voice.

'By all means,' John grinned. He shifted in Sherlock's lap, spreading his legs so Sherlock would have easy access. 'Be my guest.'

Sherlock reached forward nervously and began to lightly tousle John's bollocks about with his fingertips. He leant forwards and pressed a needy kiss on his lover's lips and with John's approval massaged harder. John hummed and moaned into the kiss, leaning back and rocking on Sherlock's fingers. Jesus fucking Christ that felt good. He held Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him deeply.

'Other hand too,' he gasped out when Sherlock pulled one of his bollocks gently. 'On my cock. Please. Touch me.'

Sherlock was only too glad to comply. He moved one hand to wrap around John's prick and made sure to massage his lover's bollocks with the other as harshly as possible. John whimpered and whined into Sherlock's mouth. He was close already.

'C-close,' he moaned deeply. 'Which you can probably tell.'

'Mmm yes,' Sherlock growled, attacking John's lips, nibbling on them. He increased the pressure on John's cock and was particularly rough with his bollocks, pulling them repeatedly and allowing them to snap back into place.

'Shit, fuck, shit, fuck,' John swore as Sherlock brought him to the edge. 'There. Nearly there. Oh god!' John cried out as Sherlock pulled him over the edge harshly, cumming hard across Sherlock's stomach. His body shook as he came, practically vibrating with pleasure. He collapsed against his love when he finally stopped cumming, gasping for breath against Sherlock's neck.

'I'm gathering you enjoyed that, dear,' Sherlock half chuckled and half moaned. 'I hope your release was quite satisfactory.' He squeezed John's bollocks once more and kissed his neck.

'Fucking brilliant,' John groaned, shuddering at Sherlock's touches. He leaned his head back so Sherlock could reach more of his neck, purring as the kisses peppered his skin.

Sherlock hummed and quirked a sly smile. 'There's plenty more where that came from,' he said, allowing the meaning of his words to be as broad as John liked. He nibbled on John's ear and smoothed a hand through his sandy mop.

'I look forward to all that that entails,' John moaned. He opened his eyes and sighed. 'We should rinse out your hair before the shampoo makes it oily.'

'Yes. Shall we?' Sherlock continued to nibble on the lobe of his lover's ear. 'Then I think I deserve a little reward of my own. Then, sleep.'

'Think you might be able to keep some medicine down now?' John asked, moving Sherlock's head under the spray of warm water. 'I bought pills and liquid medicine. And the liquid kind has stuff in it to help you sleep. So I think maybe, if you can keep it down, the liquid would be your best bet.'

'I'll try,' Sherlock said as he rubbed his belly. 'It'll be a challenge. I still feel like shit.'

'I know, love. I know,' John said softly. 'If your stomach is still upset then you don't have to take anything. I won't make you if you don't feel up to it.' He rinsed the last of the shampoo from Sherlock's hair, running his fingers through it to make sure.

'Ok. I deem you clean. Shall I give you your reward now?' He wiggled his eyebrows seductively and grinned.

Sherlock licked his lips excitedly and flashed John his killer bracketed smile. His eyes changed into a deep black with a few silver remnants flickering on the outside of the blown pupils.

'I await my reward, sir,' he laughed.

'Willingly calling me "sir?"' John asked, smirking. 'I like it.' He turned off the water and stood up on shaky legs. Good lord, those orgasms had really taken it out of him. He exited the tub and towelled himself off before helping Sherlock out and doing the same. He ruffled Sherlock's hair with the towel, making it stick out in odd places. John giggled at the sight.

'Let's get you to bed,' he said, picking Sherlock up gently.

Sherlock pouted and tried to smooth out his ruffled up curls to no avail. 'It's not funny.' He jutted out his lip further. 'My hair's all over the place,' he complained.

'Yes, and you're beautiful darling,' John grinned. He placed a small kiss to Sherlock's temple and began walking back to their room. He placed Sherlock in the middle of the bed and crawled over him. He began kissing Sherlock slowly, deeply, his tongue reaching out to say hello. Sherlock's pout dripped away like ice melting under the hot sun. John's lips were caressing him and he'd never felt so utterly at peace. His eyes fell shut and he allowed John to take full control.

'I'm going to suck you dry,' John growled against Sherlock's lips. 'But, you get to control how long this lasts.' He slid down Sherlock's body until he was between his knees. He pushed them apart and grabbed Sherlock's hand, placing it on his own head.

'The harder you squeeze, the faster I'll move and the harder I'll suck. Possibly even pull on your own bollocks as you seem to enjoy it just as much as I do. The lighter the pressure, the slower I'll go and the gentler I'll be. Got it?'

Sherlock grinned sleepily and began to squeeze gently. Slow. He wanted this to be as slow and drawn out as possible.

'Got it,' he mumbled, his voice tainted by the beckoning of sleep.

'If you fall asleep I'll understand,' John said, slowly licking up Sherlock's shaft. 'If you do, do you want me to stop? Or can I try to bring you to orgasm while you sleep?' He sucked the head of Sherlock's cock into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it slowly.

'Don't you dare stop,' Sherlock growled grumpily, squeezing just a little bit harder. John hummed around his lover's cock and sucked harder, swallowing more of him down and bobbing his head lightly. He moved a hand down to circle around Sherlock's sac teasingly. Sherlock arched upwards and gave a feeble thrust forwards. He hummed in reply, not wanting John to stop. John kept up his pace, swallowing more of Sherlock while rolling one of his bollocks in his fingers experimentally. Sherlock swore in Gallifreyan loudly and shifted so John's tongue could reach more places.

 _What the hell kind of language was that?_  John wondered. He didn't dwell on it for long. He pushed it aside, focusing on giving Sherlock the pleasure he so desperately needed. He sucked more of him down, his head hitting the back of his throat. John slid up and back down slowly, his tongue pressing against the vein on the underside of his lover's throbbing cock. He bobbed his head fast, sucking just a bit harder, and began gently massaging Sherlock's bollocks in his palm.

More Gallifreyan profanities surged from Sherlock's plump lips as he was caught between the world of sleep and pleasure. He thrust deeper into his lover's throat. He was surprised that John wasn't gagging against him. He began to chant that he was close in Gallifreyan as he felt John steering him closer and closer to a beautiful and magical release.

John felt Sherlock's bollocks draw up tight. He was close. John grinned slightly and swallowed Sherlock whole, humming around his throbbing cock. He bobbed slightly, allowing Sherlock to slide through his throat, and pulled on his bollocks and let them slap back against him with a snap.

 _Cum for me. Cum for me, please._  
  
Sherlock came with an almighty Gallifreyan war cry before slumping and finally falling into a deep and much needed sleep.

John swallowed all Sherlock gave him and released him with a wet and very obscene pop. Sherlock's sated cock slapped against his belly and appeared to be sleeping as peacefully as the detective himself. John smiled at the sight before pulling the covers up and around them. He settled against Sherlock's side, setting his alarm for six a.m. when he'd have to get up for work. Maybe he'd get a decent night's sleep tonight.

'Goodnight my love,' John yawned as he settled in the sheets. 'I hope you feel better in the morning.' He nestled his head against Sherlock's chest and closed his eyes, falling asleep quickly and deeply for the first time in months.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock became aware of a loud, sharp noise piercing his, for once, dreamless sleep. He groaned as he realised it was John's alarm for work.

'Turn it off,' he mumbled against his sleeping lover's chest.

John groaned and stretched, slapping the snooze button before falling into his stomach and burying his nose in the covers.

'Gimmie a minute,' he mumbled sleepily. 'Gotta go ta work.'

Sherlock sighed. 'I don't want you to go,' he said, sounding a bit more coherent than John. He wrapped a long leg around John and tugged him closer. 'Stay.'

'I know hun, but I can't,' John sighed, waking up a bit more. 'I haven't exactly had the best attendance record the last six months. I need to go or Sarah'll kill me. And I don't want to lose our only steady flow of income.'

The alarm went off again and John slapped the snooze again. He turned around in Sherlock's embrace and kissed him gently but firmly.

'I don't want to go either, but I have to. My shift is at eight and runs until about five. Do you think you can keep yourself occupied until then? Or at least try to stay out of too much trouble?'

'I'll try to be on my very best behaviour.' Sherlock gave John a cheesy grin. 'How much time do you have before you have to go to work?' he asked, subtly moving his morning wood against his lover's warm body.

'Need to be on the tube by seven at least,' John groaned. He clutched Sherlock tight and moved against him, rubbing the first morning wood he'd had in months against his lover's.

'Then we'll make this snappy.' Sherlock tugged John further up so that his lover was practically sat on his face. He latched his lips around John's arousal and chuckled at John's stunned expression.

'Ooooh! Oh fuck!' John groaned, grabbing the headboard for support. He rut slightly into Sherlock's mouth, melting as his tongue did magical things to his cock. Sherlock sucked long and hard before releasing it with a pop. He looked on at John in amusement before taking John's bollocks into his mouth instead. John moaned and shuddered violently. He gripped the headboard tight and tried not to rut against Sherlock's face and tongue like a mad man. Jesus Christ that felt good. So good. So good he wouldn't last very long sort of good. He pushed down slightly, applying more pressure to Sherlock's tongue and whimpered as an intense wave of pleasure rippled through him.

'Close,' he groaned loudly, rocking faster.

Sherlock lapped at John's balls greedily, like a cat drinking cream. He scraped his teeth over their surface and felt them starting to tighten. He drew away before John could cum and stuck John's cock back in his mouth, drawing him in to the very depths of his throat. John whimpered again and thrust into Sherlock's mouth, trying not to choke him. He wasn't sure if he was successful or not because he was too close to care.

'Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!' he swore. Or was he asking Sherlock to pay attention to those too? He didn't know and he didn't care, just so long as he came down Sherlock's throat. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and moved a hand to cup John's balls. He jostled them playfully and ran his tongue over all of John's sensitive areas.

'Gah! Geez! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!' John whimpered, vibrating in his spot. He was so close, deliciously close. Just a bit more. Just–

'Cumming! Cumming!' John warned as he felt his orgasm rip through him. His entire body shook and more whimpers escaped from his lips as he came pulsing down Sherlock's throat. Sherlock almost gagged but forced himself not to. He swallowed all of the liquid before releasing John's member. His hands still held John's bollocks and he ran his fingers over them gingerly. John whimpered again and made to pull away, falling down beside Sherlock in a shaking heap.

'S-stop,' he shuddered. 'Please. Too sensitive. Fuck!'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Sorry, dear,' he apologised softly, snaking his arms around John's skinny waist.

John gulped down deep breaths but somehow managed to hum when Sherlock embraced him.

'Apparently... my orgasms that... that come about from... from you playing with my... my bollocks really... really take it outta me,' John gasped out.

'So I've noticed.' Sherlock licked John's throat and ran a hand up and down John's ribs. Laughter spluttered from John's lips and he squirmed in Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock ran his fingers down John's ribs faster. 'Gorgeous love of mine.' John laughed harder and tried to wriggle away.

'Oh no you don't,' Sherlock tutted, tugging John into a death grip and tickling him without mercy. 'You're not going anywhere.' John squealed, actually squealed, as peals of laughter burst from his lips. He flailed his limbs and tried to wriggle free, all to no avail.

'Sherlock,' he gasped out, laughing harder. 'Sherlock, I'm gonna piss the bed if you don't stop.'

Sherlock pulled back and his face contorted in disgust. Piss was one of the human bodily fluids that he hated. Blood and semen he could deal with. Piss he could not.

'Please don't.' He scrunched up his nose. John gulped down deep breaths when Sherlock stopped tickling him, his face red from laughing so hard.

'Sorry, sorry,' he said quickly. 'I can't help it. Ever since I was a kid, if my parents or sister would tickle me for too long I'd piss myself. They weren't fans of it either. So, give me a minute to relieve myself and I'll give you some relief before I have to go to work.' He rocked gently against Sherlock's hard-on and grinned.

Sherlock made an abrupt and lust-riddled noise and placed a warm kiss to John's lips. 'Hurry,' he said, his voice gravelly from both lust and the remainders of sleep.

'Be right back,' John promised, kissing Sherlock hungrily. He dashed out of bed and to the loo, relieving himself with a sigh. That had been close. And, going by Sherlock's expression, he probably would have thrown up again if John had pissed the bed. He flushed when he finished and washed his hands before returning to Sherlock. He climbed up his lanky frame and sat on his hips, trapping his cock between his buttocks and rutting against him, grinning like a mad man.

Sherlock clenched his buttocks together, trapping John's prick further. He studied John artfully, taking in the way his chest was moving up and down at a frantic rhythm, his slightly mussed bed hair and his sparkling blue eyes that were being replaced by black. Beautiful. John was beautiful.

Before John had come into Sherlock's life he hadn't had a definition of beauty. His world had been a mixture of blacks and whites and then all of a sudden this man, this complete and utter stranger, came into his life on a whim. Little had he known back then that he would fall in love, or find a concept of beauty.

John was beauty.

He made his world a far more colourful place to live in.

John leant down and kissed Sherlock deeply, rutting against him faster, harder. His prick was hardening again and all he wanted to do was fuck Sherlock into the mattress until they both came screaming. He glanced at the clock. Only 6:15. Excellent.

'I want to fuck you,' he said against Sherlock's full lips. Sherlock pushed back and found much to his surprise that John was beginning to slide in as easy as it was sliding into a hot bath.

'Seems my arse is becoming accustomed to you,' Sherlock smirked.

'As it should,' John groaned, pushing in a little further. 'Fuck. You're always so tight and warm. How the hell is that possible?'

'Still so open from the last time you took me.' Sherlock clenched his arse cheeks harder. 'Now take me again.'

'God yes,' John groaned, pushing in all the way until he was buried to the hilt. He paused for a moment, gathering his breath before he began to move. Slowly at first, just letting his cock slide through his lover's tight heat. Then they both got incredibly impatient and John began pounding Sherlock with earnest, grabbing his thighs and pushing them apart as he fucked him hard and fast and deep. Neither man spoke as their bodies joined together, John's darker skin sliding against Sherlock's ghostly white skin. They grunted and moaned and groaned like teenagers making love for the first time.

'Beautiful, gorgeous, brilliant, mine,' John growled as he pounded into Sherlock mercilessly. Everything was rushed and the time constraint just made the act that much hotter. He trailed a hand to fondle Sherlock's sac playfully, pulling on one and letting it snap back into place.

Sherlock gasped out words of appreciation but they died on the tip of his tongue. He shifted so John was tilted at a different angle and moved a hand to caress his lover's bum. The new angle allowed John easy access to Sherlock's prostate, which he tried to hit as often as possible. He rolled Sherlock's bollocks in his palm, massaging them roughly as he fucked him hard. He felt them draw up tight and John let out a smug laugh.

'Cum for me,' he growled in Sherlock's ear. 'Scream for me. Cum all over us. Cum. Cum. Cum!'

Sherlock's cock gave a twitch and he could feel himself being dragged closer to the cliff edge. John hit his prostate exceptionally hard and as though an avalanche of snow was falling on top of him, forcing him to fall over the mountain face, he went over the edge and came. His cum splattered everywhere, causing quite a mess. He screamed and lay there whimpering. John followed Sherlock over the edge and came with a shout, collapsing against Sherlock's chest with an obscene splat. Jesus. Sherlock really had cum everywhere. And he was shaking and whimpering. Oh god. John didn't hurt him, did he?

'Hey? You ok? Did I hurt you?' John asked in a small voice.

'No,' Sherlock huffed a laugh. 'It's just you've rather taken my strength from me. That was quite a rough fucking you gave me.'

'Oh,' John laughed softly. 'I won't apologise then.' He glanced back to the clock. It was only 6:25. Had that really only taken ten minutes? John shrugged and sat up, stretching.

'I'm going to take a shower before I leave,' he stated. 'But, before I do, I'll clean you up first.' He leaned over Sherlock's body and manoeuvred himself down to his chest. His tongue poked out and began lapping at the cum spattered there. Sherlock giggled as John's tongue explored the flat planes of his chest, lapping up each and every drop of cum.

John made his way from Sherlock's chest to his stomach, devouring every drop of cum in his wake. When he finished he sucked a possessive mark on Sherlock's hip, reclaiming him as his own after so long.

'You taste divine,' John hummed, settling along Sherlock's side.

'Do I?' Sherlock questioned before mashing his lips to John's in a desperate quest to taste himself. John opened his mouth and let Sherlock's tongue delve inside, knowing he would be able to taste himself on his tongue. John moaned and moved so he was laying on top of Sherlock, their tongues twirling as they tasted each other. Sherlock flickered his tongue against John's, tasting his own cum masking John's own distinctive flavour.

John's hands found themselves tangled in Sherlock's hair, pulling them closer as they snogged. Sherlock was everywhere, dominating John's senses. His taste, his smell, the caress of his tongue, the feel of his wild curls on his fingers, his warm flesh on John's. Sherlock dominated John's life now. Everything John did or didn't do was because of Sherlock. He had killed for Sherlock, had put himself in the line of fire many times for Sherlock, and had even skipped out on dates because Sherlock not-so-subtly hinted that he didn't want him to go and wanted him to stay. So John had stayed. Had stopped going out on dates because Sherlock didn't like it. And John didn't like the women either. They were dull in comparison to his brilliant flatmate. And now John had Sherlock right where he wanted him: snuggled in his arms, in their bed, snogging languidly before John had to go to work.

And it was absolutely perfect.

Sherlock lifted his lips from John and sighed happily, a brilliant smile permanently scratched into his features. He never wanted this moment to end except he knew it was going to. John was heading off into the mundane world of work and he would be all alone.

He was dreading that. Alone was always a dangerous thing for him.

'I wish I didn't have to go,' John frowned, resting his head against Sherlock's chest. 'I wish I could just stay here and lie in bed with you all day.'

Sherlock tilted his head back and bit his lip lightly. 'I do too,' he finally said. 'But you need your work almost as much as I need my cases.'

'Yeah. It feels good to help people again, ya know?' John smiled softly against Sherlock's chest. 'I should probably get dressed. You should go back to sleep.'

Sherlock nodded, though he knew that despite the general ickyness that he was feeling and the fact that he'd just been thoroughly made love to by John, he would not get much sleep. With John out there in the world and himself trapped in the flat like a fly in a spider web, he would not be at ease.

'Be careful,' he stated sharply.

'I always am,' John smiled. 'Don't tell Lestrade, but I "purchased" another gun. I keep it with me at work, just in case. My favoured one is still here, locked in my desk where you can get to it if you need it.' He placed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's temple.

'If you can't sleep, think you could try moving my things in here? If I can move in that is.'

'Of course.' Sherlock glanced around the room, his brow pinching. 'Now, where is my cane?'

'Propped up outside the door,' John answered. 'Want me to get it?'

'If you could be a dear, yes.' He smiled despite feeling distinctly on edge about John leaving. John pecked Sherlock lightly on the lips before getting out of bed and grabbing Sherlock's cane.

'I'll be upstairs getting dressed. Holler if you need me.' He passed Sherlock the cane and left the room, going upstairs to his now old room and grabbing his work clothes out of the wardrobe. He got dressed quickly and examined himself in the wardrobe's mirror. Maybe Sherlock had a point about the stubble. He didn't look half bad.

Sherlock's head began to swirl. He hated the fact that if something were to happen to John he'd be too far away to protect him. He felt utterly useless. His stomach was twisting itself into tight knots and this time it wasn't just because he was ill.

John made his way back downstairs, checking to see how Sherlock was doing. He was still sitting up in bed, staring off into space.

'Hey. Sherlock? You ok?' John asked softly.

John's soft voice dragged Sherlock out of his mind palace just enough for him to come up with a lie. 'Thinking about a cold case. Shhh.'

'Oh. Ok. Sorry,' John whispered. He crept toward Sherlock silently and gently kissed the top of his head. 'I'll be back before you know it. Have Lestrade bring you more cases. Keep yourself occupied. I love you.'

Sherlock grunted to show John that he had heard him and then closed his eyes to completely block out the world. John sighed and let Sherlock be. He was in one of his moods and it would do John no good to try to get him out of it. He left the room, grabbed his keys off the table, and strode out of the flat.

It was a gorgeous day. The sun was shining, the birds were out, and a gentle breeze was blowing. Then it was all ruined when John got on the crowded and stuffy tube. He hated taking the tube to work but it was faster and cheaper than a cab. John scowled in his seat and pulled out his mobile to distract himself. Harry had showed him he could download games onto it, so he tapped the solitaire icon and began playing.

As soon as the heavy slam of the door penetrated the thick silence in the flat Sherlock felt his arm begin to itch. The terrible drug cravings had been unleashed within him like a rabid dog that had escaped its cage.

He sat there for exactly half an hour, sweating like a pig because of his fever, fighting off a headache due to his sickening worry for John's safety, and itching and shaking due to the need of another fix.

The itching was stronger now. It was his body's way of saying, 'I've had one taste of the stuff now feed me another.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sherlock is worried about John being out without him and supposedly without protection, and his cravings are back. Sherlock really never seems to catch a break in this fic, does he? Well, that's all InvisibleBlade's doing seeing as she's the only one who controls Sherlock's thoughts and behaviours. And John is solely mine. We share everyone else.
> 
> So, chapter 32 will be posted Monday. Until then my lovelies!
> 
> TSA + IB


	32. Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting so late. I had a very long day. Class from 9 am to six pm, with breaks to grab coffee and a snack at least. But here I am, sitting comfortably in front of my computer. I am now home. :)
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, Sarah, Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: implied cutting, drug use, nicotine withdrawals, overdose, heavy smoking, Sherlock once again in hospital, blow jobs in hospital, and some pretty intense Holmes brother feels.

John made it to work ten minutes early. Thankfully the tube had been kind to him and the games on his phone kept him pretty occupied. He had walked the last two blocks to clear his mind from the stuffy tube. He didn't want to arrive to work with a scowl on his face. Sarah seemed to appreciate that he not only made it to work on time but also seemed to be in a better mood.

'Hello John,' she smiled warmly. 'You seem to be in better spirits today.'

'I'm feeling in better spirits today,' John smiled back.

'What changed over the weekend?' she asked. 'And why haven't you shaved?'

'I'm not exactly sure I should tell you, but let's just say that things are a lot better at home with Sherlock now. We're talking again.'

'Oh! That's great John,' Sarah smiled. 'How is he?'

'Sick. Caught a cold. And he's a very whiny patient,' John smirked.

'Well, I hope he gets better soon. I'll see you at lunch?'

'Sure,' John grinned, waving her off. He started with the standard morning coffee and paperwork before his first patient arrived.

He couldn't stop worrying about Sherlock though. He had looked so distressed when he left. He hoped he was at least getting some sleep. Maybe he'd made it to the Yard and had gotten some more cold cases. John just hoped Sherlock wouldn't give in to his cravings and go to that Dave person he'd mentioned earlier.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock knew that he should simply ignore his cravings, that he should keep his mind occupied with something other than the need for a fix.

He wasn't prepared to go to the Yard for more cold cases however in fear of bumping into either Anderson or Donovan. And then of course there was facing Lestrade too, seeing as he knew about his relapse. He could only imagine the annoying questions and concern the D.I. would throw at him. Those were questions he didn't want to answer and concern that he didn't want to deal with. So that threw a trip to Scotland Yard out.

But he had to do something and fast! He was bound to do something stupid if he didn't.

Wait. Hadn't John said something about moving his belongings into this room from upstairs?

Deciding that moving John's belongings would give him a much needed distraction, he clambered groggily from his bed, leaning on his cane heavily for support. He made the usually short journey to John's room in double the amount of time it should have taken him. His body was weary and his legs were proving to be little use for him today. When he reached the upstairs room all he could smell was John. It was soft and leathery, and filled with the scent of tea going cold. He smiled and took a deep breath. It was almost enough to ease his worry for his lover. Almost.

However, as he gazed across the room he spotted something small and silver lying forgotten on the floor. His heart contorted in his chest as he realised it was a blade, speckled in red.

 _'That's John's blood,'_  a voice dripping with evil said, penetrated his ears sharply.  _'And you may as well have been the one to put it there.'_

Sherlock froze and tried to stop his rising panic. How recently had that blade been used?

He didn't wait around for his mind to supply an answer. Instead, he found himself fleeing from the room. He hurried into his room as fast as his legs would allow and, in a fleeting panic, got dressed. He then found himself flagging down a taxi outside. He knew his destination. He didn't care. He needed the image of the bloodied blade out of mind. He would do anything to do that. He glanced up at the sunny sky. There were clouds hovering in the distance. He just hoped it didn't rain again. He was already sick as it was.

**…::-::…**

At ten John began to feel restless. His left hand started to shake and he clenched it tight. He had to switch to using his right hand after another hour. Shit. He hadn't had any cravings since Sherlock came home high. And now that John was away from him and worried about him they were back.

Shit.

Was it lunch yet? John glanced at the clock. Eleven. Another hour until lunch. Shit. John glanced at his desk drawer. He could feel it burning a hole in there. He opened it and sighed, seeing that the box was still there. He'd sneak one at lunch. Only one. But he knew it would turn into five. Maybe he could limit it to three.

Lunch couldn't arrive fast enough. John bolted from his desk, shoving the box inside his pocket and practically running from the surgery.

'John? Are you ok?' Sarah asked, peering out of her office.

'Yeah. Yeah, fine. I'll be right back,' John ushered quickly. He dashed outside and into the afternoon sun, finding a spot away from the surgery. He pulled the box out of his pocket with shaking hands, opening it and sighing when he saw he had plenty left. He pulled a cigarette from the case and stuck it between his lips. He pulled the lighter from the box and tried and failed to light it three times before his hands calmed enough to keep the fire going.

The first drag felt fantastic. It always did. And since he and Sherlock had gotten back together he hadn't had any cravings. But now that Sherlock was home alone and was probably having cravings of his own, John was worried that he would relapse again and so his own cravings had started again.

Sherlock would surely kill him if he found out.

One cigarette turned into three which turned into six. John was disgusted with himself. He stamped out his final cigarette and entered the surgery again. Sarah frowned at him, John avoided eye contact.

'I'm just gonna have lunch in my office,' he mumbled. He entered his office and locked the door, collapsing in his chair and holding his face in his hands. He decided to send Sherlock a text just to see if he was ok.

 _Hey Sherlock. Just wanted to see how you were doing. –JW_  
  
Sherlock was holding the needle to his pale flesh when his phone buzzed. He sighed as he realised that it was probably John checking up on him.

He plucked his phone from his jacket pocket and quickly stamped out a reply to John's worry filled text.

 _Fine. Though you just woke me. –SH_  
  
Sherlock's stomach twisted with the lies and the guilt he felt over what actions he was taking.

He knew if he told John he had disturbed his much needed sleep John would refrain from texting again. Sherlock would be left in peace to have his high.

Sherlock pocketed the phone and positioned the needle once more.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered to thin air as he injected the drug.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock had been sleeping. Thank god. John sighed in relief and relaxed against his chair. He ran a hand down his face and breathed out harshly. Just four more hours. Four more hours and he could go home and see Sherlock again. He could crawl in bed with him and sleep and they could have sleepy sex when they woke up. And then he could nurse Sherlock back to health and they would be happy and everything would be ok.

Just four more hours.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock had been right earlier about it raining. In fact it seemed even the world was angry at him for relapsing. The sunshine and cool breeze from earlier were now replaced with a harsh wind, the pelting down of rain, and the loud battering of hail on the ground.

Sherlock simply grinned. He was too at peace to care. Though he knew deep down he was only going to get sicker now. He just kept on walking through the London weather.

So that's how he found himself in front of his brother's house. Grinning toothily, sopping wet, sick as a dog, and high as a kite.

Mycroft Holmes was sat at his desk, pouring over British Intelligence secrets when there was a knock at his door.

'I'm busy,' he said, dismissing his aid.

'Um, sir? Your brother's here,' the aid said, still not opening the door.

'My brother is here?' Mycroft asked incredulously.

'Yes sir. And... I think you should go to him. I've put him in the sitting room in front of the fire.'

'Why is he in front of the fire?' Mycroft asked, opening the door and looking at his aid.

'Got caught in the storm. You'll understand why when you see him.'

'Oh dear lord,' Mycroft sighed. 'Ok. Ok, fine. Thank you.' He stalked from the room and the aid disappeared. Mycroft made his way to the sitting room and sighed at the state of his little brother. He was sitting on the floor, a blanket draped over him, and a goofy smile plastered on his face.

'Oh, Sherlock,' Mycroft sighed, shaking his head sadly.

'My!' Sherlock shouted, waving at the blurred figure of his brother.

Mycroft sighed and moved to stand beside Sherlock in front of the fire.

'What are you doing here, Sherlock?' he asked tiredly. 'And why on earth are you high?'

'Wanted snuggle time,' Sherlock giggled, latching himself onto Mycroft's right leg.

Mycroft stiffened at Sherlock's possessive grasp. He couldn't help but stutter forward slightly when Sherlock pulled his leg closer.

'That doesn't answer my other question,' Mycroft sighed. 'Why are you high? What happened?'

Sherlock pulled at his brother tighter and cocked his head to the side.

'Bad feelings. Wanna make them go away.'

'Sherlock, you can't take drugs every time you feel bad. You'll kill yourself.' Mycroft paused. 'I won't stand by and watch you do that. I will throw you in rehab, against your will if I have to, before I fail you like I did in your dream.'

Sherlock blinked up at Mycroft. 'Snuggle time, please?' he asked persistently.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sunk to the floor, sitting cross legged in front of the fire. He would indulge Sherlock, but that didn't mean he'd have to enjoy it.

Sherlock shifted closer and moved his arms to wrap around Mycroft's extended and soft belly.

'You're like a big teddy bear,' he laughed loudly.

Mycroft frowned. He didn't want to be a teddy bear. He wanted to be trim and fit like he used to be. He needed to talk to Gregory about his diet and exercise regimen. Would it be possible for him to eat less and exercise more? Or would that not be acceptable?

'You're sopping wet,' Mycroft stated instead.

Sherlock frowned. 'Jawn gonna get angry. Gonna get sicker.' He tightened his arms around Mycroft's waist, squeezing his belly.

Mycroft sighed loudly. 'And you think I'm not mad at you for turning to drugs again? Well, I suppose I'm not. Worried and disappointed, but not mad.'

'Mmm sorry, My,' Sherlock mumbled. 'Tried to say no to my cravings.'

Mycroft wanted to say Sherlock needed to try harder, but he didn't. He couldn't upset his brother like that. Didn't want Sherlock to run off into the storm in his current state. It wouldn't be safe.

'Shall I set up a room for you in rehab?' he asked softly. 'So you can detox and get better?'

'No,' Sherlock whimpered. 'Jawn will get worse. Not good. Not safe.'

'What's wrong with John?' Mycroft asked. 'I realise he's lost some weight but he can easily gain that back. Especially now that you two are together again. What else has he got going on?'

'Refusing to eat, cutting, and–' Sherlock pursed his lips together and ran his tongue over his teeth. He could still taste John. '–smoking in excess.'

'John doesn't smoke,' Mycroft scoffed. 'But the cutting... the cutting I can understand.' Mycroft glanced at his left arm, his own scars covered by his suit jacket's sleeve.

'Does too,' Sherlock argued. 'I can taste him.' He shivered violently against his brother.

'My fault. All my fault. Everything my fault. Your pain. John's pain. Everything.'

'Sherlock, stop blaming yourself,' Mycroft sighed. 'None of this is your fault. Everyone has their ways of coping with stressful situations. Some are just worse than others. We did what we did because we wanted to be reminded we were alive, and that maybe, just maybe, you would wake up and everything would be alright. You did not do this to us, nor did you make us. We did it of our own volition.'

Mycroft sighed again. 'And while I'll take your word for it, I won't believe John is a heavy smoker until I see it with my own eyes. The man is a doctor for Christ's sake. He knows how harmful those nasty buggers are to the human body.'

'You'd all have been better off if I was dead,' Sherlock stated miserably. Before his brother could respond a sharp pain hit him and he gasped for breath. Sherlock grunted and clutched his chest.

'Heart hurting real bad.' His face scrunched up. 'Errhh shit.' His pulse was through the roof. Again.

Mycroft bolted upright, running to call for help. He didn't know how to help someone who was overdosing. He dialled 999 and told the operator his little brother was overdosing and needed an ambulance quick. He gave her the address and she said help was a few minutes away. Mycroft wasn't sure Sherlock even had that long. He rushed back to his brother and held him close, hoping to stop the violent shaking.

'Help is on the way, Sherlock. I won't fail you this time. And I sure as shit won't let you die!'

Sherlock was too far gone to hear his brother's reassurances. He let out a tearful sob and shook harder. His heart hurt. His head was numb. His body was icy cold and on fire at the same time. He was dying. Something told him he didn't have much time left before he bit the dust.

'Goodbye, My,' he gasped.

'No. Sherlock, no.' Mycroft pulled his little brother into his lap and held him tight. 'Just hold on, alright? Just a few more minutes. Please. Don't die on me!'

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock gasped through gritted teeth. 'I'm sorry for everything. I'm a shit brother. Mmm sor–' His breath began to shallow out. He cried out as another sharp pain hit his chest. 'Gah! Dying's fucking painful!'

'Did you think it would be easy?' Mycroft asked, a hint of a smile on his face. He picked Sherlock up and moved to sit on the staircase in front of the door. That way the paramedics could just grab Sherlock and go.

'I won't let you die. You know why?' He dared to run a hand gingerly through Sherlock's hair. 'Because we'll be worse without you. You honestly think we'll be better off? Sherlock, think about John. Think about how bad he was when you were simply in a coma. Now imagine how much worse he'll be when you're dead. He would probably turn to drugs himself simply so he could see you again. And he'd probably end up killing himself when the hallucinations just weren't cutting it anymore. Please, brother. Live. For John, because he needs you. You need to take care of each other. You have a very codependent relationship, which probably isn't healthy, but we'll address that later. Please, don't die.'

Sherlock leant into Mycroft's gentle touch and whimpered. 'I can't hold on. It hurts too much. I can't... I... Tell John that I – oh never mind. He'll know.'

'No. Stay with me,' Mycroft murmured, still petting Sherlock's hair. 'Just breathe. Can you do that?'

The paramedics arrived then and whisked Sherlock away. Mycroft stood dumbfounded on the steps. He didn't know what to do anymore.

'Sir? Might I suggest we follow the ambulance to the hospital?' One of his drivers. Good. Excellent.

'I think that would be wise, yes.'

**…::-::…**

The world moved around Sherlock in a blur. Voices were shouting near his ears. They were filled with urgency so he knew his situation was beyond dire.

He felt himself tip to the edge of life itself, nearly falling into the blackness of death. But each time he would feel a pressure on his chest and a jolt of electricity and he would be dragged back into the light.

Something told him that each time that happened his heart had stopped. The paramedics were forcing the organ to beat again.

Each time that happened he had, in effect, died.

Sherlock didn't know whether to be scared or at peace.

In the end he chose scared.

Yes, Sherlock Holmes was very scared.

**…::-::…**

John was filling out routine paperwork at the end of his shift when suddenly the entire hospital seemed to rush by his door. He groaned and threw down his pen. If this was some poor sod who'd gotten into another fistfight and lost he was going to tear his hair out. It was so close to being the end of his shift too. Now he'd have to stay longer to see if he was needed.

A gurney rushed by his office, a nurse sitting atop it and appeared to be giving the patient CPR. He opened his door and peered out, the gurney disappearing behind the corner.

'Sarah, what's going on?' he asked as she rushed past.

'John, I'm having you sit this one out,' she rushed out, clearly wanting to assist the incoming patient.

'What? Why?'

'Because you're too close to this one,' Sarah explained.

'What? Did Harry get alcohol poisoning again?' John asked, slightly worried.

'No. Worse. It's... It's Sherlock and he's overdosing. I gotta go.' She rushed off to follow the gurney – Sherlock – and John slunk back into his office and sunk into his chair.

 _Sherlock is overdosing? He went out and got more drugs? Was he even asleep when I texted him? Or was he out looking for a dealer?_  
  
'God dammit Sherlock!' John cried, slumping down on his desk and covering his head in his arms. He needed another cigarette. And quickly. He rushed out, the box still in his pocket, and exited the surgery, going back to where he had been before and lit another cigarette. His hands were shaking again, but he wasn't sure if it was because of his need for a smoke or worry over Sherlock. Probably Sherlock. No, definitely Sherlock. Sarah had been right. John was too close to this and he would give the team their space. He would worry in private for now, smoking his problems away until Sherlock was stable. If he ever became stable.

By some miracle Sherlock's body won the battle between the drug flooding in his system. Though Sherlock knew that just because the battle had been won didn't mean he had won the war. He was only just about stabilised. He was barely alive bar his breathing and still slightly uneven heartbeat.

John stood outside in the rain, not wanting to get in the way but also needing to clear his head. Sherlock had overdosed again. Sherlock had gone back to his dealer. Why? What had happened? Did he go to the Yard and run into Anderson again? John hadn't even told Sherlock he'd beaten Anderson up for him. Would he ever get the chance? He turned his face up to the sky and let the cool rain pelt down his face.

 _Sherlock will be fine,_  he told himself.  _It will all be fine._

**…::-::…**

Hours seemed to pass by before the shouting and the hands working on Sherlock's body stopped. He had finally been allowed some quiet to let his hazy mind gather its pieces.

When he finally came around fully, he felt like death warmed over but found himself begging under his breath to see his brother and John. They were the only people who mattered to him. He had to make sure they were ok. He had to see them so he could acknowledge he was truly alive.

**…::-::…**

Mycroft found John outside, eyes closed, face towards the sky. A pile of cigarette butts were stomped out at his feet. Good lord, Sherlock was right.

'John,' Mycroft called, rolling down his window and beckoning the doctor over. John snapped his eyes open and looked toward the sleek black car. He swallowed and made his way over to Mycroft, avoiding his gaze.

'So, you heard?' John asked gently.

'About you? Yes. I was the one who called the ambulance for Sherlock,' Mycroft said.

'About me?' John asked incredulously. 'And why did Sherlock go to you?'

'You aren't eating, you're cutting, and now you're smoking,' Mycroft said, wrinkling his nose. 'You smell awful.'

'Yeah, sorry,' John said, staring down at his shoes.

'Don't apologise if you don't mean it,' Mycroft said. 'Get in.'

'What? Why?'

'So we can get you in some clean, dry clothes,' Mycroft said, scootching over. 'Sherlock doesn't need to see you sopping wet and smelling of smoke. Come on.'

John sighed and opened the door, climbing in and sitting down in a huff. He stared out the window as the car pulled away, Mycroft respecting the silence and allowing them both to think.

They made it back to Baker Street and John climbed out, slamming the door behind him. He slowly made it up to his room, noticing that not only had Sherlock not moved his things but also that he had left an old razor on the floor. He picked it up and placed it in his bedside drawer, moving over to his wardrobe and shedding his wet clothes. He pulled on his striped jumper and a fresh pair of jeans. Dry socks were definitely a necessity, as were shoes. John changed quickly and went back outside, ducking into the car before he got soaked again.

They rode in silence again, no one daring to speak. John was too stressed with worry over Sherlock. Mycroft was worried about them both.

The nurses kept on pestering Sherlock, asking him silly questions varying from 'are you ok sir?' to 'is there anything I can get you?' Both of which were ridiculous. He wasn't ok. He was a bloody far cry from ok. He had just overdosed for goodness sake. He'd flat lined at least three times from what he'd heard. So no. He was not ok.

As for anything that they could get him? All he wanted was his brother and John and he'd been told that they weren't in the building currently so that was a no to that question too.

He began to get increasingly restless and soon he found himself getting exceptionally snappy with the nurses. Despite the fact that he was weak as a kitten still and his voice was less powerful than usual his deductions were becoming crueler and crueler with each nurse that came to annoy him. They soon learned to stay clear of him. He seemed to strike fear into most of them and none of them dared venture close enough in fear of getting deduced and having their lives slowly stripped down to the finer details.

John and Mycroft finally arrived back at the hospital, a very exasperated nurse showing them to Sherlock's room. Seems he had been asking for them and had gotten rude and snappy to the nurses, deducing them rather harshly. The nurse let them in, not entering herself, and left quickly.

'Oh Sherlock,' John sighed, moving to his side and taking his hand.

Sherlock smiled drowsily, gazing into John's eyes, searching for signs of anger in the flickering pools of blue.

'Hello,' he sighed exhaustedly. He let his eyes move to Mycroft and his smile widened a little.

'Thank you,' he said gently.

'You are quite welcome, Sherlock,' Mycroft said. 'Sorry for not getting here sooner.'

John smiled down at Sherlock, clutching his hand tight. He began to pet his hair soothingly. He was just happy Sherlock was ok. He'd probably get mad later, if ever.

Sherlock sighed and tilted his head into John's hand. 'Sorry if I gave you both a scare,' he apologised.

'It's ok, hun,' John said softly. 'At least you're ok.'

'And you were very... snuggly,' Mycroft said.

'I am now that you're here, yes.' Sherlock squeezed John's hand lightly whilst turning back to his brother.

'You were the snuggly one I believe, Mycroft,' he teased lightly. But then on a far more serious note said, 'Don't you dare change. Screw what others think, Croft. Just bloody be happy with yourself.'

'How on earth was I snuggly?' Mycroft scoffed. 'I only held you in my lap because you were dying.'

John placed a soft kiss to the top of Sherlock's head, noting how warm he was. Hopefully the staff had given him something for his cold and were trying to regulate his temperature.

Sherlock frowned and shrugged. 'Don't ask me why you're snuggly. You just are. You remind me of my teddy from when I was younger. Oh... bad example considering I decapitated it for an experiment.' He turned to John and hummed as he was peppered in more kisses on his forehead.

'Yes. I don't want to be compared to that teddy bear,' Mycroft frowned. 'I'm just glad to see you're ok. How are you feeling? I realise it's a stupid question, just answer it.'

'Like shit,' Sherlock wheezed. 'Though I was never going to feel anything other than that.'

'Because of your cold virus?' Mycroft guessed. 'Yes, I suppose you would. Maybe now you'll be able to recover from that.'

'Hey!' John pouted, feeling accused.

'My apologies John. I didn't mean to imply you were a poor doctor.'

'Thank you.'

'But nonetheless, now that Sherlock is attached to an IV, maybe he'll regain some of the fluids he's lost.' Mycroft raised an eyebrow and John blushed, turning away to pet Sherlock's hair again.

Sherlock gave John a knowing look and smirked.

'Mmm,' Sherlock half panted. 'I feel as though I'm a furnace. That, added to the fact I apparently flat-lined three times, doesn't bode well.'

John paled. Sherlock had flat-lined? Three times? He had nearly lost him three times?

'I'll find a nurse and see if we can't bring your temperature down,' Mycroft said, purposefully leaving the room so John and Sherlock could talk. Of course, he would have a talk with Sherlock as well, but their chat could wait. Right now, John needed him.

'You... You died three times?' John asked softly, swallowing audibly.

'Me and my big mouth,' Sherlock sighed. 'But yes. I flat-lined at least three times, maybe more.'

'Maybe more?' John gasped. 'Sherlock, honey, how can you be so nonchalant about saying that? You  _died!_  Multiple times! How are you so calm? Are you still high?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Maybe a little.' He paused and cocked his head. 'I am sorry.'

'I'm sorry too. I should never have left you alone. I should have called in and said I wouldn't be available for the rest of the week.' John sighed and looked down at his shoes. 'What caused you to do it this time? Run into Anderson again? Oh! Before I forget, I finally managed to smack him about a bit for you. Pretty sure I broke his nose too.'

Sherlock laughed, his lips pulling back into a smile. 'Thank you. I'm guessing Lestrade just turned a blind eye then?' He decided to avoid the whole answer John was looking for. He didn't want to upset him further by telling him the truth.

'Sherlock, you're avoiding the question,' John said, avoiding Sherlock's own question. 'What happened?'

'I went upstairs in your room.' Sherlock let out a sigh. 'I found something and I flipped out.'

'What did you – oh.' John swallowed and sighed, hanging his head in shame. 'The razor.'

'Yes,' Sherlock said in a small voice. 'It still had your blood on it.'

'It was days old, not recent. I – I'm sorry you found it. I should have taken care of it properly. It's my fault then that you're in such a state. I'm so sorry.'

'Don't you dare,' Sherlock scolded John. 'I am the one who went to my dealer again. And I am the one who lied to you. This is not your fault.'

'I'm the one who left the razor out, which you stumbled upon, which caused you to go to that Dave guy, who got you high,' John sighed. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have stayed home, I shouldn't have gone to work, I should have stayed with you and taken care of you. Maybe we could have moved my things together. If you had still found the razor we would have been able to sit down and talk about it instead of you running off and getting high. I should have stayed here. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

'Shut up.' Sherlock tugged John's hand hard. 'Just shut up, stop thinking for a little bit, and hop onto the bed and hug me,' he requested.

John sighed and carefully climbed onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Sherlock in a soft hug. He laid his head against his chest and listened to his erratic heartbeat.

'Can't you just let me feel guilty? I have spent so much time bottling my guilt inside. And look at where it's gotten me.' He pushed up the right sleeve of his jumper and gazed upon the six newest slashes. 'This is what I did to cope with the guilt. So, can I please just feel guilty for once? Can I?'

Sherlock brushed his fingertips over John's scars. 'But none of this is your fault,' he hushed. 'None of it.'

'Just – shut up, Sherlock,' John sighed. 'Stop thinking, stop blaming yourself, and let me cope with this.'

Sherlock sealed his lips tightly shut and shifted where he lay underneath John, his erection for once not wanted but still summoned by John's presence.

John ignored Sherlock's very obvious erection and closed his eyes, allowing himself to think. If he had just taken care of the damn razor when he had made those cuts then none of this would have happened. If he hadn't gone to work then none of this would have happened. But he had needed to go to work. Someone had to bring in the money to pay rent and buy food. Not that he and Sherlock ate much anymore, but John needed the work. It distracted him from how stressful and awkward his life had become. He had fallen out with his lover, had stopped eating, had started cutting and smoking. All of which were hazardous to his health alone, but together were a dangerous combination. He was unfit, ill, and possibly crazy. Especially since he had begun seeing a deranged version of Sherlock telling him terrible things. He should have checked himself into a mental institution ages ago. Too late now.

Sherlock lightly tossled John's mop of golden hair. His beautiful, far too thin, self destructive, and now – again by the smell of his skin – heavily smoking John.

'What happened to us? We used to be so good for each other,' he mused out loud.

John blinked, roused from his thoughts, and looked up at Sherlock. What did happen to them? What had gone wrong?

'Moriarty,' John said. 'He did this to us. We were absolutely fine until he threatened my life. And then his henchman beat you up, and then Moriarty fucked with your memories, and now there's your doppelgänger in the hospital...' John trailed off, settling back against Sherlock's chest.

'Moriarty said he would burn the heart out of you. And seeing as I'm your heart, he's taking me from you in the most ingenious way possible. He's making me destroy myself.'

'We have to get away,' Sherlock said, almost pleading with John. 'Can we please just get out of London? Just go.'

He shifted uncomfortably under John and squeezed his arms around him. 'Let's just go to the countryside. I don't know where. But we need a break from all this.'

'I hear America is nice this time of year,' John mused, hugging Sherlock a little tighter. 'And it's a fair distance from here, eighteen hours or so of flight across the pond and we'll be away from it all.'

'Yes,' Sherlock agreed. 'America is rather nice. Shall we go there then? Start a new life? Away from everything?'

'You would just up and leave? Just like that?' John sat up and stared down at Sherlock. 'No more cases? No more body parts from Saint Bart's? No more Lestrade, your brother, Molly, or Mrs Hudson? You would just leave everything behind? Is it really that easy for you?'

'No.' Sherlock shook his head. 'The thought is making me quite queasy; or that may be because I'm ill.' He shrugged. 'I would do it for you. You're wasting away, John. You're cutting and you reek of cigarettes. So I'll do it for you.'

John swallowed and settled back against Sherlock's chest.

'Yeah. Sorry. Picked up the habit while you were in a coma. Quit not long before you woke up, but it came back when, you know.' He swallowed again before continuing. 'I don't want to live in America. No offence, but I can't just up and leave my life like that. I think maybe a long holiday, through the summer, and we can get healthy again. Fix ourselves, be good for each other again. It could be nice. A summer long holiday in America.'

'Just us, fast food, no cares in the world, and constant sex.' Sherlock grinned and wiggled beneath John. 'No arguments from me.'

'Sorry, but I learned my lesson the last time you were in a hospital,' John apologised as he wriggled away from Sherlock's groin. 'No more sex in hospital beds. But the constant sex in America does sound very appealing. We'll have Mycroft send us somewhere remote but bustling. I couldn't deal with quiet, country, American life. I might just die of boredom.'

Sherlock huffed and pouted. 'Fine,' he sighed. 'And of course, I was simply suggesting the countryside for myself.' Sherlock chewed on his lower lip. 'So I don't bump into any drug dealers.'

'Sherlock, there are going to be drug dealers everywhere you go in America,' John sighed. 'Doesn't matter how far you are from a big city, drug dealers aren't in short supply. It's America for Christ's sake. They have an over abundance of everything. Whether it's obesity, debt, or drug dealers. Doesn't matter. They apparently need to be the best at everything, including the worst things. Like unemployment, homelessness, and murders per year. And they're so damn ignorant about everything! I bet you not one person we might encounter would be able to tell us where England is on a map.'

Sherlock snorted. 'That doesn't sound like Americans. It sounds more like the entire human race. And yes, you're right. I just don't trust myself at all at the moment. With good reason too. I almost died of overdosing twice within a short space of time.'

'Maybe we should focus on getting you well before we go on holiday,' John suggested. 'Maybe then you wouldn't be so prone on wandering off to find drugs.'

'Very well,' Sherlock agreed, his brow creasing. 'My brother wants me to go to rehab.'

'I think that would be wise,' John nodded. 'Maybe I should check in to a mental institution. With my cutting and the voices and all that. And the starvation, let's not forget about that.'

'You're not crazy,' Sherlock scolded. 'You're just under a lot of stress.'

'Sherlock, I have had voices in my head for the past six months. Telling me to do all kinds of disturbing and regretful things. Killing myself and you among them. Tell me how that isn't crazy? Maybe I'm schizophrenic.'

'So?' Sherlock shrugged. 'I have a billion voices in my head. Why do you think I'm constantly having mood swings? It's just a part of life. Though I suppose I've had longer to cope with mine. It just takes time.'

'Sherlock, you are a frighteningly mad genius. I would have been surprised if you didn't have voices in your head, spewing deductions constantly. Hell, even Mozart was tortured by finding music in every little detail about life, the music constantly playing in his head. Or, that's one theory at least. Not sure if that's been proven or not, but it seems pretty legitimate. I'm just worried that I'm losing my mind. This isn't normal for me, and it has me deeply worried. I don't want to kill myself, you, or anyone for that matter. And I'm scared I may listen to the voices one day.'

'I understand that. I really do. My voices tell me to do bad things too. They scream at me constantly. They hurt me in ways I don't think even you would comprehend.' Sherlock rubbed his head. 'Sometimes, I don't know where I start and where the voices end. Sometimes they become me.'

John didn't say anything. He was too afraid to speak now. Sherlock's voices were so much worse than his. At least John only had one voice, but it was Sherlock strung out on drugs. He clutched to Sherlock and buried his nose in his chest, inhaling his scent to remind himself Sherlock hadn't listened to the voices. Well, not to the extent that he had permanently harmed himself, someone else, or worse.

'Is that why you have trouble sleeping?' he finally managed to ask. 'Because of the voices?'

'The voices replay every negative memory in my mind that has ever happened to me, John. If I sleep I give them more control over me. I am afraid I will kill myself or others if I sleep. I wouldn't be surprised if I am a freaky sleep murderer.' Sherlock shivered and his heart pounded in his chest. 'Even now I can barely hear myself over the voices.'

'Then let me attempt to shut them out,' John said softly, sealing his lips to Sherlock's in a possessive kiss.

Sherlock kissed John back softly. 'I wuv you,' he giggled lightly against his lover's lips.

'Wuv you too,' John mumbled back before capturing Sherlock's lips again.

Sherlock dragged John up him with the arm that wasn't attached to the IV. 'Screw hospital rules,' he ushered. 'Get me a damn release.'

'Does it stop the voices?'

'For a while, yes.' Sherlock shifted his hips. 'Please?'

'Ok.'

John kissed Sherlock again before moving down his body, pushing the blanket away as he went. He pushed Sherlock's hospital gown up until it sat above his waist, his erection bobbing happily in front of John's face. He slathered Sherlock's prick with saliva before engulfing him whole, bobbing furiously. Sherlock rutted against John's lips slowly but urgently. He moved himself so he hit the back of John's throat with a deep moan.

'Bollocks!' he cried out. 'Gah! Bloody bollocks!'

John took that as a demand rather than the profanity it was. His left hand travelled to Sherlock's bollocks and rolled them in his palm gently before tugging and allowing them to snap back into place.

'Gah! Mmm. Fuck!' Sherlock was already panting in exhaustion. 'Massage! Rough! Bollocks! Now!'

John hollowed his cheeks and pressed the heel of his hand roughly against Sherlock's bollocks, moving it against them in short, rough strokes. Sherlock's breathing came out in short, ragged breaths. His heart monitor became a shrill chorus. He was close now. So close. John began bobbing his head again, sucking hard as he did. His hand moved rough and fast against Sherlock's drawn bollocks. He was close. Deliciously close. John could already taste him on his tongue. Not long now. John decided to pull roughly on Sherlock's tight bollocks and suck hard on his cock like it was a straw simultaneously to send him over the edge.

That was it. His body writhed upwards and he bucked harshly, almost choking John. Whoops. He'd apologise later. For now he was content in cumming down John's throat at a rapid rate, screaming John's name, his heart almost stopping several times as it was beating so fast. John spluttered and gagged but didn't choke. His throat hurt but he'd take care of that later. He released Sherlock's cock to splat against his abdomen and looked at his panting, debauched lover. He looked calm despite how fast his heart was racing.

Oh shit.

John turned to the door to face a rather disturbed looking Mycroft and a very red-faced nurse.

'Before you do something, let me explain,' John said just as the nurse grabbed him by the ear and took him off the bed. She took John from the room and led him to the lift, shoving him in without a word.

'When can I come back?' John asked, slamming a hand against the lift door to keep it from closing.

'You can't,' she shot back.

'But I work here!' John protested.

'Not anymore. I'll see to that!'

'Sarah won't fire me! She knows I'm a good doctor!' John yelled as he allowed the lift to close and take him down to ground level. He decided to sit in the waiting area and sulk. Mycroft would have to come out eventually, right? Maybe then he could relay how Sherlock was feeling after their own talk.

Sherlock's after sex mood quickly left him for a far fouler one. 'Bring him back now!' he roared. 'Idiots!'

'He'll be fine,' Mycroft sighed. 'He's just in the lobby, sulking.'

Sherlock pouted. 'I want him here. It's not fair. He was hardly doing me any harm.'

'Sherlock, he was giving you heart palpitations, and I'm pretty sure it stopped a few times as well.' Mycroft sat down in the chair by the side of the bed and looked on at his little brother.

Sherlock snorted. 'In which case it's a surprise I'm not dead already.' He saw his brother's face fall and instantly felt guilty. 'I'm sorry. I was merely stating that John makes my heart do weird things.'

'As Gregory does to mine, but this time is different. You nearly died multiple times on the ride over, as I have been informed. Having John add to that by giving you heart palpitations is not safe.'

'He was helping me,' Sherlock sighed. 'And I was helping him. We both have rather similar states of mind currently.'

'The self destructive sort, yes, I know.'

'It's not as simple as that,' Sherlock frowned. 'He wants himself locked up in a mental institution.'

'Really? Because of the cutting and the eating disorder? Understandable. I'm sure I could find a suitable one for him. One where he could quit his heavy smoking habit as well.' Mycroft was already searching his mental database for suitable mental institutions that would cater to John's needs.

'He hears a voice inside his head too,' Sherlock said brokenly. 'Apparently it's the dark version of me. He sees the dark version too, as an actual person. He's terrified of him.'

Mycroft blinked and looked at his little brother. 'John is seeing and hearing a voice who just so happens to look like a dark version of you? How long has this been going on?'

'Since I've been in a coma apparently,' Sherlock retorted sharply. 'I told him that he isn't as insane as me. He hears one voice. I hear billions.'

'As do I. Perhaps it is the curse of genius minds. Although, I highly doubt you and I hear billions of voices. I honestly don't believe that it is humanly possible to create a billion different voices inside your own head.

'As for John, if he's seeing an actual person attached to his voice, maybe he should get some help. He isn't as strong as we are, and if only one voice is causing him so much trouble then perhaps I should check him in somewhere. And you into rehab as well.'

'Maybe that would be for the best,' Sherlock nodded solemnly before he cocked his head. 'Do your voices tell you to do bad things, My?' he asked, genuinely curious.

'Of course they do.' Mycroft nearly scoffed at the notion that voices did anything but. 'How else do you think I started binge eating and cutting?'

'I know that,' Sherlock said tenderly. 'I meant to others around you. Do they tell you to harm them?'

'For a while they told me to harm Gregory. That's why I didn't get close to him while you were in a coma. But they've never told me to hurt you or Mummy or John. At least, not yet.'

'Ok.' Sherlock bit his lip. 'My, can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer it. It's about father.'

Mycroft shifted in his seat and swallowed before nodding.

'Was he... bipolar?' Sherlock questioned. The thought had been playing on his mind since his coma dream.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. How had Sherlock known that? He hadn't told him that. Had he?

'Yes, he was. How did you know that?'

Sherlock exhaled tiredly and hid his face in his hands. 'It doesn't matter.'

'No. I suppose it doesn't.' Mycroft clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth in thought. 'Why do you ask?'

'In my dream... you were bipolar,' Sherlock whispered. 'Father had passed it on to you.'

'Oh.' Mycroft paused to think. 'That could explain my mood swings of late.'

'Do me a favor, My. Get yourself checked out,' Sherlock ordered. 'Before you decide to smack me one preferably,' he smiled weakly.

Mycroft smiled softly and nodded. 'Sure thing little brother. Whatever you say. Seems we're all, what's the kind terminology? Oh yes. Fucked up in the head.'

Sherlock grinned. 'And what's that other saying? Takes one to know one.'

Mycroft laughed, really laughed for the first time in months.

'Oh, thank you for that,' Mycroft said, wiping at one of his eyes. 'I needed that. So, is there anything else I can do for you? If not, I'm going to leave to book accommodations for us all. And I'll send John back up as well.'

'Well some food wouldn't go amiss,' Sherlock said, still grinning. 'Food and John. That's all I need right now. And perhaps one of the less dreadful nurses to give me something for my fever.'

'Of course,' Mycroft smiled gently. 'Food and your John. And a proper nurse to bring your fever down.' He stood and adjusted his jacket and walked over to Sherlock's bedside. He paused slightly before placing a gentle kiss to his brother's forehead.

'I'll see you later. John will be up soon.'

Before his brother could protest, Sherlock had dragged him into a hug. It wasn't tight because he didn't want to rip any of his wires, but it was warm and comforting. Mycroft froze for a moment before wrapping an arm around Sherlock in a gentle hug.

'Get better soon,' he mumbled, standing up and walking to the door. 'I'll be back later with all our accommodations. Let John know too.'

'Will do,' Sherlock assured his brother. 'Please take care, Mycroft.' He eyed his brother carefully.

'I always do,' Mycroft smiled softly. He waved goodbye to Sherlock and exited the room. He first made sure to get a nurse to lower his brother's temperature. Then, he talked to the staff about letting John back up to stay in Sherlock's room and watch over him. With that all sorted, Mycroft found John and told him all that had happened and how he had sorted everything out. John thanked him and dashed for the lift, taking it up to Sherlock's floor and dashing back to his love's room.

Sherlock's entire face lit up as John stormed into his room. 'Hello, dear.' His voice sounded a little slurred. The nurses had given him something to help reduce his fever and to help him sleep too. 'They allowed you back in then?'

'Yeah. Mycroft cleared everything up. Said we'd all be getting help too.' He looked at Sherlock and cocked his head. 'They give you something?'

Sherlock hummed and glanced at his drip. 'The world really is a beautiful place, isn't it?' He sighed giddily. 'Though I fear more rain is in store for later on, dear. Not that rain isn't beautiful.' He was rambling sleepily now.

'Love, you aren't making sense,' John said softly. He smoothed some of Sherlock's hair down and smiled. 'Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake. Promise.'

'I am making sense. You're just not keeping up,' Sherlock huffed grumpily but closed his eyes anyway. 'N-ight.'

'I think you make sense to yourself, but to me it sounds like you're speaking another language. Maybe you are.' John placed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's forehead and sighed. 'Sleep now, love. I'll see you when you wake.'

Sherlock found his sleep filled with dreams again. This time they were a little more pleasant. Probably due to whatever the nurses had given him. However, they were still disturbing. He was being chased by fan girls.

'I do not even remotely resemble an otter! Get your hands of my shirt. Yes, I know it's the purple shirt of sex but hands off! No, I do not want to see your fan art. Dear lord what is that meant to be?! I don't believe John and I have tried that position before. I'm not sure I'm that flexible in real life.'

John slept slumped over in a chair, his head resting on Sherlock's bed, his arms serving as his pillow. He didn't sleep nearly as peacefully as Sherlock appeared to be. His dreams were fu of a drug addicted Sherlock, ambling about the flat, himself covered in slashes and stick thin. Moriarty came later and set John on fire, literally burning Sherlock's heart. But Sherlock was too drugged to care it seemed.

John woke suddenly, drenched in a cold sweat and a harsh scream dying in his throat. He took deep breaths, trying to calm down, looking at a peacefully sleeping Sherlock to show himself that he was alive and well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the weird ending. I wasn't sure where to cut it off for the next chapter, so this had to do because the next bit is about their time together before they go away to their rehab facilities. And it'll be tough for John and Sherlock to be apart after just having gotten back together. But there will be smut before they go. Lots of sexy times for our boys ahead ;)
> 
> And this Friday's post might be a bit late as well because I'll be taking a road test at nine in the freaking morning, and then I'll be watching the first Star Trek movie (JJ Abrams version) with my roommate and then we'll be going out to see Into Darkness later that night. While I will be getting it on Blu-Ray from Amazon, I won't be getting it until that Friday or Saturday. And I can't wait for the special features! Neutron cream, behind the scenes, bloopers! And Benedict. Can't forget him. ;)  
> Happy Red Pants Monday everyone. And we'll see you Friday.
> 
> TSA + IB


	33. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting last Friday. I really wanted to because it was a Friday the Thirteenth and those are my favourite unofficial holidays ;) But I was super busy all day taking my driver's test (I passed!) and was job shadowing for most of the afternoon. Then I went and saw my campus' showing of Star Trek Into Darkness and unf is all I can say about Benedict. And I was just incredibly lazy all weekend, so there's no excuse for this late chapter. So I'm giving you all two to make up for it :)
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John  
> Shared: Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: lewd acts in hospital, blow jobs, goodbye sex, EMOTIONS, angst, angst, angst.

After a few long hours of being chased by fan girls, Sherlock began to rouse. His head thumped horribly so. It was like a giant was awakening within his mind, running about causing havoc, roaring at the top of its lungs. The voices in his mind just so happened to be exceptionally loud too. It was too bright. And his body was yelling at him, 'Get me a fix! Get me a fix now!'

John watched as Sherlock woke up, his heart monitor picking up as he registered not only where he was but that his body was probably screaming at him for another fix.

'Hey,' he said softly, licking some moisture back into his lips. 'Did you sleep well?'

Sherlock let his eyes move to where John sat. 'The fan girls were after my purple shirt,' he huffed unhappily, rubbing at his eyes.

'But that's my favourite shirt,' John pouted but quickly smiled. 'You look absolutely delicious in it.'

'Mmm. That's why they call it the purple shirt of sex.' He smiled as he came up with an idea. 'I could wear it during sex. Just the shirt.'

'I don't know,' John hummed. 'I wouldn't want to ruin it. Maybe you could wear it during foreplay?'

'Yes,' Sherlock purred at the idea. 'I shall do that.'

'I can't wait,' John hummed. He grabbed onto Sherlock's hand and squeezed tightly.

Sherlock squeezed back and closed his eyes. 'My head is killing me,' he complained.

'Do you want some high end pain killers? I'm sure a nurse could bring you something.'

Sherlock grunted. 'I don't need another thing to be addicted to. Though it may help.'

'I won't let you get addicted to anything else,' John said, hitting the call button. 'We're all going to be checked in somewhere and we're all going to get the help we need. Then, once we're all better, you and I are going to take a much deserved and needed holiday across the pond.'

'What if one of us doesn't recover?' Sherlock asked. 'What if this is the last time I see you?'

'No. Don't think like that,' John scolded. 'Because guess what? We'll see each other again before we leave for our facilities. We have to pack, don't we? And some goodbye sex is definitely in order before we go.'

'Yes, I know.' Sherlock tilted his head sideways in thought and winced his eyes open. 'I just can't help be a pessimist. Rehab wasn't useful to me before. It was Lestrade who pulled me out of the dark.'

'And how did Lestrade do it before? Think he could do it again?' John took note of Sherlock's winced eyes and moved to shut the lights off. A nurse was at the door and he told her they needed something for a powerful migraine, pain level seven or eight. She nodded and went to get the proper medication. John then moved to close the blinds but left one little corner of light open so that he could still see.

'He won't help.' Sherlock relaxed a little as the harsh light was replaced by darkness. 'Did you see his reaction when Mycroft said that I'd relapsed? He is clearly worried about relapsing himself. I do not blame him. It's too easy to be pulled back into the dark.'

'I thought he just didn't want to arrest you? Makes me wonder why you haven't been arrested this time too.' John sat back down in his chair and brushed Sherlock's curls off his damp forehead. 'But, yes, I suppose he's worried about himself as well. What were you taking anyway? Coke? Heroin? Meth? Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to be mad. I swear. I'm just worried for you.'

'That would be loyalty to my brother. I highly doubt he would be in Mycroft's good books if he arrested me.' He bit his lip anxiously. 'I've taken all three of those in the past and more,' he admitted. 'But cocaine was always my favourite.'

'You went to a shit dealer then,' John frowned. 'If you nearly overdosed the first time and nearly died multiple times this time – I want him gone. But I bet Mycroft has already found him and now he's at Greg's mercy.'

'I hope so,' Sherlock agreed. 'Hopefully Mycroft will be far more thorough this time around in Dave's arrest.'

'He arrested him before but let him go? Why?' John quirked an eyebrow. The nurse returned and handed John some pills, stating to give Sherlock one every four hours as needed. John nodded and thanked her, handing Sherlock one of the pills and a cup of water as she left.

'Dave was a young teenager at the time. Mycroft does have some compassion.' Sherlock took the pill and sipped at the water. 'May I have something to eat?' he asked. 'I fell asleep last night before I could have some.'

'Oh. You haven't eaten? You probably should have before you took that.' John shrugged and handed Sherlock the hospital's lunch menu. 'I'll get a nurse after you decide what you want.'

Sherlock pulled faces at all the options on the menu but finally settled on one. 'I'll just have a ham sandwich.'

'Better than nothing,' John smiled softly. He hit the call button and relayed to the nurse what Sherlock wanted. She nodded and went off to get a sandwich.

'Come and snuggle me?' Sherlock budged up in the bed and lifted up the cover. John grinned and shifted onto Sherlock's bed, entangling their legs beneath the covers. He hummed and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock kissed John's nose and smiled, stroking one of his feet against his lover's leg.

'I'm bored,' he sighed. 'Want to play truth or dare without the dares?' he chuckled childishly.

'We can add the dares once we get home,' John grinned. 'You first.'

Sherlock smirked. 'Have you got a pet name for your cock that you only use in private? That not even I know about?'

'Yes,' John blushed. 'It's going to sound stupid, but I call it Little John, after the Robin Hood character. Because he's short and fat, and so's my cock. And, you know, we're both named John so it works out. It's cheesy, I know.'

Sherlock's eyes danced with amusement. 'I can assure you there is nothing to be embarrassed about.'

'Yeah. I know.' John blushed further. 'What do you call yours then? You should have a name for it by now, after all we've done.'

'Jack, as in Captain Jack Sparrow,' Sherlock grinned. 'I always wanted to be a pirate. My cock is living the dream.'

'I rather like that,' John grinned. 'Can I just call it Captain?'

'Is this you finally allowing me to be the dom?' Sherlock's grin widened. 'Because once you have there's no going back.'

'That counts as a question. And, no. I'll always fight for dominance. It adds a certain something to our love making. As for my question–' He paused when the nurse returned with Sherlock's sandwich. It was wrapped extensively in cling wrap, but it was a sandwich nonetheless. He opened it and passed it to Sherlock.

'Eat. My question is: was I your first kiss, or was there someone in your youth you may have liked or experimented with?'

Sherlock chewed on his sandwich, or rather picked at it. Hospital food was truly abysmal.

'To be quite honest, if I did I can't remember. I started the drugs at thirteen, kept to myself, hated the company of others, and spent most of my time experimenting in my lab and staying as far away from my father as possible. So if I did I was high, but I highly doubt it. I only had a small group of peers and none of them said anything about me trying it on with them. Relationships bored me anyway. Never really saw the point. So, yes. You were my first ever kiss. You. No one else.'

'That's sad,' John frowned. 'While I'm flattered that I was your first kiss, it's quite sad that you went through your youth the way you did. I swear, I will find your father and kill him myself. Mycroft doesn't get a second chance to fix that mistake.'

'Don't.' Sherlock frowned and shook his head. 'If you ever come across his path then you run, John.'

'That would go against my basic soldier instinct. He's a threat to us both, your brother, and your mother. I will defend us all and won't retreat until it seems like there's no way I can win.' He frowned and sighed deeply. 'Ask me another question before my mind traps me.'

'Ok,' Sherlock mused. 'Do you have any hidden talents? Like my violin playing? Can you play a musical instrument? Are you artistic? And so on.'

'Learned the clarinet in school but I don't remember how to play it now. And I can't draw worth shit. So, no. No hidden talents. Not that I can think of anyway.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'You do know that learning the clarinet is a euphemism for giving blow jobs.'

'Yes, I know,' John blushed. 'But I did actually learn the clarinet in school. The actual instrument, not the euphemism.'

'Oh no?' Sherlock raised his eyebrow further. 'Was I the one who taught you the clarinet?' he smirked.

'Yes. Yes you did,' John grinned. 'Have I been a good student?'

'An excellent student indeed,' Sherlock purred. 'Though Mycroft scolded me. Said you were going to send me into cardiac arrest via such actions or something along that line.'

'Well I would hate to do that,' John said. 'Shall I go easy on you whilst you're still in hospital?'

'Don't you dare,' Sherlock said defiantly, kissing John on the lips roughly. John gave a muffled 'mmph!' when Sherlock kissed him suddenly. He quickly eased into it, parting his lips slightly and licking along Sherlock's upper lip. The kiss was just enough to allow Sherlock to feel like things would be ok. They'd both get help and everything would be just fine.

'Ahem.'

John broke their kiss to look at Mycroft. He was standing in the doorway, a small smile on his face.

'Sorry to interrupt, but I have all our accommodations.' He passed John and Sherlock each an envelope. 'Your facility and information about it are all inside, as well as your departure dates. I'm giving you a week's notice. One, so Sherlock can get over his cold, and two, so I don't separate you two longer than needed.'

Sherlock blinked up at his brother and nodded solemnly. 'That was very thoughtful of you, Mycroft. Thank you.'

'I know how much you mean to each other. Gregory and I are the same. And, after having been apart for so long whilst you were in a coma, I would rather not take you away from each other again so soon.'

'Thank you,' John said, clutching his envelope tight. 'For everything.'

'You are quite welcome, John. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment of my own to keep. I shall see you both off in a week.'

'Goodbye, brother.' Sherlock gave his brother a genuine smile. 'Keep living the James Bond life to the full.' His smile increased.

Benny had said that his brother was akin to James Bond and although it had been a dream, and his son had been ironically overdosing, it still made him smile. His brother was indeed just an older version of James Bond.

'Thank you,' Mycroft said. 'It's an exciting yet dangerous life, but it's mine. And who knows? Maybe one day I'll run MI6. See you in a week.' He left with a wave of his umbrella.

'James Bond life, huh?' John said with a grin. 'James Bond survived deletion? As did Doctor Who and Lord of the Rings. What other pop culture references are stored in that palace of yours?'

'Sometimes films and television come in handy for cases,' Sherlock replied. 'They provide me with wonderful entertainment too. I can replay anything I've ever watched like a film in my head.'

'Oh? Must be nice. Do you play them when you're bored sometimes? Is that what you're doing when you're on the couch after I come home from work or shopping? Watching a movie in your head?'

'Watching movies, re-reading novels, shifting through my mind to solve cases.' Sherlock paused. 'And sometimes I was thinking of you.'

'What kinds of things would you think about?' John asked, budging closer to Sherlock and nuzzling his neck.

'I used to mainly think of ways I could sabotage your dates,' Sherlock said, no regret filling his words. 'Then, as we became closer, I began to think of far dirtier things.'

'Oh?' John said, far more interested than before. 'Want to share a fantasy I may be able to fulfill before we leave for rehab?'

'Well, I know you love jam,' Sherlock blushed. 'So I imagined myself getting completely covered in the stuff whilst you lapped it all up.'

'I like that idea,' John grinned. He experimentally licked a thick stripe from the hollow of Sherlock's throat up to his jaw and grinned. 'You taste great on your own. I can't wait to add jam into the mix.'

Sherlock groaned. 'And that little fantasy came along way before we became a couple. Wrong of me I know, but a completely delicious idea.'

'How long had you been wrestling with your feelings for me before that fateful night?' John asked, placing gentle kisses along Sherlock's throat and jaw.

'Long enough for it to become almost painful.' Sherlock moved his neck so John's lips could reach everywhere. 'You may have noticed my particularly sullen moods before the whole fairy event.'

'Yes. You had been silent for days and quite snippy on your cases. Even Greg's patience had been tested. So, that was you trying to work out the new emotions you had towards me?'

'I didn't know what to do, what to think, or how to act around you. My mind was screaming at me to do one thing and my heart was beginning to speak to me for the first time in years,' Sherlock told John, a large amount of clarity ringing in each word he spoke, the bitterly confused feelings from all that time ago spiking in the back of his mind.

'And what was your heart saying?' John asked, sucking on Sherlock's collarbone. 'To tell me how you felt? Kiss me?'

'It was telling me to hold you tight and to never let you go.' Sherlock smiled, a little embarrassed 'Sounds like a terrible chick flick movie quote.'

'Just the fact that you know what chick flick movie dialogue is like is surprising. Let alone that your heart was telling you to do that.' He paused in his kisses and held Sherlock close, being mindful of the wires he was hooked up to.

'But now that I've got you, I'm never going to let you go. I'm going to hold you tight, just like you said, and love you every minute of every day.' He laughed slightly. 'Now that sounded like a line from a chick flick.'

Sherlock's embarrassment increased. 'Yes, well, I did some extensive research. I watched as many chick flicks, as well as gay porn, as possible. I needed to somehow make sense of my feelings for you. Besides, the words are completely true.'

'You watched gay porn?' John asked, sitting up to study Sherlock's face. 'What did that teach you about how you felt about me?'

'It simply enhanced my physical attraction for you.' Sherlock budged closer. 'I began having dreams after that. About you doing all those things to me.'

'Mmm. What kinds of things?' John asked, his eyes almost going black. He shifted closer to Sherlock, pressing a leg between Sherlock's thighs and pushing them open.

'All sorts of naughty things,' Sherlock breathed out heavily. 'Involving whips, and cream, and chains.'

'Whips and chains, huh?' John began mouthing at Sherlock's throat again, sucking a bright red mark just below his Adam's apple. 'Not sure we should go that far yet. We'll start with the riding crop.'

'I am liking the little "yet" that came out.' He let a hand wander underneath the sheets to John's thigh.

John groaned and budged closer, his own hand wandering down Sherlock's chest and abdomen.

'Gotta start small, you know? Like I said, we'll start with the riding crop and work our way up from there.'

Sherlock reached for John's zipper. 'Oh, I agree entirely.' John groaned and pushed his groin closer to Sherlock's hand, his own cupping Sherlock through his hospital gown.

Sherlock slapped John's hand away. 'Do you want to get chucked out again? Attached to a heart monitor, remember? You, on the other hand, are not.'

'Don't care. Want you.' John's hips thrust towards Sherlock's hand against his will, telling the detective to hurry up. Sherlock pulled the zipper down and then John's pants, grabbing John's cock and drawing it out of its confines. John moaned and clutched onto Sherlock tightly, shifting so he was in a more comfortable position. Sherlock massaged John with his fingertips and then reached further down his pants to cup his bollocks.

'Mmm. Oh, fuck,' John moaned, pressing down on Sherlock's hand. 'Shit. Rougher. Please.' Sherlock squeezed the bollocks tighter together and then gave them a small flick with his fingers. John's eyes snapped open and he stopped breathing. Jesus fucking Christ that felt good. More than good. Fucking brilliant.

'Do that again,' he said, barely above a whisper.

'Which?' Sherlock asked. He squeezed the bollocks together again. 'This?' He then flicked them. 'Or that?'

'Both!' John nearly screamed. Sherlock continued to squeeze and flick John's bollocks till he was certain that John was close. John had leant his head on Sherlock's shoulder, his hands clutched the sheets tightly. He was panting harshly and had his eyes clenched shut.

'Not long now,' he gasped out.

Sherlock laughed and pressed the heel of his hand against John's bollocks. 'Cum now, baby.'

John grit his teeth and slowly began to cum. He buried his face in Sherlock's shoulder and rut against Sherlock's hand, drawing out his orgasm and working himself through it. When he finally relaxed he collapsed against Sherlock, panting and humming.

Sherlock caressed John's bollocks before stuffing John's cock into his pants once more.

'Thank you, love,' John panted, smiling against Sherlock's chest. A thought suddenly occurred to him and he propped himself up on shaky arms to look at his lover.

'Did you call me "baby?"'

'Yes. Yes I did,' Sherlock grinned. 'Because you're so small and cute.'

'I am not,' John pouted. 'Ok. Ok, so I'm small. But I'm thirty six. Cute is an adjective you use for a puppy or a six-year-old. I am too old to even be considered cute.'

'My baby,' Sherlock cooed. 'My little baby John.'

'I'm not a baby,' John pouted, settling against Sherlock again. 'Although I like the pet name, I'm not a baby. I would much rather have you call me a hobbit than a baby.'

'But I don't get to cuddle hobbits. Babies on the other hand...' He tugged at John's waist tightly with both arms. John hummed and budged closer, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist.

'Just don't call me a baby all the time, ok? Kinda makes me feel... emasculated.'

'But my baby is a beautiful man. There is no need to feel like that.' Sherlock trailed kisses down John's neck. John hummed again, leaning into Sherlock's kisses.

'And  _my_  baby is a gorgeous sex god,' he purred.

'Who's that then?' Sherlock asked innocently.

'Oh, just this guy I know,' John smirked. 'Tall, dark, and handsome. Just like in the movies. He can be a bit of a berk, but I love him.'

Sherlock pretended to look sad. 'So, you've replaced me already?'

John's face fell. 'Love, I know we were only pretending, but that wasn't funny. I would never replace you. Ever.'

'I know,' Sherlock hushed. 'I know.'

'I know it was only a game, but don't joke about it. Don't even pretend that we're breaking up so we can have "please don't leave me" sex. Don't. Ok? I only got you back two days ago. The wound is still healing.'

Sherlock's eyes rippled with tears. 'I'm sorry,' he choked. 'I really am. Forgive me.'

'Oh baby,' John smiled gently, his own eyes glistening with tears. 'You're already forgiven.' He pulled Sherlock in for a comforting kiss, holding his face in his hands and massaging his head gently with his fingertips.

The tears fell as Sherlock kissed John. 'Mmm sorry,' he mumbled through the kiss.

'Me too baby. Me too,' John whispered. He pulled himself up more, deepening their kiss. He just wanted to feel better, wanted to remind himself that Sherlock still wanted him. So he parted Sherlock's lips with his tongue and delved inside Sherlock's mouth, taking instead of giving. Sherlock pressed his body against John's, soaking up his every essence and digging his arousal into his lover's belly.

'I can fix that,' John moaned into Sherlock's mouth. 'Let me. Please.'

'You'll get caught,' Sherlock whimpered, rutting against John's belly.

'I can lock the door,' John stated, palming Sherlock through the sheet and his hospital gown. 'Let me do this for you. Please.'

'If you insist.' Sherlock pushed himself harder into John's hand.

'Don't go anywhere,' John joked, standing and rushing to the door. He closed it and locked it, drawing the little blind in the window for some extra privacy and darkness.

'Somehow the darkness just adds to the act,' John said, stumbling back to Sherlock's bed and crawling up from the foot of it. He pulled the covers down and pushed Sherlock's gown up, his erection bobbing free and waving in front of John's face. He licked up the length of it before engulfing the head and most of the shaft, sucking tightly while pressing his tongue against the vein on the underside of his lover's already profusely leaking cock. Sherlock panted like a dog, tongue poking out of his thick lips. His cock throbbed dangerously fast and the steady beeping of his heart became a jittery shrill sound, skipping every two beats.

'Calm down,' John said, releasing Sherlock's cock and taking him in hand. He pumped him steadily, trying to get Sherlock's heartbeat to even out. 'Your brother was right about the probable cardiac arrest. Relax, love. Breathe.'

'It's easy for you to say,' Sherlock moaned, thrusting himself into John's hand. 'I find it very hard to be calm around you as it is.'

'I do too baby,' John said, squeezing tighter as he peppered kisses along Sherlock's chest. 'You set my skin ablaze and send my heartbeat skyrocketing whenever you enter a room. One day I do believe you will kill me simply by existing. You are perfect.' He sucked a mark onto Sherlock's collarbone. 'Gorgeous.' Another mark right below his jaw. 'And absolutely fuckable every minute of every day.' He finally brought their lips back together and sucked his lover's tongue into his mouth, caressing it with his own as he swallowed it.

'Been looking in a mirror, have you?' he retorted. 'Because I do believe you just described yourself.' He lifted himself up slightly so he could slide in and out of John's fist with more ease.

'This is about you right now, Sherlock. Let me tell you nice things and you can believe them.' John pumped faster, whispering sweet nothings into Sherlock's ear. He stilled his hand suddenly, using his palm to gently caress his lover's cock before his fingers ventured further south. He gently traced Sherlock's bollocks with his fingertips, noting how tightly they were drawn close to his love's body.

'Do you want me to finish you off with my mouth and playing with your bollocks?' he asked, nipping Sherlock's neck gently as he spoke. 'You're close baby. Deliciously close. How do you want to cum? In my hand or down my throat?' He tousled his love's bollocks gently, grinning from ear to ear at how Sherlock nearly lurched into the air at the sensation.

'Throat, please,' Sherlock rasped. He wanted John's lips. He wanted John to taste him. He wanted his lover to kiss him after the deed was done so that he could taste himself.

John grinned and slid down Sherlock's body, shifting his cock so he could swallow it more efficiently. He sucked it down slowly, allowing his throat to relax before he began to swallow it. One hand was splayed on Sherlock's abdomen, the other fondling his balls and tugging them slightly.

'Look up at me,' Sherlock begged. 'I want to see your eyes as you – ooooh – as you're finishing me off.'

John flicked his gaze to stare at Sherlock's face, watching as it went from love and awe to oh-shit-fuck-I'm-close. John hummed, his throat vibrating against Sherlock's cock and swallowed around him, moving him in and out steadily while also tugging more on his bollocks.

_Cum for me! Cum for me now!_

John's eyes were like two shining jewels gleaming up at Sherlock. They say that eyes are the windows to human souls. John had a fucking beautiful soul then.

He felt his entire body shudder and his jaw fell slack with pleasure as he felt his thick cum beginning to trickle down John's throat like a gushing waterfall. His heart was back to beating out of control and he had to bite down hard on his lower lip to suppress a scream of his lover's name.

John swallowed Sherlock's load, massaging his bollocks as he worked him through his orgasm. When Sherlock finally relaxed John released him and moved back up to his lips, sealing them together so Sherlock could taste himself on John's tongue. John had noticed Sherlock particularly enjoyed that taste, of himself and John mixed together. John was rather fond of it as well. He opened his mouth and allowed Sherlock to explore, to taste.

Sherlock flicked his tongue out in a friendly greeting to John's. He lazily tasted the combination of his cum and his lover's lips. It tasted divine, as it always did. He lazily draped an arm over John's waist and sighed happily as they pulled back from the kiss to breathe.

'Your eyes are so beautiful,' he hushed under his breath, gazing up at the swirling, twinkling pools.

'Your nearly cumming face is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,' John murmured lazily. 'I may need to photograph it one day.'

Sherlock closed his eyes, a small sound thrumming in the back of his throat as he agreed with John. 'Maybe one day, dear.'

'You should sleep. You look knackered,' John said softly. 'Before I forget, how's your head feeling?'

'It's a little fogged up and it feels as though a miniature Dalek is trying to exterminate my brain,' Sherlock grumbled tiredly.

'Well, it's a good thing you've got a doctor around,' John grinned. He placed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 'Try to sleep, love.'

Sherlock grunted in reply as he floated away into the world of fan girls chasing him once more.

After that, John was a little more careful about pleasuring Sherlock. At least while he was hooked up to the heart monitor. As soon as that was gone John was swallowing him down like an ice cold beer. His cold virus was going away quickly as well. It seemed Sherlock had a pretty decent immune system. Must have been his constant experimentation. Either way, if Sherlock was getting better, it meant that they would be leaving soon. And John wasn't ready for that.

**…::-::…**

Time flowed quickly and all too soon Sherlock found himself fully recovered from his virus. Despite the fact he had been a sickly child, it seemed his body was coping a little better with fighting off viruses now that he was older and in better health than the skinny, sickly little brat that he had once been. He didn't know whether to be thankful of that fact or resentful.

As he stood over a suitcase packed with his belongings he decided that the latter was probably more fitting. He knew this day would come eventually: the day that he and John would part ways for a while to both get the help for their individual problems. It had been like watching an hourglass with the sand pouring out over his time of recovery. Now, the sand was almost gone and their time was almost up. If only he'd been ill a little longer. It would have brought him some more time with his lover.

John sighed and looked around his room. His wardrobe had been stripped bare, his favourite books packed, and some photos of friends and family were in there somewhere too. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to be with Sherlock. He didn't want to be so far away from him for so long. But he knew they were going to get better. For the sake of their relationship, they needed to get better.

He grabbed his suitcase and made his way downstairs. He set it at the door and went to knock on Sherlock's door.

'Hey love. We'll be leaving in about an hour. Are you ready?'

Sherlock denied the very bitter reply of, 'No. Don't be an idiot, John. Why would I ever be ready to leave?'

Instead, he simply zipped up his suitcase and replied in a smooth, calm voice, 'As ready as I'll ever be, John. Do come in.'

John opened the door and leaned against the frame, sighing loudly. He looked up at Sherlock and noticed he looked just as sullen as he felt himself.

'This is gonna sound really selfish, but I don't want to go. I want to stay here with you.'

Sherlock tilted his head to the side and looked on at John sadly. 'We have to leave. It shall benefit us greatly. Or so my brother keeps on saying. Besides this isn't goodbye. Not forever.'

'I know, love. I'm just going to miss you.'

'As I shall miss you.' Sherlock walked over to John and wrapped his arms around him in a loving embrace. 'I shall miss you with my whole being.'

John clutched Sherlock tight, soaking him in. They only had an hour left with each other before they were checked in to their respective facilities. John wanted to make it the best hour they'd ever had with each other. He tilted his head up and looked into Sherlock's eyes. He traced Sherlock's lower lip with his fingertip, moving up to his Cupid's bow and smiling softly.

'One last time before we go?' he suggested softly. 'I did say we could have goodbye sex while you were still in the hospital. Still want to have it?'

Sherlock didn't speak, didn't even bother of thinking of a reply. He picked John up in his arms, moving his lover's legs to wrap around his waist, gripping onto his thighs to support him. Carrying him to the bed he gently lowered him down onto the mattress and climbed on top of him. John hummed in content and pulled Sherlock close, squeezing him tight with his legs and pulling him in for an open mouthed kiss. He rocked against his love, moaning into their kiss. Sherlock's mouth moved methodically against John's. His mind was soaking in this memory in as much detail as possible. He rocked in time with John's rocking and stroked a thumb soothingly against the cheek of the man strewn beneath him. John moaned again and lightly scratched Sherlock's scalp.

'I want you to take me,' he moaned softly. 'Make love to me, nice and slow. No fucking today.'

Sherlock nodded as he slowly pulled John's top from him, allowing it to gently flop to the ground. He ran his hands down John's chest slowly, drawing out their love making goodbye as long as possible. John giggled slightly when Sherlock's fingers grazed his ribs. He let his legs fall down to the mattress, giving Sherlock easier access to his jeans. Sherlock pulled John's trousers off. He chucked them to the floor and instantly began stroking him. John braced his feet on the bed and began to thrust into Sherlock's hand. He moaned and hung his mouth open, panting as he watched Sherlock watch him.

Sherlock bit down on John's neck, leaving a visible mark there for the whole world to see. He gently squeezed John's prick and then brought his fingers to John's lips. John greedily sucked on Sherlock's fingers, coating them thickly with saliva. He began working on Sherlock's shirt buttons, getting them all undone before moving down to his trousers. He slid the zipper down and cupped Sherlock roughly, sucking especially hard on his fingers. Sherlock groaned, tilting his head back, panting wildly. He pulled his fingers reluctantly out of John's mouth. He'd been rather enjoying that.

'Ready for me?' he asked, leaning forwards and making another bright red mark on John's neck.

'Oh yes,' John groaned, arching his neck into Sherlock's mouth. 'Take me, mark me, please.'

Sherlock made sure John's neck was littered in purple and red blemishes. It was a very clear message: Back off. He's mine.

He began to slowly press his knuckle into John, moaning at the sensation in unison with the man himself. It had been far too long since they'd been this intimate. Purely because of being cooped up in the hospital.

John pushed back against Sherlock's finger and moaned loudly.

'More,' he begged. 'More, please.'

Once the finger was fully inserted he added another. He curled them both and began stroking John's prostate.

'Oh, god!' John moaned, throwing his head back against the mattress as he rocked back on Sherlock's fingers. He clutched to Sherlock tightly, leaving little red marks on his shoulders. After stretching John nice and wide he aligned his erection with John and removed his fingers.

'I am going to take such good care of you,' he whispered as he wiggled into the entrance.

'Oh, please do,' John whispered, pulling Sherlock down so he could latch onto his neck and give Sherlock some marks of his own. He wanted them to last so Sherlock would remember this time together. He bit the new bruise before moving down to the pulse point on Sherlock's wrist and sucked hard.

Sherlock's pulse thundered against John's lips. He worked himself in slow and teasingly. Then he began to thrust in and out. His mind went blank. John released Sherlock's wrist and let out a loud moan, rocking steadily back on his lover's cock. God, he had missed having Sherlock's cock up his arse. And it had been nearly a week since they'd last made love, so it felt especially intimate. He moved to suck another mark just under Sherlock's jaw, soothing it with his tongue afterwards.

'You need more marks,' John growled, moving just a little faster. 'Want some whisker burns before they make me shave it off?' He brushed his whiskered cheek against Sherlock's chest and hummed.

'Yes, yes please!' Sherlock sang in a voice rough with lust. His thrusts had started slow as John had asked but he couldn't help himself from speeding up.

'Can't hold back,' he ushered.

'Don't stop then,' John growled. He rubbed his stubbled cheek on Sherlock's neck and chest, leaving little red scratches in his wake. Sherlock's light thrusts turned into reckless pounding as he unleashed the raw animal side of himself. He snarled and brought his hand to cup John's member.

'That's it Sherlock, yes!' John growled, meeting him thrust for thrust. 'Fuck me without mercy. Fuck me so damn hard that I'll be limping and won't be able to sit down properly for days. Show everyone that I belong to you. Let everyone at my facility know that I'm spoken for.' He clamped down on Sherlock's shoulder and sucked roughly, leaving another angry, red bite mark for the people at Sherlock's facility to see. Sherlock moved faster and faster until he and John were just a blur. His cock twitched and pulsed and he buried himself deep within John. He pumped John's own member at a tortuously slow pace in comparison.

'You utter bastard,' John groaned, trying to move his prick faster through Sherlock's fist. 'Teasing me like this. Oh god. Feels fantastic.' He began sucking more marks along Sherlock's neck, shoulders, and collarbone, warding off anyone who might set their sights on his Sherlock. Sherlock smirked and groaned as John continued to dig his teeth into his flesh. He switched his own thrusts to slow and the pumping of John's cock to fast. It seemed that was teasing John even more than previously.

'Oh Jesus fuck!' John swore. His body didn't know whether to go slow with Sherlock's cock or fast with his fist. His brain was muddled and confused and he just didn't know which one to act on more. 'Tease. Fucking tease. Choose a speed and intensity and stick to them!'

'How about no?' Sherlock growled. 'Because this is how I want you to remember me. The man who fries your brain during sex. A man who is completely in control.'

He switched paces again. His own thrusts picked up, hitting John's prostate over and over. And his hand then slowed down so it was moving only a tiny, fractional amount. John was reduced to whimpers and groans, his mind shutting off completely. He writhed against Sherlock as he relentlessly hit his prostate, his hand moving torturously slow along his length. At that point though he really didn't need Sherlock's hand. He was close enough that simply Sherlock nudging against his prostate would probably set him off.

'Gonna cum,' he managed to warn, his body tensing as he neared his release. Sherlock thrust extra hard as he drove John to his release. His own cock began to frantically twitch telling him he was near a release too.

'Me too,' he gasped. 'Me too.'

John came with a shout of Sherlock's name, his back arching completely off the mattress as his body shook harshly from the force of his orgasm. He finally collapsed back against the sheets, gasping for breath.

'Let me suck you off,' John pleaded, gasping after his rather intense orgasm. 'Want to taste you, let you taste yourself. Plus, more whisker burns.'

'Too close. Can't–' He winced as he tried to remove his cock without setting himself off. His cock was red and raw from anticipation of a release and he whimpered as he crawled up John's body, hovering over his lips. John flipped their positions and settled between Sherlock's thighs, engulfing him entirely and sucking hard. He made sure to rub his cheeks against Sherlock's thighs to give him some fresh whisker burns as well.

It was Sherlock's turn to be the writhing mess on the mattress. He was beginning to become flushed as he tried to hold back his embarrassingly close release. John began bobbing his head furiously and sucked Sherlock tighter. He felt along his bollocks and noted how tightly drawn they were. Sherlock was deliciously close. So, being the thoughtful lover he was, John swallowed him whole and roughly massaged his bollocks with the heel of his hand to bring him over the edge.

Sherlock flew upwards with a cry of his lover's name, cumming harder than he could ever remember doing so. Goodbye sex was definitely good sex. Sherlock's release flowed down John's throat fast and warm. When he finished John released him and quickly sealed their lips together, letting Sherlock taste himself. Sherlock explored John's mouth thoroughly, knowing it would probably be the last chance to snog him breathless for a long time. John held Sherlock's head tenderly. His tongue dove into Sherlock's mouth and danced with his own tongue. His thumbs traced small circles on his lover's cheekbones. His nails gently scratched Sherlock's scalp. He hummed into their kiss, moving as Sherlock did almost in a synchronised dance as they snogged.

This was bliss. John never wanted it to end. But it had to. Of course it did. They had to get better. They couldn't ignore the issue forever. That would get them nowhere. But, until they had to re-dress and leave, John was perfectly content to snog his lover until they were both out of breath.

Seconds turned into minutes, and those minutes turned into the time they had been dreading. Sherlock was still draped underneath John snogging him when a sharp, rap sound batted on the front door.

'Give us a moment, Mycroft,' John sighed.

'Do hurry,' was the only reply.

John pressed himself closer to Sherlock's naked body, soaking in his smell, how he felt pressed against him, how warm he was post-coital, how his skin tasted when it was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Sweat that had formed while he had been fucking John into the mattress without mercy. He smiled softly and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and allowing the different sensations to gather in his memory.

Sherlock clutched John tightly. 'I don't want to go,' he said in a low voice. 'I never want to leave you.'

He sniffed John, inhaling his splendid scent and sighed heavily. 'But we must go.'

'I don't want to go either,' John mumbled. He nuzzled against Sherlock's neck, deciding to leave one last mark on him to emphasise that he was John's.

'You can dress me,' he mumbled against the new bruise. 'I just want to be close to you. I don't want to leave your side until I have to.'

Sherlock wriggled off the bed reluctantly and started picking up the forgotten clothes. His lips twitched into a half smile as he picked up his purple shirt.

'You may be able to fit into this. You've lost quite a few inches. I want you to have her – er – it.' He climbed on the bed, helping John into some pants and jeans before carefully slipping the shirt onto John's shoulders.

'Your purple shirt? Really?' John smiled and allowed Sherlock to button it up. Surprisingly, it fit well. John frowned. Had he really lost so much weight that he could fit into Sherlock's clothes with ease? Clothes that looked tight on Sherlock in the first place? God damn. He did need help.

'Thanks,' he muttered.

'Hey,' Sherlock hushed, bringing a finger up to tilt John's face upwards so he would look at him. 'I wanted you to have something that would make me feel like I was there with you. And besides, just think. You'll be able to know how you're doing in this shirt. It will be far easier to measure your progress. When it becomes a little tight you shall know you're doing better.'

John gave Sherlock a small smile.

'Yeah. Ok. And when I can't fit into it anymore I'll sleep with it under my pillow.'

'That's the spirit.' Sherlock kissed John lightly. He slowly got dressed himself into jeans and John's woolly jumper before sitting beside John.

'I hope to see a little meat on you when you get back. It'll give me more to hold on to when I'm fucking you senseless.'

John hummed at the thought and pulled Sherlock in for another kiss.

'I really like seeing my jumper on you,' he whispered against Sherlock's lips. 'You can keep that one. It's a good colour on you.'

'Really?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'I only want it because it smells of you. I usually like my shirts so tight I can't breathe.'

'Yes, really. Keep it. Because you look like a cuddly teddy bear in it. My cuddly teddy bear,' John grinned.

Sherlock huffed and pouted. 'I am not a teddy bear.'

He heard a snicker from outside. 'Shut it, Mycroft.'

'In that jumper you most certainly are,' John grinned. He pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, tangling his fingers in his hair one last time. Sherlock nipped John's lower lip and hummed.

'We have to go,' he mumbled.

'I know,' John sighed. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock in a tender hug. 'I'm really gonna miss you.'

'I'm only a phone call away.' Sherlock kissed John on the top of his head. 'But I shall miss you too.'

'I love you.'

'I love you too.' Sherlock nipped down hard on John's neck. 'Now let's go.'

John sighed and got to his feet. He clasped Sherlock's hand as he stood, lacing their fingers together. He opened the door and saw Mycroft was lingering in the hallway.

'Ah. Good. You're ready,' the elder Holmes said. 'Shall we?'

Sherlock glared at his brother but nodded. 'Yes, I suppose we shall be off.'

'Mind if I ask why John is wearing your shirt?'

'To monitor my weight gain,' John said before Sherlock could speak up. 'And so I can have a little piece of Sherlock with me. Same goes for him and my jumper.'

'Ah. I see.' Mycroft nodded and descended the stairs, opening the front door for them.

'Got your suitcase, love?' John asked, turning to Sherlock. He really did look fuzzy and cuddly in his jumper. The sight made John smile.

Sherlock breathed through his nose heavily. 'Give me a second,' he grumbled, storming back into his room and grabbing his packed suitcase. When he returned tears were brimming in his eyes. John's heart broke. He clutched Sherlock tight, burying his face in his own jumper as he tried not to cry.

'Baby, if you cry then I'm gonna cry,' he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. 'Don't cry, baby. It'll be ok. Don't cry.'

Sherlock buried his head in John's shoulder. 'I don't want to leave you.' He heaved a sob. 'I–' He began to cry heavily.

'I don't want to leave you either,' John sobbed, his tears wetting his jumper.

'You two should probably work on your codependency,' Mycroft said from the bottom of the stairs. 'While I am happy you two are together, you don't have the healthiest of relationships. I'll mention that in your reports at your facilities.'

'Stuff it, Mycroft!' John yelled. He clutched Sherlock tighter, not wanting to let go. 'Go wait in the car!'

Sherlock only sobbed harder and clutched to John, terrified of letting him go. 'I fucking hate him.' His voice shook. 'I don't know how I'm going to survive without you!' he wailed.

'I know, baby. I know. I don't want to go either. But, we can call each other, tell each other how we're progressing. Plus, I have your purple shirt and you've got my jumper. And, when all this is over, I'm introducing the riding crop into our sex life.'

Sherlock's sobs died down into chuckles. 'Looking forward to that, dear.'

'Me too. Let that play in your mind while you're away. We can share fantasies and compromise. Ok?'

'Phone sex.' Sherlock grinned. 'Brilliant.' He gave John a final squeeze before letting him go. 'Jonathan Hamish Watson, I love you dearly.'

'I love you too, Sherlock Holmes,' John grinned. He kissed Sherlock briefly before picking up his suitcase and linking hands with Sherlock again.

'Let's go get better.'

'Yes, let's get better.' Sherlock placed a hand on the small of John's back. His suitcase felt as heavy as his heart as he dragged it behind him.

John closed the door behind them, locking it for good measure, before climbing down the stairs and exiting the building. The car Mycroft had arrived in had a door open for them, the man himself staring at his phone as he typed out a text.

'Do you want to sit next to him or shall I?' John asked.

'You can,' Sherlock sighed, standing back to allow John to slide into the car. John slid inside and put his suitcase between his feet. He waited until Sherlock was seated comfortably before clasping his hand again. Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at his brother.

Mycroft, for once in all the time John had known him, remained silent. The air was so thick with tension John found it a little difficult to breathe. The car started and sped off, jolting them slightly at the jackrabbit start. John squeezed Sherlock's hand tight and placed a kiss to his forehead. Sherlock squeezed back, letting John know that he was there for him for now at least. He never wanted to let go of the hand that was perfectly sculpted to fit in his own larger hands.

However, all too soon the car was pulling up at John's facility and Mycroft practically yanked John from him, pulling him out of the car.

'Hey!' Sherlock cried out, banging on the car windows as he found the door to now be locked.

'It is for your own good, brother. You two are far too codependent. You've had your goodbyes. Now please calm down.'

'Bastard,' Sherlock growled.

'It's ok, Sherlock. It'll be ok. I love you!' John hollered as Mycroft dragged him away.

'I love you too,' Sherlock murmured under his breath but John was too far out of range to possibly have heard him.

He brought his knees up to his chest and hid his face in them and began to cry into them. He wasn't ready to part ways with John. No. Not his John. Not for an unspecified amount of time. Not for any amount of time.

'You're a right git for doing that, I hope you know,' John scowled.

'Yes, I know, but I wouldn't have gotten you two apart if I hadn't.' Mycroft dragged John through the front doors and clutched his wrist tight, telling the secretary exactly what they needed. She nodded and gave John a clipboard to fill out, 'So we can know what to work on first and to better understand your needs.' John just scowled and took the clipboard, wrenching free from Mycroft's grasp. He filled out the survey quickly and went to sit down. Mycroft followed.

'You don't have to stay,' John muttered under his breath. 'Go take care of Sherlock. He's probably a wreck by now.'

'Exactly why I am not going just yet. I want to see you off properly. I'll do the same with him.'

'You're still a git.'

'I know.'

A nurse called John's name and he looked up sharply. His gaze caught Mycroft's and he swallowed thickly.

'Give him a hug for me at least,' John begged. 'And tell him I love him.'

'Of course, John.' Mycroft stood and pulled John up with him. With a pause and a grimace he wrapped his arms around John in an awkward hug. 'He loves you too.'

'Thanks Mycroft,' John sniffled. He wiped at his eyes and picked up his suitcase. With a deep breath he made his way over to the smiling nurse. He waved back at Mycroft before the door closed behind him, sealing him in for god knew how long.

'Is he your boyfriend?' the nurse asked.

'Him? Oh, no. His brother is.'

'Then where is he? Didn't he see you off?'

'Oh, yes. He's in the car, probably bawling.'

'Poor dear,' the nurse frowned. 'Well, if it helps, we allow weekly phone calls between friends and family. You can tell him how you're progressing.'

'That does help,' John smiled. 'It helps a lot.'

The nurse took him to his room and showed him where everything was, what times meals were and where, and, once they had it made up, where his sessions would take place. John thanked her and sat his suitcase on his bed. She closed the door behind her as she left. John moved to the window, the ledge big enough to perch on if he wanted. The view was gorgeous, but he didn't want to enjoy it if Sherlock wasn't there. John sighed and flopped down on his bed, curling in on himself as his emotions came crashing down all at once. He wasn't going to be able to see Sherlock for god knows how long, Sherlock would be in a facility of his own, and they would only have their shirts and a weekly phone call between them.

This was going to be a long and painful rehabilitation.


	34. Rehabilitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John's experiences in rehab.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, random nursing staff  
> Me: John, John's doctor, Greg
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: drug withdrawal, Coke bugs, verbal abuse, starvation, depression, anger issues, and lots of angst but John tries to fix that.

Sherlock hated everything about the rehab facility his brother had all but dragged him into over a week ago. He hated his room. It felt painfully empty and dull in comparison to his room at Baker Street. He presumed that was because there was no John to share the room with.

He hated the nurses too. On the first night, a young blond haired man had come to check on him. His appearance had been so akin to John that Sherlock had flipped out. In the end, they had had to inject him with a sedative to calm him down. Since then he hadn't seen the blonde haired man. Instead, they sent him middle aged women who had a habit to chat far too much. He would spit insults at them like wildfire. A part of him wished John would run into his room when he did to scold him, just so he could see his lover once more. Though he did and Sherlock knew deep down that he never would either. John had to get better and he could only do that in a separate rehab facility that specifically catered to his needs.

Sherlock's cravings and withdrawal symptoms were becoming unbearable. He was quite surprised he hadn't gouged out his own eyeballs in frustration because of them. He was having a particularly bad day when a nurse came and knocked on his door. He groaned and muttered a 'Go away.'

'Oh, so you don't want a phone call from a Mr John Watson then?'

Sherlock rolled out of his bed and stood on shaky legs. His withdrawal symptoms had left him feeling utterly washed out and he was surprised that his legs even carried his weight anymore.

'Lead me to the phone, now,' he huffed.

The nurse smiled patiently at him. 'This way, sweetheart. Just follow me.'

The nurse led him to a white phone and held it out to him. Sherlock took it and swallowed down hard.

'Hello?' It almost sounded like a question.

'Hey Sherlock!' John smiled. He was sitting on the floor by his own facility's phone, his doctor watching over him from across the hallway. 'It's good to hear your voice. How has your first week been? Are you managing your withdrawal symptoms?'

'Hello!' Sherlock grinned to himself. 'It's been alright,' he lied. It had been bloody awful. 'And my withdrawal symptoms are as terrible as to be expected I suppose. Enough about me. How have you been doing? Are they taking care of you down there?'

'I'm doing pretty good,' John sighed. 'They've got me on a special diet. I've never eaten so much food in one sitting before. It's almost sickening.'

Sherlock hummed down the phone. 'The more you eat the more weight you'll put on. And it is likely that if you increase your weight they shall allow you back outside, as long as your mental state is seen as stable. I'll meet you there, hey?'

'Yeah. I'm working on the mental part. Learning how to deal with the voice and the cutting. I... Don't hate me for saying this, but I really need a fucking cigarette. I've been twitching since I got here.'

'That's cigarettes for you. The cravings should ease up soon enough. Just be glad that you don't have to deal with the withdrawal symptoms of cocaine.'

'I wish I could be there for you. Especially when the coke bugs start. Just hug my jumper tight when they do. And I know it's only been a week but I miss you so much. I was sobbing before day one even started.'

'I forgot about those,' Sherlock grumbled. 'Nasty little buggers.' He paused before admitting, 'I cry myself to sleep most nights, clutching to that jumper of yours, you know? My therapist seems to think I'm far too dependent on you. I told him to fuck off.'

'My doctor says the same about me. I sleep in your shirt. And I cry every day. Sometimes more than once. I really miss you, love. With every fibre of my being.'

'I miss you too, dear. It's a terrible place. It's just how I remember it. Except the nurses seem even more annoying. And my therapist is a down right pain in the arse. Keeps on trying to get me to open up about my childhood. I wish you were here to punch him for me.'

'Me too baby.' John paused and looked up. His doctor was tapping his watch. 'They want me to hurry up and finish. Please try to listen to your therapist. I want you to get better, not worse.'

'Yes, I know,' Sherlock breathed out. 'It's just – he's bringing up a lot of memories that I wanted to stay buried.' He swallowed down hard. These phone calls were harder than he thought they'd be. 'I don't want to have to say goodbye so soon, John.'

'I know, love. I don't either. But I'll call you again next week. Same time, ok? And maybe it would do you some good working through your childhood. Maybe you wouldn't have so many nightmares about that or your dream world.'

'Ok,' Sherlock said in a small voice. 'Maybe it will help me a little.' Or maybe it will make the nightmares twice as brutal, he thought to himself. 'I'll hear from you in a weeks time. In the meanwhile, please eat what is given to you.'

'I will. And please listen to your therapist. He's there to help you.' John's doctor approached and motioned him to stand. 'I gotta go. I'll call you next week. I love you, Sherlock.'

'I love you too,' Sherlock said, sounding as tired and defeated as he felt inside.

'Listen to your therapist,' John reiterated. 'And be good.'

'When am I ever anything but?' Sherlock retorted.

'True. You're always good. Same time next week. I love you.'

'Yeah, same time next week,' Sherlock mumbled and the line crackled, signalling the end of the call.

**…::-::…**

The next week went by excruciatingly slow for John. He wanted to call Sherlock every day, wanted Mycroft to tell them to make an exception for him and Sherlock, but he knew Mycroft never would. He had called them codependent. Maybe this would show them that they could survive without the other. But it was painful as hell.

Finally, the week was up. John fidgeted on his bed as he waited for his doctor to escort him to the phone. As soon as the door opened he was out of the room like a shot, hopping from foot to foot by the phone. His doctor sighed but smiled, handing him the receiver as he dialled the number to Sherlock's facility.

'John Watson for Sherlock Holmes,' John said before the receptionist could answer.

Over the week that had passed Sherlock's coke bugs had started. They were nasty bastards, little invisible things that crawled underneath your skin until it became so unbearable that you had no other choice than to scratch. Sherlock's scratching had become so persistent that the nurses had restrained him to a bed so that he wouldn't damage himself.

When the day of John's phone call came around Sherlock begged to be allowed to take it. The nurses simply shook their heads sadly, telling him that he wasn't in a well enough state to do so. His heart plummeted in his chest and he began to cry silently. He only hoped John wouldn't be too devastated. Oh, who was he kidding? This was John. Of course he would devastated.

The phone was silent on the other end of the line. John hopped anxiously from foot to foot, waiting to hear Sherlock's deep baritone. But it wasn't Sherlock who answered.

'I'm afraid Mr Holmes is unavailable to answer the phone at this time. His withdrawal symptoms have worsened.'

'Coke bugs,' John muttered. 'Yeah. I shoulda known. Can you have him call me as soon as he's better? Please?'

'Of course dear. I'll tell him you called.'

'Tell him I love him,' John ushered before the nurse hung up. He wasn't sure if she had heard or not. He hung his head and hung up the phone. He pressed his forehead against the wall and reminded himself to breathe.

'Do you want to go back to your room?' his doctor asked.

'No. No. I want Sherlock,' John sniffed.

'I'm sorry John, but you know–'

'I bloody know I can't see him!' John snapped. 'I just want to know he's ok.'

'I know, John. Let's go back to your room, ok? You should get some rest.'

'I don't want to rest,' John frowned, but he followed his doctor anyway. Once he was in his room he changed into Sherlock's purple shirt and climbed into his bed, drawing in on himself as the tears started.

**…::-::…**

It was another two whole weeks before Sherlock was deemed well enough to get in contact with John. He asked for John and waited impatiently on the other end of the phone.

John was curled up by his window, sitting on the ledge and looking out at the warm day. Two weeks. Two whole weeks of no Sherlock. He had been worried he was losing his mind, but then he had begun writing again. The writing helped. It was no blog about his and Sherlock's cases, but the journaling did help quite a bit.

There was a knock on his door and he turned to see his doctor entering. 'Phone call for you,' he said, smiling softly. 'It's Sherlock.'

John's heart leapt in his chest. He leapt from the windowsill and ran out to the phone, picking it up and putting the receiver to his ear.

'Sherlock? Love, is it really you?'

'Y-eh, it's, er, me.' Sherlock's voice shook nervously.

'What's wrong? You don't sound too good. Is it the bugs?'

'The bugs are quite bad. Still, better than they were before. They had to tie me up for scratching at them. Which is why I haven't been allowed to get in contact with you.'

'Oh honey,' John frowned. 'I'm sorry they were so bad. But I have some good news for you. I'm filling out. My ribs aren't so prominent anymore.'

'That's brilliant, dear. Maybe you'll be nice and meaty for me when I get out,' he joked lightly.

'At least one of us is recovering,' Sherlock sighed. 'I am afraid I am making far less progress.'

'Love, you're going through drug withdrawal. Of course it's going to seem like you're making less progress than me. Just hang in there, ok? We'll both be out soon enough.'

'It's not just that,' Sherlock sighed. 'My therapist thinks I have anger issues. He's suggested a longer stay.'

'They say I'm delusional and am codependent on you,' John said. 'The voice isn't so bad anymore. He hasn't been around for a few days. And while I'm sorry you may need to stay longer, it's for the best. If I get out before you I'll try to visit. Maybe it can even be a conjugal one.' He grinned widely and bit down on his lip.

'Fucking tease,' Sherlock muttered before sighing in relief. 'I'm glad you're getting better, dear.'

'Thanks love. Glad to hear your withdrawal is getting better. And it's so good to hear your voice again. I missed it.'

'It was awful not hearing your voice. I began to get more than a little ratty with the people here.'

'How many nurses did you go through?' John asked, a small smile on his face.

'Ten,' Sherlock chuckled softly.

'Really? Only ten?' John teased.

'Yes. I'm horribly off my game. I'm working on the eleventh though.'

'By next week I expect you to be near thirty,' John chuckled.

'Challenge accepted,' Sherlock laughed deeply.

'I love you,' John said softly. His mood had changed dramatically. His doctor was gesturing for him to finish up.

'I love you too. You have to go, don't you?'

'Yeah. My doc's telling me to finish up.'

'It's ok. I'll be here next week. Promise.'

'That's a horrible promise,' John mumbled. 'I'll call you, ok? I love you and I miss you so much.'

'You know what I mean,' Sherlock sighed. 'Love and miss you too.'

'I know. Take care of yourself. I expect to hear more life in your voice next week.'

'Yeah. You too,' Sherlock replied, his voice breaking slightly.

'They're making me hang up now. I love you. I love you so much. Go put on my jumper. I've already got your shirt on. Go. Take care of yourself. Get healthy. Listen to your therapist. No! Please! Just two more minutes!'

'I'm sorry John, but you know the rules.'

'Sherlock? Sherlock, I–' His doctor took the receiver from him and hung it up. '–love you,' he finished. He ran back to his room and slammed the door shut. He crawled into bed and hugged his pillow to him tightly, sobbing into it.

**…::-::…**

As time went on Sherlock seemed to worsen. His withdrawal symptoms had cleared up sure enough but since they had he'd had more time to speak to his therapist. He'd been diagnosed with anger issues and mild depression due to suppressed emotions linked to childhood memories.

He lived for the phone calls he had between John, even if they were short conversations. It would seem, however, as John grew plumper he himself was growing thinner. He refused to eat. He could barely think of eating. And as John became happier in state of mind, Sherlock went spiralling down into a deeper depression.

'They say I can go home soon,' John said. 'Seeing as I'm at a healthy weight now and I'm dealing with my emotions better than before. I'm on antidepressants now. Oh! And I can't fit into your purple shirt anymore.'

'That's good, dear.' Sherlock's voice was dull and heavy. It had lost its usual spark a couple of weeks back. 'I'm really happy for you.'

'You don't sound very happy,' John noted. 'Things not going so well over there?'

'No. Things are going – ok. Listen, I'm really sorry but I've got to go. My therapist made me another appointment.'

'Oh. Ok. Take care of yourself, love. I'll try to come see you when I'm released. I love you.'

'Goodbye, John,' Sherlock mumbled miserably, hanging up without another word.

John hung up the phone and sighed. He went back to his room silently and sat in front of the window, drawing his knees up tight and holding onto them. Sherlock sounded miserable. Utterly miserable. He'd need to talk to Mycroft about looking into his situation. He just hoped Mycroft would allow them to see each other. How long had it been now? Two and a half, maybe three months? John had lost track of time. He didn't remember the days anymore, just the day he was allowed to talk to Sherlock. And now Sherlock sounded worse than ever. Was it because his therapist was making him relive his past? Was he not sleeping? Not eating? John worried about him throughout the rest of the day and night, not moving from his perch by the window.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock stopped eating.

He stopped sleeping.

He couldn't be bothered to insult the nurses.

He refused to see the therapist. There were already too many memories he didn't want unearthed.

He became sickly and weak because of his food and sleep deprivation and the nurses were finally forced to pump nutrients and sedatives into his blood stream by force.

He lost all contact with John.

****…::-::…**  
**

John had been home for a week. Mycroft had told him not to visit Sherlock. Said he could ruin any progress he'd made. John knew he was lying. He didn't want them to see each other because of their codependency.

'Sod it,' John scoffed one day. He swallowed the rest of his tea and stood to get dressed. He had moved his things into Sherlock's room a few days ago, tired of going up and down the stairs to a room he was barely using anyway. Once he was dressed he phoned Lestrade.

'Greg, I need you to do something for me. And you can't tell Mycroft.'

'John, if this is about Sherlock–'

'Greg, you're going to take me to see him. If you don't, I'll call Mycroft and tell him I know all about the video conference call blow job and the lewd way in which you use cake.'

There was silence at the other end of the line.

'I'll be over in five minutes.' Greg hung up.

'Thank you,' John sighed. He looked over at Sherlock's violin, abandoned and dusty, sitting in a corner. He knew how she felt. 'We'll get him back,' he said to the violin. 'I promise.'

He looked toward the door and straightened up, determined. 'I'm going to see you whether your brother wants me to or not. It's evident you need to see me, Sherlock. And that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'll be there soon, love.'

**…::-::…**

'Mr Holmes, if you continue to refuse to eat you will die. There's only so much the nutrients we're pumping into you can do.'

Sherlock didn't say anything. He stared at the nurse with lifeless eyes. He'd lost his fight. He didn't know how to get better.

**…::-::…**

'Hurry the hell up, Greg,' John growled. 'Turn your sirens on or something. Speed up!'

'You know I can't do that, John.'

'Ok. Let's add the school boy and dean role play to the list.'

Greg turned on his sirens and sped down the highway.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock wondered selfishly how fast the process of his death would be. How long until his body faded and he could leave his misery? How long until everything just stopped?

**…::-::…**

'I need to see Sherlock Holmes,' John told the receptionist. 'Please.'

'Visiting hours aren't for another–'

'I don't care. I need to see him. He hasn't been calling, and I'm worried he isn't taking care of himself. Please, just let me see him. Please.'

'Mr Holmes, please eat,' one of the nurses begged, smiling sadly at him. 'You look like a skeleton.'

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head.

A nurse led John down a hall to Sherlock's room.

'I should warn you, what you see isn't going to be pretty,' she said.

'What do you mean?'

'He refuses to eat and sleep. We've been pumping nutrients into him as well as sedatives, but he hasn't touched real food in nearly two weeks. Your boyfriend is completely emaciated.'

John paled and swallowed thickly. The nurse turned one more corner and knocked on the second door on the right.

'Mr Holmes? You have a visitor.'

'A visitor?' Sherlock gasped out, his voice sounding like glass that was on the verge of shattering.

'Yes,' the nurse smiled softly. She gently pushed John into Sherlock's room. John gasped at the sight of Sherlock. He looked like death, his skin drawn tight over his bones.

'Oh, Sherlock,' he frowned, moving to kneel in front of him. 'You look awful.'

'John.' Sherlock smiled weakly. It felt so wonderful to see his lover, and looking so well too. 'You, on the other hand, look a lot better.'

'Yeah. I filled out rather nicely, didn't I?' He placed a hand on Sherlock's bony knee and squeezed. 'Why aren't you eating, love?'

'I don't remember why I stopped,' Sherlock said, voice rasping. 'Therapist thinks I'm depressed.'

'No, love. You  _are_  depressed. You sound terrible and you look like death. Think you could drink a glass of water? For me?'

Sherlock frowned but nodded slightly. 'I'll try.'

John motioned the nurse for a glass of water. She returned a moment later with a cheap paper cup filled with water.

'Here, love. Sip at that, ok?'

'Ok.' Sherlock sipped at his glass of water, almost moaning in pleasure as it flowed down his painfully dry throat.

John pushed Sherlock's longer curls off his forehead. He really needed to get his hair cut. Didn't they do that here? They certainly had at his facility. Maybe they didn't want to have scissors near Sherlock. Was he that unstable?

'Feel a bit better now?' he asked softly, his hand having moved down Sherlock's arm and squeezed his free hand gently.

Sherlock grunted and nodded. He squeezed John's hand back weakly. He felt like utter shit in truth and so he remained silent.

'Why?' John asked softly. 'Why are you doing this to yourself?'

'I became so lost without you. And then my therapist began bringing up painful memories. And–' Sherlock sighed. 'It really messed me up.'

'Oh, Sherlock,' John sighed. He moved to sit beside Sherlock on the bed. 'I'm sorry. I wish I could have been there for you. But I needed to get better. And now you're going to have to stay longer until you're back to a healthy weight. Please eat, love. I miss you at home. The bed isn't nearly as warm or comfortable without you in it with me.'

'I don't know,' Sherlock exhaled heavily. 'It's been so long since I've eaten. The thought of food repulses me.'

'I was like that for a while too. I didn't want to eat, just the mere thought of food made me sick. But I worked through it and look at me now. I'm healthy again. And you know why? Because I knew you would need to see me getting better if you were going to get better, and if I saw you were getting better than I would be more motivated to get better myself. But looking at you now I don't see healthy or better. You're wasting away, love. Please don't starve yourself to death. I couldn't bear to lose you.'

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock whispered sadly. 'I didn't mean it to get to this stage. This place has given me more problems than I had to start with. I tried to stay strong but – I couldn't. I've failed you. I'm so sorry.' Tears leaked from his eyes.

'I wish I could just take you home,' John said softly. He pulled Sherlock into his lap and held him tenderly as he cried. The man was so fragile, stick thin, and incredibly light. John was afraid he'd break him.

'Even if my health picks up they want me to go through all of those painful childhood memories I have. I – I can't.' He sobbed harder. 'I just can't.'

'I'll talk with Mycroft. See if I can't get you out of here. I can take care of you well enough. I got you to eat before. Maybe I can do it again.'

Sherlock grinned at John and sniffed. 'That would be good. Thank you.'

'Or, I could really piss him off and just take you now,' John mused. He smoothed Sherlock's errant curls out of his face and placed a small kiss to his temple. 'I'm probably already in trouble for making Greg drive me here.' He turned to the nurse.

'His withdrawal is over, correct? He should be able to manage his cravings, yes?'

'Yes, but I can't just let you take him. He can't be discharged in his condition. He needs proper medical care.'

'I'm a doctor,' John said, handing her his ID badge from his workplace. 'And I'm his doctor. And I'm taking my patient home.'

Sherlock laughed and shook his head. 'That's my John. Stubborn as ever. God I love you.'

'I love you too, Sherlock. Come on. I'm taking you home.' He stood and adjusted his hold on Sherlock, cradling him in his arms. 'Greg, pack his stuff. He's coming with me.'

'What?!' the DI appeared from around the door and blinked. 'How did you know I was there? And why are you taking him?'

'I could hear you breathing, and I'm taking him because he needs me. Now get his stuff or do you want me to tell Mycroft that I know about the interrogation role play too?'

Greg swallowed and nodded, moving to Sherlock's wardrobe and pulling out his suitcase and clothes. Once they were all packed they began making their way down the hall, the nurse protesting the entire way. John signed Sherlock out, signing the medical discharge form and stalked from the rehab facility.

'It's going to be ok now, Sherlock. We're going home.'

Sherlock just nodded weakly into John's chest. He was already tired and weak. He hoped that John knew what he was getting himself into. John slid inside Greg's car, holding Sherlock to his chest. Greg put the suitcase in with them and sat in the driver's seat.

'I hope you know what you're doing,' he sighed, starting the car. 'Myc is gonna kill me.'

'Shut up and drive,' John scowled. 'I'll deal with Mycroft when the time comes. For now, just get us back to Baker Street.'

'Thank you,' Sherlock rasped out, glancing at the D.I. He buried his face deeper in John's chest and groaned.

'It's gonna be ok, baby,' John cooed. He held him just a little closer, combing his fingers through his hair.

Sherlock nodded and whimpered loudly. 'You know that for sure, do you?'

'I don't know anything anymore,' John admitted. 'But I'm gonna take care of you as best I can. I promise.'

Sherlock hummed, his breathing shallow and ragged. 'I don't doubt that at all.'

'I'm so sorry you got to this place. I wish I could have been there for you.'

'You needed to get better.' Sherlock moved a hand to John's now soft, fleshy belly and smiled. 'And you did.'

John smiled. 'Yeah. I did. And now it's your turn.'

Sherlock frowned. 'If I can  _get_  better. I'm not as confident as you on the matter.'

'I am a very stubborn man, Sherlock. I am not going to give up on you. I am going to feed you up, get you healthy again. We'll start slow until you get back into a regular eating pattern. Right now, the fact that you drank water is a very big deal. So, we'll start with some protein water. Sound ok?'

'Yes... sure. Errrh – gonna go sleep.' Sherlock relaxed in John's arms. 'Love you.'

'Ok, baby,' John whispered. He placed a soft kiss to his hair. 'I love you too.'

Sherlock slept for the entire journey. He was broken and ill but that didn't matter because he was with John.

'Greg, I can't thank you enough,' John whispered as they pulled up to Baker Street. 'I owe you one. Big time.'

'Yeah, well, if you can't blackmail your friends into helping you rescue your flatmate and lover from rehab, then, well, yeah.' The D.I. parked the car and opened his door, moving to open the passenger one by the kerb.

'I may owe you more than one,' John whispered as he crawled out of the car, being mindful not to wake Sherlock.

'I'll think of something,' Greg grinned. He grabbed the suitcase and gently closed the car door. 'Got your keys?'

'Back pocket.' Greg plucked them from John's offered pocket and moved to unlock the door. He let John go through first, then quietly followed him up the stairs. He left the suitcase in the hallway outside Sherlock's bedroom, saying he didn't want to intrude on their sleeping space, that it felt weird. John thanked him and placed Sherlock in bed, pulling the covers over him snuggly, and then quietly left the room.

Greg was already gone, so John made some more tea and sat in his chair. The flat was oddly silent, but it was now a comfortable silence. The last week had been too quiet, but now that Sherlock was back it felt more like home. John smiled softly and sipped at his tea, waiting for Sherlock to wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for not updating on Friday or at all over the weekend. But you get two chapters in one day so that's gotta be a plus? Ah well. I'll do my best to actually update this Friday. Until then my lovely readers.
> 
> Happy Red Pants Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	35. Feeding Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone! The weekend is finally upon us! I might take a nap later simply because I can ;)
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: light angst and some smut.

When Sherlock awoke it wasn't in the small room he had been forced to stay in at rehab. There were no loud sounds, no nurses trying to force feed him. There was just a peaceful silence. As he opened up his eyes there wasn't the usual harsh lighting blaring down on him. It was dark and warm, and his bed was soft. He was home.

As his eyes came across John he smiled. 'Hello,' he greeted his lover, his voice sounding as feeble as ever.

'Hey,' John smiled softly. 'Welcome back. You slept all through the journey and all night. So, I'm assuming you slept well. Want to sip at some water?'

'Mmm,' Sherlock hummed. 'Haven't been sleeping properly.' He coughed, clearing his throat. 'And some water would be very much appreciated.'

John handed Sherlock the mug of water from the side table. He'd had it ready since two. Sherlock sipped at the water gingerly and sighed as his throat was given relief.

'Thanks, dear.'

'You're welcome, love.' John sighed and smiled slightly. 'I suppose that's the beginning of my feeding you up. Water's better than nothing.'

'I suppose so,' Sherlock sighed heavily. 'I can't live off water forever though.'

'I know. I'll add some protein supplements into it later. Probably today. But it's a start at least.'

Sherlock moved his head slightly in agreement. 'I really am sorry. I seem to have picked up more problems than I had in the first place, whilst you have gotten better. It's like my pounds went straight onto you. It's a good thing you came today. They said that I didn't have much time left.'

John smoothed Sherlock's hair away from his face. 'I am sorry. I know this isn't my fault, but I'm sorry. I wish they would have let me talk to you more often and longer. Are you really so dependent on me that you can't take care of yourself while I'm not there? Or was it a combination of things that made you do this?'

'It's not that I can't take care of myself. I just suppose after a while I didn't want to.'

'Why?'

'I couldn't see me ever getting out of that place. You were getting better whilst I was being diagnosed with problem after problem. I began to hate my existence.'

'You're not supposed to give up like that. And while you never do what you're supposed to, this is one of those instances where you should. So you got diagnosed with anger issues? The depression linked to suppressed emotions linked to childhood trauma I can understand. But honey, you should have taken care of yourself. You would have gotten better. That's what I believe anyway.'

'I don't think I would have. I couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel. I physically attacked the nurses, not just verbally. And – my unburied childhood memories really fucked me over.'

'Oh honey. Well, at the very least, I'm here now. And I'm not going to make you relive your childhood memories. All I'm going to do, for now, is feed you up so you don't look like a walking skeleton.'

'It doesn't matter. Because of my therapist I relive them every day. I can't get rid of them,' Sherlock frowned. 'I may need physio on my legs again. It's been a while since I have walked.'

'I think you might need it too. Food first though. I want to get some meat on your bones.'

'Blah,' Sherlock said, scrunching up his nose and sticking out his tongue in repulsion.

'Stop it,' John scolded. 'You'll eat, slowly but surely. I'm not going to let you waste away.'

Sherlock glared at John. 'Fine. I'll eat if you're the one to wipe up my vomit.'

'That's what I'm here for,' John said softly. 'I'm going to take care of you now. Here. Drink some more water.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, fine, whatever.' He took the water and sipped it.

'Don't be so cynical. I'm not one of those nurses. I know how to put up with you and deal with your moods. I'm not going anywhere.' He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. 'Except maybe to give you a bath. You reek.'

'It's not as if I've been able to wash myself,' Sherlock scowled.

'The nurses should have been able to. Or did you chase them all away?'

'I believe I managed to get through thirty nurses.'

'Challenge completed,' John smiled. 'Come on. Let's clean you up.' He pulled Sherlock into his arms and walked to the bathroom. He set Sherlock on the toilet and started the bath water, making sure it was warm before plugging the drain and allowing the tub to fill. Sherlock grinned as he watched John, his tongue poking out of his lips. He leant forwards and pinched John's bum, which was currently swaying to a non-existent beat.

'Eep!' John squealed, spinning around to grin widely at Sherlock. 'I see you're still frisky as ever. Glad to see that hasn't changed.'

'Frisky and ready for a rough fucking, sir,' Sherlock purred.

'While I like the "sir" bit, there is no way I am fucking you. Not when you look like a skeleton. I'd be too afraid of breaking you.'

'I'm not bloody made out of glass!'

'I know that, but your bones are fragile and brittle from not getting the proper nutrients. I am not having sex with you until you've got your strength back. Understand?'

Sherlock hung his head low and blew air out of his nostrils in frustration like a horse.

'Understood.'

'Good.' John turned off the water and began stripping Sherlock out of his clothes. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably under John's watchful gaze. His body had changed completely now and he could tell John was taking it all in. His bones jutted out, his skin was drawn tight against him, and his once flat belly had caved in on itself. John frowned and sighed. Sherlock looked awful. More than awful. He looked like death. How had he managed to survive this long?

'It's not a pretty sight but I wish you'd stop staring.'

'How the hell are you not dead yet?' John couldn't stop the question from bursting forth. 'I'm sorry. I just... I really did come get you in the nick of time, huh?'

'Yes you did. One week later and–' Sherlock shuddered. 'I dread to think what might have happened.'

'Let's not then,' John said, pulling Sherlock's pants and trousers off. He then pulled off his own shirt and stood to work on his belt and trousers.

'My brother came to see me the other day. He was crying and he looked more exhausted than he has in a while. Is he alright?'

'I haven't seen Mycroft since he picked me up from my own facility. He looked fine then. Maybe he's worried about you? The crying would be understandable, but the exhaustion? Maybe he's hunting for Moriarty? I'm surprised we haven't heard from him in so long. What's it been? Nearly nine or ten months? This doesn't seem like him. Makes me think he's up to something sinister.'

He chucked his pants and trousers off and sighed. 'Let's get in the water, ok? I'll wash your hair and clean you up good.'

'Moriarty's always up to something sinister.' Sherlock allowed John to guide his body into the welcoming warm bath.

'I'm worried for Mycroft. If something is going on it isn't right that it is resting on his shoulders alone.'

'He did mention he was on medication now,' John mused, sliding in front if Sherlock in the bath. 'What for?'

'Not sure it's my place to say really.'

'I'm a responsible doctor, Sherlock. I won't mention it to him if you don't want me to. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.'

'Ok,' Sherlock exhaled softly. 'He's bipolar.'

'Ah. Yes, I can see that. So, the exhaustion is probably because his body is adjusting to the new medication.' John grabbed the soap and lathered his hands, shifting closer to Sherlock so he could wash him.

'It's just... I suggested he was bipolar. It was in my dream. Maybe I'm psychic. That, I am afraid, does not bode well.'

'I don't think you're psychic,' John said, washing down Sherlock's chest and arms. 'I think it was something you observed about him and it was made prominent in your dream.'

'Maybe. I think my whole dream consisted of my anxieties,' Sherlock admitted.

'Seems like it was a combination of those as well as everything you'd ever wanted. A family, married to me, but then it all went wrong with Mycroft and his illness and you... your commiting suicide.'

'I was a suicidal teenager, which is likely why that subject came up. Benny, our son, was a drug addict. I think he was the one to unleash my cravings. Mycroft actually hit me. And my father haunted me.' Sherlock wrapped an arm around John and dragged himself onto his lap.

'And who was the princess you mentioned? You were muttering about her in your sleep last night.'

'Our daughter, Felicity.' Sherlock smiled fondly. 'She was so like you.'

'Smart and stubborn?' John asked with a smile. He began to wash Sherlock's concave abdomen and his legs.

'And beautiful,' Sherlock added, closing his eyes as the dirt from his body washed away.

John rinsed the soap from Sherlock's body, revealing the creamy skin underneath the dirt.

'She sounds lovely,' he smiled gently. 'I'm going to wash your hair now. Lean back so I can wet it down.'

'She was wonderful.' Sherlock tilted his head back so John could gain better access.

John hummed and began wetting Sherlock's hair, massaging his scalp slightly as he did. He leaned Sherlock back up and grabbed his shampoo, working it through Sherlock's hair until it was in a lather.

'I forgot how good this felt.' Sherlock relaxed into John's gentle touch.

'Bet the nurses did a shit job compared to me,' John laughed softly, massaging the shampoo into Sherlock's hair. 'I should cut your hair too. It's too long.'

'Oh yes. It is rather long now, isn't it? Idiots wouldn't allow me to cut it.'

'Probably didn't want you near scissors. It's ok. I'll cut it for you.'

'I'm perfectly capable of cutting my hair myself,' Sherlock pouted.

'I know you are love. But I want to do it. May I?' John scratched Sherlock's scalp gently before massaging the back of his head.

'As long as it's nothing too short.' Sherlock inclined his head to show John that meant a yes.

'I promise it will be a reasonable length.' John ran his fingers through Sherlock's sudsy hair, bubbles coming off on his fingers as well as loose strands of Sherlock's hair. Right. Weight loss meant hair loss.

'I'm gonna rinse this out now, ok? Then I'm gonna make myself something to eat.'

'K,' Sherlock responded, feeling a jolt of apprehension. 'Does "making myself something to eat" include making me something to eat too?'

'Not necessarily.' John leaned Sherlock's head back and began rinsing the shampoo from it. 'I know how much food repulses you. I was at that stage when I entered my facility. I'm not going to force you to eat anything. Maybe I'll have you drink a protein shake, but I won't make you eat any solid food just yet.'

Sherlock smiled thankfully at John. 'What made you like food again? Picked up any tips?'

'Honestly? I don't know. But once I started eating again my taste for food came back.'

'I hope I receive my taste back for it too. Or what taste I had for it anyway.'

'Me too, love. Come on. We can get in our dressing gowns and then I'm making myself some lunch.'

Sherlock grunted as John eased them both out of the water.

'Don't expect to have a peaceful lunch. I imagine Mycroft will be here soon wanting answers.'

'Oh. Right. Forgot about that.' John laughed slightly. 'Well, I'll deal with it. Don't worry.' He towelled Sherlock off, leaving his hair damp so he could cut it, and then dried himself. He gently picked Sherlock up and carried him to their room. He put Sherlock's blue dressing gown on him and then put his tartan one on himself.

'Think you might be able to sit still so I can cut your hair?' he asked as he deposited Sherlock on a kitchen chair. Sherlock straightened his body, tensing his muscles. This gave the impression of a marble statue.

'Good,' John smiled. He left to get a comb and a pair of scissors. When he returned he began combing Sherlock's hair so it was straight and falling in his eyes. He carefully snipped at his bangs, the dark hair falling to the floor and curling slightly. He worked his way along Sherlock's head, clipping the hair so it rested just below his ears. When he was done he ruffled the hair slightly so the natural curl would show instead of falling flat.

'All done, love. Not too bad if I say so myself.'

'I'll believe it when I see it,' Sherlock huffed, finally relaxing.

'I can get you a mirror if you want to judge my barber skills.'

'Please do. I'm slightly terrified.'

'Hey! I'm not that terrible!' John pouted. He went to the bedroom and plucked the mirror out of the nightstand's drawer. 'Here. Tell me what you think.' Sherlock tilted his head and hummed in thought as he stared at the stranger in the mirror. The haircut wasn't dramatically short but it did seem to make him look younger.

His eyes were bloodshot and sunken in his skull and his cheekbones were sharp enough to cut through glass.

The man staring back at him was a complete stranger.

'See? The cut's not so bad,' John said softly. 'I mean, your face could fill out a bit, but the hair isn't too bad.'

'Not bad at all,' Sherlock muttered, poking his right cheekbone experimentally.

'Hey. Stop. I'm taking that away. Mirrors are not going to help you recover. They covered mine up so I wouldn't stare at my body. Maybe I should do the same here.'

Sherlock snorted. 'It's fine, John. I don't care what I look like.'

'Somehow I doubt that. I'm making you a protein shake. And I want you to have at least half of it. Don't worry, it's not gonna be a huge shake.'

'I don't!' Sherlock protested. 'I care what you think of my body on the other hand. But I really don't give a flying fuck about what I look like!'

'Well, right now I think you look like the poster boy for starvation, so here.' He put a mug in front of Sherlock. 'Drink that. I'm making myself a sandwich.'

Sherlock lifted the mug up to his lips reluctantly. God, did he have to do this? Before he could force himself into drinking the shake he found himself saved by the bell. Or rather he found himself saved by his brother shouting and banging on the door.

'Don't you dare put that down,' John growled. 'Drink it. I'll deal with Mycroft.' He pulled his gown closed and tied the belt around it. He left the kitchen and went downstairs, opening the door and came face to face with a very pissed off Mycroft Homles.

'Ah. Hello Mycroft. How can I help you?'

Sherlock stared at the mug in distaste but began to sip at it gingerly anyway in the hope it would make John happy.

Meanwhile, a very red-faced Mycroft Holmes was stood outside of 221B. 'I think you are perfectly aware why I'm here, John.'

'You mean my "kidnapping" your brother and taking him home so he can receive proper care? Then yes, I do know why you're here. And he said you saw him the other day. Didn't you care to notice how emaciated he'd become?'

Mycroft's face creased in pain. 'I'm not an idiot, John. I know how dire his situation is. In fact, I am in despair over it.' He sighed tiredly and ran a hand down his face.

'So the exhaustion isn't from your new medication then? Look, I'm sorry I took Sherlock, but he wasn't getting any better there. If I hadn't intervened he would have been dead in under a week. He was dirty, unkempt, and starving. I'm feeding him now, if you want to see.'

Mycroft swallowed and looked at John sadly. 'And it would have been my fault if he had died. I doubt he wants to see me.'

'That might be good, yeah. I mean, no offence, but I think he just needs me right now. When he's got some strength back you can come over. I'm sorry, but I should go. I want to make sure he's actually drinking that protein shake I made him.'

Mycroft nodded solemnly. 'Very well. Do tell him I'm sorry. Not that he shall believe me.' He turned his umbrella in one hand and went to leave.

'Take care of yourself, Mycroft,' John said, closing the door. He went back upstairs to the kitchen, smiling when he saw Sherlock still sipping at the mug.

Sherlock smiled back at John. 'It's not half bad,' he commented, putting the mug down. 'I don't think I'll be able to manage much more though.'

'Well, how much did you drink?' John picked up the mug and smiled. 'Nearly half. Good job, love.' He set the mug down and kissed Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock chuckled lightly. It was making John so happy seeing him beginning to try to build up his body's natural form. And Sherlock loved it when John was happy. It had been far too long since he looked so well and acted so joyfully.

John moved about, making his sandwich. He poured himself a glass of milk to go with it, sniffing it first out of habit. He sat down across the table from Sherlock, smiling gently.

'I'm so proud that you were able to drink that. It should last until we go to bed. Think you might be able to have a little more before then? Or do you not want to risk it?'

Sherlock gazed on at John's hopeful face. It was a face he couldn't resist. 'I suppose I could stomach a little more before we go to sleep.'

'Even if it's only a few sips I'll consider it a victory.' John bit into his sandwich, chewing slowly. 'Hey. After this, wanna cuddle on the sofa and watch  _Doctor Who_? There's a new episode tonight.'

'I can't think of anything I would love more.'

'Excellent.' John chowed down on his sandwich, savouring the taste. It was a habit he'd learned in his facility. He couldn't wait to get out of it. Because he savoured his food now he didn't finish quite as quickly and it took him longer to feel full. He didn't like it.

He finished the sandwich and drank his milk, depositing both plate and glass in the sink before turning back to Sherlock.

'Shall I carry you to the sofa? Or do you think you can make it that far?'

Sherlock sighed. 'I wasn't joking about needing therapy again. You will need to carry me.'

'I knew you weren't joking. I just wanted to know how bad it was.' John bent down and cradled Sherlock in his arms, hauling him up.

'Oh! Before I forget.' He carried Sherlock into the bedroom. 'Grab that blanket, would you?'

Sherlock grabbed the blanket that John wanted. 'Think we'll fall asleep?'

'There's a good chance, yes. Plus, I don't want us to get cold.' He walked back out to the sitting room and sat on the sofa, holding Sherlock in his lap. He turned on the TV and changed the channel to the correct one. Sherlock rested his head on John, pressing his tall, lanky body a close as possible, and drawing the blanket over them both.

'Right on time,' John grinned as the show began. He pulled Sherlock close, adjusting the blanket so it covered his feet. He hummed and placed a gentle kiss to the top of Sherlock's head. Sherlock grinned and nudged John to encourage him to keep on kissing him. John hummed again and moved to place a kiss below Sherlock's ear. Sherlock moaned and nudged John again, wiggling on his lover's lap. John grinned and peppered kisses along Sherlock's jaw. One arm wrapped gently around his waist and the other travelled to his bum. Sherlock grinned like a maniac and wiggled on John's lap some more, quite aware as to how he was affecting him from the sudden pressure pushing up against his bum.

'I missed you,' John whispered against Sherlock's neck. 'It's so good to have you home.'

'I can tell you missed me.' Sherlock turned to peck John's lips. 'I missed you too.'

'Did you ever wank and think about me?' John pressed another kiss to Sherlock's plump lips and moaned. 'Because I sure as hell did.'

Sherlock frowned. 'No. Never. I was saving myself for you.'

'Oh.' John stopped his kissing and frowned. 'Now I feel like a fool. I'm sorry, love. I should have saved myself for you too.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'No. It's fine. I suppose I was just too out of it to even think of wanking.'

'I would have dreams about us. They were highly erotic. And I'd wake up hard as a rock. I couldn't just ignore it. So, I thought about you, us, while I wanked. They were extremely satisfying if you were curious. Left me very out of breath.'

He nibbled on Sherlock's earlobe before kissing his jaw again.

'Oh, I had plenty of my own erotic dreams that sent me shockingly hard too. I just felt guilty about getting rid of them so I put up with my hard ons.'

'Yes, because it's all just transport, right?' John joked. He placed more kisses along Sherlock's neck, slowly making his way back up to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock hummed and devoured John's lips. He shifted so his hard on was pressed into John and pinched his arse. John grunted into the kiss and rocked against Sherlock, pulling him up so he straddled his lap. Their erections slid against each other, which wasn't too difficult. They were only wearing dressing gowns after all, and Sherlock's was wide open.

Sherlock rut as hard as he could against John's throbbing erection, clenching his thighs, and making loud grunting sounds. John panted and moaned. A hand grabbed their erections and stroked quickly, squeezing just enough. John thrust into his hand, the joint sensation of hand and cock sending him into a blissful unawareness. He was only aware of their little bubble. Just him and Sherlock entwined on the sofa, their moans and groans filling the room.

Faster and faster they rode together. Sherlock was impossibly close. It had been far too long since he had had anything rubbing against his cock, let alone John's cock. John kissed Sherlock deeply, flicking their tongues together. He squeezed their cocks just a little tighter, his free hand venturing beneath Sherlock's dressing gown to fondle his bollocks. Sherlock squealed in pleasure and, much to his embarrassment, came with an almighty splat. His cum flew everywhere and his body collapsed in exhaustion.

'Gorgeous,' John breathed into Sherlock's hair. He released his lover's prick and, using the fresh cum as lube, began to pump his own cock harder and faster.

'Let me help.' Sherlock batted John's hands away and slid down off John's lap and in between his legs. He pushed the dressing gown down and lowered his lips onto John's waiting member. John moaned and spread his legs wider, pushing himself further into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock swirled his tongue around John's prick, twisting it in such a way that made it feel like John was fucking his tongue within his mouth.

'Mmm, fuck! Holy shit!' John gasped out. 'Fuck that feels so good. Don't stop.'

Sherlock continued to swirl his tongue in that particular way with the added use of scraping his teeth against John's cock too. John dug his fingers into the sofa and slightly thrust into that hot mouth. That tongue had magical properties, making him go from 'oh yes that's good' to 'fuck I'm cumming' in under a minute.

'Fuck! Gonna cum,' he warned, his hips wriggling just a bit faster. Sherlock placed his hands on John's hips to still them. Chuckling loudly he began to bob his head up and down furiously. John panted harshly, his hands gripped the sofa tightly, and his hips still tried to wiggle despite Sherlock holding them down. He moaned and groaned and whimpered as Sherlock brought him to the edge, falling over it with a shout of his lover's name.

Sherlock gasped sharply as John came. He swallowed all John had and released him with a loud pop. John sighed and relaxed into the sofa, a goofy grin on his face.

'Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.' Sherlock crawled back onto John's lap with a similar grin on his face.

'It's been far too long,' he gasped out.

'It certainly has,' John sighed, pulling Sherlock into his arms. 'And, yes, I'll count that as a meal.'

'It was a delicious one at that.' Sherlock adjusted himself so he was almost fully submerged beneath the blanket and closed his eyes, ready for sleep.

'Do you want to skip  _Doctor Who_  and just go to bed?' John asked softly, petting Sherlock's now shorter hair.

'Yes, please,' Sherlock mumbled from beneath the blanket.

'Ok, love.' John placed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's temple and hauled him up. He carried him to their bedroom and placed him between the sheets, kissing him gently.

'Get some rest, love. I'll be in later, ok?'

Sherlock stretched out underneath his covers and grumbled something incoherent under his breath as he fell fully asleep.

'I'm going to assume that was an "I love you," so I'll just say I love you too.' John placed another kiss to Sherlock's forehead and left the room, closing the door behind him. He sat back on the sofa, draped the blanket around his legs, and turned his attention back to  _Doctor Who_.

When the show ended he turned off the TV and made his way to the bedroom. Sherlock was sprawled across the entire mattress, snoring heavily. John grinned and shook his head. He draped the blanket across the covers and moved Sherlock over just a bit. He grunted but didn't wake. John crawled in, shedding his dressing gown, and pulled Sherlock up to rest across his chest. He fell asleep listening to the softer snores coming from his lover, a small smile on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a shorter chapter, but at least you only have to wait until Monday. The next one is a bit longer, and it's the Halloween chapter oddly enough. I hope you all have a fantastic weekend and I'll see you on Monday.
> 
> TSA + IB


	36. This is Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone! I promised you a longer chapter and here it is! It's the Halloween chapter in September... Kinda like Christmas in July? No? OK.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: binge eating, vomiting, sex in costume, bathroom sex, Sherlock being a manipulative tease, multiple orgasms, erotic eating, rough sex, dubious consent, binging and purging, emotions, angst

A couple of weeks after Sherlock had left his rehabilitation facility, things seemed to be getting better at first. He went to therapy and gained his legs back fairly quickly. John had slowly weaned him from the protein shakes to small things like toast and soup. Every time Sherlock was able to manage to consume a little more John would give him a huge smile and there was always a look of joy and victory sparkling in his eyes.

Sherlock loved seeing John that happy and joyous. In fact, without that smile that he received each time he ate, he probably wouldn't have started his eating up again. Without John he'd probably be dead by now. No. He would definitely be dead. He would have simply wasted away.

He could still remember the horror on John's face when he discovered how thin he had gotten in his absence. That was the expression that Sherlock was trying to avoid at all costs. So Sherlock continued to eat and John continued to dish out his beautiful smiles.

However, Sherlock was quite aware that whereas once he was simply eating to gain a smile from John, he was now eating to ensure John's approval too. It began with just eating more regularly and then with larger portions. The more he ate the further away he was from the thin and malnourished person he had been weeks earlier, and the less John tutted at him for being too skinny, or frowned at his bones jutting through. John finally seemed content and at peace instead of on edge because he was worrying about Sherlock's health.

He just wanted John's approval. That's all. There was nothing wrong with his sudden intake of food. But then why was he currently sneaking around to eat behind John's back? Why did he consume food in the night to such an extent his belly ached and it hurt him to move? Why was he currently eating a whole packet of Jammy Dodgers to himself whilst John was out candy shopping for Halloween?

Sherlock stuffed the last three biscuits into his mouth, barely bothering to chew them, and swallowed. His stomach felt bloated and tight and it seemed to be growling angrily at him.

'Oh, shhh you,' Sherlock groaned, patting his belly. It wasn't caved in anymore. In fact, Sherlock was at a healthy weight again, but after gorging himself on a whole packet of sugary biscuits it was extended and painful.

He closed his eyes and let a sigh pass his lips. There was nothing wrong with him. There wasn't. He was fine. He was eating. Eating made John happy. John being happy made Sherlock happy.

So why did Sherlock feel like he was hiding a massive secret from John?

 

**…::-::…**

John strolled down the aisles of Tesco's, picking up bags of chocolate and candy for the kids sure to stop by. He was lazily walking through an aisle of marked down costumes when he came across the head accessories. He stopped, one of the headbands having caught his eye. He picked it up and grinned widely. Oh, there was no way he was passing up such an opportunity. He put it in his basket and made his way to the men's clothes, searching for a jacket for his costume.

He and Sherlock had discussed it at length. John was to dress at the ninth Doctor because he may have been born of war (which John argued he wasn't but Sherlock had insisted, and John couldn't resist his puppy eyes) but he had a soft heart. All he needed was the leather jacket, which he managed to find pretty easily.

He moved to the check out, avoiding the chip-and-pin machines, and paid. He walked back to the flat, enjoying the crisp autumn air. He couldn't wait to see the look on Sherlock's face when he showed him what he'd bought for him.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock didn't know how he'd gotten here, but he was currently leaning over the toilet, clutching his aching belly, and puking up the food he'd just gorged himself on.

 _There's nothing wrong with me. I just ate too much too quickly. I'll be fine._  
  
John entered the flat, humming a random tune. He walked upstairs and put the candy on the kitchen counter, pulling out the jacket and his present for Sherlock.

'Sherlock? Love, are you here?' he called out.

Sherlock wiped his mouth and flushed the toilet. His hand was still clutching his belly. It was sore from going from stuffed to empty and it was rumbling, begging him to fill it up again.

'I'll be out in a minute!' he called out to John.

'Make it quick. I got you something.'

Sherlock stood up on shaky legs. He washed his mouth out with mouthwash to rid himself of the vomit taste and patted his complaining stomach. Composing himself, he walked out of the bathroom.

'Present?'

Sherlock looked pale. Well, more pale than usual. Had he been sick? John shook the thought away.

'Yep. I got you a present. Close your eyes.'

Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes. 'What is it?'

'You'll see.' John took the headband out of the bag and stood on his tiptoes. He placed it on Sherlock's head and adjusted it a few times before he was satisfied. He smiled and giggled in excitement.

'Ok. Go look.'

Sherlock opened his eyes, raising an eyebrow. He walked to the bathroom mirror, tripping once because his legs almost gave way beneath him. He hoped John hadn't noticed. He let out an excited squeal as he saw what John had put on his head.

'I LOVE YOU!' he yelled back to his lover.

John frowned slightly, noticing Sherlock stumble off to the bathroom. Were his legs still weak, or was his sudden clumsiness from being sick? His worries melted when he heard Sherlock's squeal of approval and his shout of endearment. He walked to the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe.

'Like them, do you?' he grinned cheekily.

'I love them!' Sherlock grinned. 'Come here you.' He held his arms out for John to hug him. John walked to Sherlock's arms, wrapping his own around him in a tight embrace. He looked up and giggled at the sight, the little bee-bobble antennae wiggling with the slightest movement. He knew Sherlock would love them. He loved anything to do with bees really. So the little bobble antennae were perfect for him at Halloween.

Sherlock tugged John tightly to him and sealed his lips onto his.

'Thank you,' he murmured. 'I love them. I really do.'

'I knew you would,' John grinned. He looked up at the bobbles again and laughed. He tapped one with his finger and it danced slightly. 'They're quite amusing.'

Sherlock's eyes danced playfully. 'Amusing, yes. But for whom?' he smirked.

'Get down on all fours, right now,' Sherlock said, his voice deep and buzzing like a bumble bee.

'Planning on pollinating me Mr Busy Bee?' John grinned. He dropped to the floor, first to his knees and then onto his hands as well. Sherlock pulled his clothes off, dropping them to the floor, leaving on his bee headband. He wriggled John's trousers down to rest on his thighs, not bothering to fully undress him, just leaving him enough access. He slicked up his fingers and then pushed one knuckle into John slowly.

'I plan on doing just that,' he buzzed.

'Mmm, yes,' John purred. He rocked back on Sherlock's finger and moaned. 'Fill me up Mr Bee.'

Sherlock added another finger and then another, stretching John nice and wide. He crouched down so his body was lightly resting on John. He made a buzzing sound down his lover's ear.

And with a short, sharp, barking laugh he replaced his fingers with his cock, shoving it inside John quite roughly. John buzzed as well, pushing back on his lover's cock and bracing himself against the floor. His knees would ache afterwards, but it would be well worth it. Their sex life was finally returning and John didn't want to be the one to interrupt them. Especially since Sherlock was already 'pollinating' him.

Sherlock thrust fast and hard into John. His cock was already starting to leak inside of his lover. He reached a hand between John's legs and squeezed his bollocks and he used the other to wrap around John's cock. The only thing stopping him from falling was John. He ran his hand slowly up and down John's cock, thrust faster than he already had been, and squeezed John's balls hard.

John groaned and whimpered as Sherlock pleasured him. He couldn't remember a time when he had felt better. He pushed back, his hands scrabbling against the tiled floor. Eventually he reached back and gripped Sherlock's shoulders, leaning up slightly so Sherlock could reach a new angle. He cried out when he found his prostate and pushed back on the hand that was squeezing his bollocks.

Sherlock increased the intensity of all three movements he was carrying out. He felt John's entrance tighten and his cock throbbed.

'Oh god,' he gasped. 'Gonna–'

He finally pollinated John, cumming deep inside of him. John cried out as he found his own release, his cum landing on the floor in a small puddle. He fell slightly, bracing his hands against the floor as he caught his breath.

'Oh, that was fantastic,' he moaned. 'Mmm. I love you.' Sherlock hummed, his body collapsing heavily onto John, causing them to both fall to the floor.

Sherlock didn't feel fantastic. He felt dizzy, light headed, and weak. There was a shrill ringing in his ears and his vision was starting to cloud. His stomach ached to be filled again and the sounds it was now making sounded like laughter.

'I can hear your stomach grumbling, love,' John mumbled from the floor. 'Have you not eaten since breakfast?'

Sherlock hummed and shivered. He'd eaten alright. He'd eaten till he was sick.

'I–' He grunted, feeling his body slump further.

'Come on. Roll over at least.' John pushed against Sherlock's body to get him to move. 'I'll make you some jam on toast. Sound good? Or does my bee want some tea and honey instead?'

Sherlock shifted slightly so he rolled off of John but lay completely still on the floor. His body felt too heavy to move and his eyes did a roll in his skull. Perhaps fucking John senseless after puking up his guts hadn't been a good idea.

John sat up and stretched his legs. His knees were going to be killing him later. He let out a small 'ugh' when he realised he'd landed in his cum, a stain spreading across his shirt. He stood up and took it off, walking to the bedroom for a fresh t-shirt. He then went to the kitchen and put some bread in the toaster and got out the jam, waiting for the toast to pop up.

'Love? Are you alright?' John asked. Sherlock had yet to emerge from the bathroom, and it worried John slightly. Was he so weak from hunger that he couldn't stand? A whimper surpassed Sherlock's plump lips. He tried to scrabble to his feet but he was too weak. His head was pounding and his eyes refused to open fully.

'Love?' John popped the toast himself before it could burn. He left it in the toaster as he went to investigate. 'Sherlock? Are you alright?'

He sighed when he returned to the bathroom. Sherlock was exactly where he'd left him, sprawled on his back, eyes closed, breathing shallow. John knelt down and brushed Sherlock's curls off his forehead, pulling the headband off and setting it on the counter.

'What's wrong, love? Are you feeling ok?'

'I'm just peachy,' Sherlock wheezed. 'Can you help me up?'

John grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and hauled him up into a sitting position. He moved behind him so he could sit up without falling over.

'Are you really so hungry that you can't move?'

'My blood sugar's probably just a little low.' Sherlock's head drooped and he groaned.

'Yeah, you definitely need food. Come on.' John hauled Sherlock to his feet, pulling an arm over his shoulder to steady him. He led him to the kitchen and sat him in a chair, moving to spread jam on the toast and handed it to him.

'Eat that. I'll make tea.' Sherlock picked up the toast. He stuffed the pieces into his mouth rapidly, practically swallowing them whole.

'Jesus. You  _were_  hungry,' John tutted. 'Please chew that. I don't want you getting sick from eating your food whole.' He set a mug of Earl Grey in front of Sherlock, some honey and sugar mixed in.

'Sip at that. Don't drink it in one gulp. It's still hot and fresh. And if you burn your mouth and tongue don't come crying to me.'

Sherlock slowly chewed on the last piece as his belly ached from him eating too rapidly. It was an awful habit that he should break. He sipped at the drink and frowned as he felt it practically jump to his stomach and pool inside of it.

'Thank you,' John sighed. He sat down and sipped at his own tea, bumping his knee against Sherlock's. 'And, you should probably get dressed after this. The trick-or-treaters will be arriving soon. And I need to get in my costume.'

Sherlock shrivelled up his nose. 'Youths,' he muttered. 'I better be allowed some candy once this is all over,' he pouted.

'If the kids leave any, sure. Oh, before I forget, Lestrade invited us to the Yard's Halloween party tonight. It'll be after dark when the trick-or-treating's done. I expect you to wear your new antennae to the party.'

Sherlock huffed but couldn't help the smile that wriggled across his face.

'I swear if Anderson's there,' he grumbled.

'I'll punch him in the nose again,' John smirked, taking a large sip of his drink. 'I'm sure Greg would help again. He seemed rather eager last time.'

Sherlock huffed a laugh. 'Good old Lestrade.'

He sipped his tea quickly. It still scalded his mouth but not terribly so.

'I'm sure Anderson will avoid me though. After last time, I'm sure he wants nothing to do with me.'

'If he knows what's good for him he won't turn up at all.'

'He might not. I'm sure Greg told him we were invited, so he probably won't come at all.' He glanced up at Sherlock and smiled. 'I think you should go get dressed. You being naked in our kitchen is spiking my imagination something awful.'

'Am I now?' Sherlock purred. He stood to his feet. 'Well, I wouldn't want to over feed that imagination of yours.'

'No, you certainly don't. Because I have an over active imagination. And that can be quite dangerous.'

Sherlock wiggled his hips as he walked away to the bedroom. 'Keep that imagination in check!' he called over his shoulder.

John swallowed and sipped at his tea again, letting it burn the roof of his mouth slightly. He stood and put his now empty mug in the sink. He pulled the leather jacket out of the Tesco's bag, removing his own to slip it on. He already had the t-shirt, jeans, and shoes. And he had the sonic screwdriver somewhere too. When he searched his pockets he didn't find it. It was probably still in the bedroom.

'Hey, Sherlock?' John knocked on the door. 'Is my sonic screwdriver in there?'

Sherlock grinned, grabbing the sonic from the bedside table and sticking it in between his lips, moaning obscenely. He opened the door, his purple top still undone, and his jeans hanging on his hips with his curly pubes poking through.

John's breath hitched at the sight. He felt his mouth go dry as he stared Sherlock up and down. He really had filled out nicely. He was back to a healthy weight, no longer looking like a skeleton. But right now all John saw was the purple shirt, the jeans slung low and open on his hips, and the sonic clenched between his teeth.

'Th-thanks,' John stuttered out, his face red hot from arousal. Sherlock groaned in reply, sucking the sonic screwdriver deeper into his mouth, poking his tongue out to swirl around it.

'You fucking bastard,' John growled. He pushed Sherlock onto the bed and straddled him, grinding his hips against him hard.

Sherlock nearly choked on the screwdriver. He plucked it from his mouth, putting it to one side, and rut his hips upwards frantically.

'Oh, I'm the fucking bastard?'

'Yes. You are. Sparking my imagination like that. Wearing that – that shirt.' He ground against Sherlock hard, turning his head to suck a bright red mark below his collarbone.

'It's not my – oof – fault your imagi – fuck – nation – is overactive.'

'No. But you fuel it well enough when you're clothed.' John sat up and pulled Sherlock's jeans down, wrapping his hand around his cock. 'And now you and that bloody purple shirt are driving me crazy. And you aren't wearing pants. Jesus Christ.' He sucked another mark on Sherlock's neck where it would be hidden by his shirt collar.

'If you're going to leave love bites at least do it in places visible.' Sherlock lunged forwards and dug his teeth into John's neck.

'Fu– bollocks!' he yelped as John began to pump him fast and rough.

John groaned when Sherlock sunk his teeth into his neck. So it was gonna be like that, was it? He squeezed Sherlock tight, pumping faster. His free hand travelled down to his bollocks, massaging them roughly. He then sunk his teeth into Sherlock's neck just below his jaw, sucking and biting long and hard to leave a dark purple bruise.

Sherlock bit more and more of John, literally littering his lover's neck with thick, red marks. He shot a hand out and squeezed John's erection without mercy.

'Unzip my trousers,' John growled. He bit another deep purple mark on Sherlock's neck, soothing it with his tongue. 'Take me in your hand and stroke me off.'

'Oh? I think I can do better than that.'

Sherlock grabbed John and pulled his body up to his chin. He unzipped the trousers and immediately began to suck John off.

'Mmm, fuck,' John moaned. 'Oh that's brilliant. Mmm.' He rut slowly into Sherlock's mouth, pushing in just a little further. Sherlock sucked in more, swallowing thickly and growling. John stretched out along the mattress, his hand clenching the sheets tightly. He pushed in a little more, hitting the back of Sherlock's throat and moaned.

'Mmm, that's it love. Fuck! Don't stop.'

Sherlock gagged around John's cock but managed to not choke completely. He hollowed out his cheeks and sucked harder. If John wanted more then he'd bloody get more.

John tensed as Sherlock brought him closer to the edge. 'Think you can swallow me, love?'

Sherlock nodded eagerly and gulped John down further and further. He reached a hand out and grabbed John's arse. He gave it a tight squeeze and ghosted John's entrance with his fingers. John gasped and shuddered, spilling himself down Sherlock's throat in thick spurts. Sherlock's eyes fluttered in pleasure as he swallowed all of John before letting him go.

When John's orgasm was over Sherlock barely gave him time to recover before he'd yanked both his and John's trousers down so he could press his cock into John's entrance. He wrapped his legs around John's tired form and adjusted himself carefully, wriggling his cock into the entrance and moving so John fell heavily onto it.

John was still dealing with his powerful orgasm and good god did that make his look of surprise so much more pleasurable.

'Oh! Oh Jesus fuck! Gah!' John rocked down on his lover's cock, moaning like a cat in heat. He pulled Sherlock up by his shirt collar and kissed him passionately, thoroughly enjoying the taste of himself on Sherlock's tongue.

Sherlock jolted his hips up sharply, almost working John completely off his cock before then allowing him to fall back down onto it with a loud smack. He nipped at John's lips playfully and gripped his lover's arse in both hands. John gasped into the kiss and rocked back into Sherlock's hands. He pounded down on his cock hard and fast, grunting and panting from the exertion. John was so beautifully exhausted already and Sherlock wasn't planning on letting up any time soon. He slowed his movements so he himself wouldn't tire as easily and moved his hands to tickle John's bollocks.

John groaned and pressed his forehead to Sherlock's. At this rate he'd be hard again within a few minutes. He didn't care. Just as long as he didn't look like he'd just been fucked properly for the second time in barely half an hour. So he pushed back on Sherlock's fingers and pumped himself harder onto his lover's cock.

Sherlock tutted under his breath and slammed himself upwards into John. He continued that movement several times with the added rough tug of a bollock here and there. The aim of the game was to completely drain John of all energy.

John groaned and whimpered, his arms and legs shaking from the exertion. He was starting to harden again already. He didn't care. He just wanted to cum across Sherlock's chest and that purple shirt. Damn that purple shirt. It had given him nothing but trouble since Sherlock had been able to wear it again. Either always unbuttoned enough he could see Sherlock's pecs or buttoned so tight Sherlock's nipples nearly tore through the fabric.

That was how their sex life had started up again; that damn purple shirt. Oh, but he loved that shirt. Not only was it a gorgeous colour on Sherlock but it was quite versatile. They'd used it for restraints more than once, as a way to induce foreplay, and now as leverage to pull Sherlock up so John could ravage his lips once more.

Sherlock massaged John's bollocks till they drew up tightly and then switched to run a hand up and down John's cock. He rocked upwards harder and devoured John's mouth. John tensed and whimpered again, feeling his imminent release for the second time in only minutes. He greedily sucked on Sherlock's tongue, nipping his bottom lip playfully when he released it. He gasped loudly when Sherlock squeezed his bollocks tight, flicking them with his fingers.

'Oh fuck. Gonna cum,' he grit out in warning before he began cumming in short, sharp spurts across Sherlock's stomach. Sherlock yelled out loud as he felt an earth shattering orgasm ripple through him. He came long and hard, his entire body shaking. John collapsed beside Sherlock on the bed, just barely pushing the sonic out of the way before he fell. He lay there, panting and exhausted, and closed his eyes as he tried to get his breath back.

'Wow,' Sherlock gasped. 'Just wow.'

John merely grunted and rolled over, his breathing still harsh. He made a small humming sound that he hoped sounded like approval. He was too thoroughly fucked to form words. Sherlock laughed joyfully and wriggled closer to John, drawing their still shaking bodies together.

'Holy shit,' John finally managed to gasp out. He pulled himself close to Sherlock with quaking arms and hummed when his head met his chest.

'I've really taken it out of you, haven't I? Three orgasms within half an hour. Dear me.'

'Mmm,' John hummed, nuzzling Sherlock's chest. 'Smug git. You did this on purpose.'

'I heard no complaints,' Sherlock laughed. 'It's not my fault your body has been rendered useless.'

'Yes it is. You're the one who fucked me so goddamn well.' He closed his eyes and sighed, burrowing closer to Sherlock. 'I still want to go to the party. I want to show you off. My gorgeous partner, my companion.'

Sherlock groaned. 'I was hoping to distract you from the party. You know I don't do social situations.'

'I'm still taking you,' John protested. 'My busy little bee.' He buzzed against Sherlock's chest and smiled.

'Alright. I'll go. But no sex for a month,' Sherlock grit out. 'And no calling me Mr Busy Bee.'

'Ugh,' John groaned. No sex for a month? No way. They'd only just gotten their sex life back. There was no way he would readily agree to no sex for that long. He blew air out of his nose harshly and sighed. 'You drive a hard bargain. Fine. You don't have to go. But behave yourself while I'm gone. No shooting the walls, no corrosive experiments, and don't terrorise any children. Got it?'

Sherlock's whole body hummed in victory. 'Thank you, dear. I can't promise you anything. You may come home to a burnt down flat.'

'If I do, at least it gives us a valid excuse to find a new place to live. Maybe then reporters won't be stalking us so often. We seriously need to stay out of the papers.' John groaned and rolled over and attempted to stand. His legs were still weak and shaking from his three orgasms and his head was fuzzy.

'I think I need something to eat,' he grumbled, holding his head as his vision tried to right itself.

Sherlock's stomach growled. Frowning, Sherlock sighed in agreement. 'You're not the only one.'

His stomach felt empty still and he needed to fix that. It had started to become used to far larger meals and toast hadn't satisfied it. He stood to his feet and walked over to John, grabbing him nice and tight.

'Come on.'

'Think you're gonna have to carry me,' John mumbled. 'Legs feel like jelly.'

Sherlock shook his head in amusement. 'Come on then old man.' He scooped John up into his arms and carried him out to the sofa. John giggled the entire way to the sitting room, holding onto Sherlock tight. Sherlock had never carried him like that before, it was always him carrying Sherlock, and John could definitely see the appeal. He was so close to his love's gorgeous face, all he had to do was pucker his lips and he was kissing his cheek. John rather liked being carried by Sherlock. He would have to try to get him to do it again.

Sherlock carried John over to the sofa, where he let him fall with a light thud.

'My gorgeous old man,' he cooed, kissing him tenderly. 'What do you want? Pancakes? It's what we had after our first ever love making session after all.'

'Don't call me an old man,' John huffed. 'I'll stop calling you my busy bee if you stop calling me old. I'm not old. I'm only thirty seven. And yes, pancakes sound wonderful.'

'You're older than me though and that makes you my old man.' Sherlock chuckled and walked into the kitchen to make the pancakes.

'I'm only four years older than you! That doesn't make me old Mr Busy Bee!'

'Yes it does!' Sherlock called back. He set about making the pancakes. It wasn't often that he did cook. That was what John was for. However he did pride himself on being an excellent cook. He cooked four large but light and fluffy pancakes for John and then four more for himself.

'What does my old man want on his pancakes?'

'Honey that my busy bee collected himself!' John pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn't old. He wasn't. He looked down and sighed. His trousers were still around his ankles. How had he not noticed before? He stood and pulled them up, fastening them and the belt quickly before plopping back down on the sofa with a huff.

Sherlock dripped honey onto both lots of pancakes and strutted back into the living room. He was now topless due to John's cum staining his purple shirt. It would have to get washed. He loved that shirt. His trousers hung loose on his hips still and he grinned as John flushed bright red. John adjusted himself on the sofa, pressing his hand into his crotch. No. No more orgasms. He'd already had three and he didn't plan on having another until after the party.

He gratefully accepted the pancakes from Sherlock and tried not to stare at his trousers. He cut out a small triangle in his pancakes and shoved it into his mouth, humming as the honey soothed his throat.

Sherlock plopped down beside John and began eating the pancakes, groaning and moaning, and licking his lips obscenely.

 _Bastard. Complete bastard,_  John swore. He ate his pancakes in silence, doing his best not to listen to Sherlock's erotic noises.

He utterly failed.

He pushed his hand further into his crotch as he ate, swallowing thickly whenever Sherlock would moan and squirmed when he would lick his lips. Goddammit.

'Oh John,' Sherlock moaned. 'Oh god, John.' He licked his fork, slurping up the thick honey.

John whimpered and pressed harder against his achingly hard cock. Oh, he was going to fuck Sherlock so goddamn hard when this was over. He stood up slowly, his plate empty, and hobbled over to the sink. He set his dishes in the sink and turned back to Sherlock.

'Might as well bring me yours too, seeing as I can't walk,' he scowled lightly.

Sherlock groaned as he got up, strutting to John. He placed his plate in the sink and then moved so he was pressed against John, his erection that had slowly been building up again digging into John's arse.

'Feels good, huh?'

'It'll feel even better in a second.' John grasped Sherlock's wrist and quickly twisted it behind his back, slamming his bare chest into the kitchen table. He hummed and pressed his clothed erection into Sherlock's arse, rutting slowly.

'I'm going to fuck you against our table,' he growled down Sherlock's ear. He pulled his trousers down so they rested against his ankles and moaned appreciatively at the sight.

'Spread your legs further,' he demanded, kneeling down but still holding onto Sherlock's wrist. He nipped one of Sherlock's buttocks and then licked from bollocks to anus, spreading his cheeks slightly.

'Fuck!' Sherlock screamed. 'J-ohn!' He spread his legs wide and pushed back on John's tongue. 'Get inside now!'

John squeezed Sherlock's wrist and pulled, causing Sherlock to grunt in discomfort.

'Shush. For now, I'm in charge.' He poked his tongue against Sherlock's entrance, wetting it down while stroking around it, relaxing it. As soon as it did, he delved inside, tasting and taking for himself while he had the chance.

Sherlock whimpered. 'Please,' he begged. 'Oh god–' His body shook. 'It's been too long since you were the one to take me.'

'It most certainly has,' John hummed against Sherlock's arse. He sucked two fingers into his mouth, coating them liberally, and then shoved them deep inside his love.

Sherlock panted heavily and clenched his arse around John's fingers. 'Please. I'm begging you,' he gasped out. John merely hummed again and curled his fingers, finding Sherlock's prostate and stimulating it as he pumped and scissored his fingers at a furious pushed backwards, his eyes almost popping from his skull.

'J-ohn – I – please.' He was surprised about how much that had sounded like a sob. John rose up, his fingers still buried in Sherlock's arse, now only stimulating his prostate. He released Sherlock's wrist and moved his hand to grasp the edge of the table. He did the same with the other.

'Hang on tight, don't fall over, and don't be afraid to scream,' John growled into Sherlock's ear. He removed his fingers, leaving Sherlock dripping and open, and opened his jeans. He pushed them down so they fell to the floor and slicked his very erect and dripping cock. He lined himself up with Sherlock and pushed in slowly, drawing out the initial penetration until he was buried to the hilt in his lover's tight heat.

A shrill scream ripped out of Sherlock's throat. He frantically pushed back against John.

'Fu–'

John gripped Sherlock's hips tightly and pushed in just a little farther. He moaned loudly as Sherlock clenched tightly around him, grinning like a madman at Sherlock's shrill scream of pleasure. He slid out slowly, thoroughly enjoying Sherlock's whimper, before pushing back in hard and fast, his knees nearly giving out at the sensation. Sherlock's legs wobbled beneath him. John was thrusting into him fast and hard and his body didn't know what to do with that information. Ever since his recovery, their sex life had consisted of him making love to John, not the other way around.

'Shit,' he whimpered as John hit his prostate, his legs finally giving way. His hands slipped from the table too and he and John came crashing to the ground with a loud thump.

'I told you to hold on,' John grunted, leaning up on shaking arms. He growled when Sherlock attempted to right himself and pinned him down. 'I'll just take you here on the kitchen floor then, shall I?' He began thrusting at a furious pace, holding Sherlock down but raising his hips so he could find his prostate again.

Sherlock wasn't going to mention that his ribs were now aching badly from where he'd fallen. Save that for later. He lifted his bum in the air and began whimpering incoherent things under his breath, allowing John to pump in and out of him with no mercy.

'Teasing little cock sucker,' John growled, thrusting hard and deep. 'Fucking little cock tease. Do you enjoy frustrating me? Do you? Do you enjoy it when I get so pent up with sexual frustration that I have to pound you until we both cum screaming? Until you can't walk for a week? Answer me!' He grabbed Sherlock's curls and tilted his head up, straining his neck muscles severely.

Sherlock shivered and felt pure terror running through his veins. It was times like these that reminded him that John might very well look like a cute little hedgehog but he was a soldier too.

'N-oo,' he stuttered.

'No what? Be specific, Sherlock.' John stopped thrusting and moved his free hand to Sherlock's cock, stroking him languidly.

'No I don't enjoy it!' Sherlock cried. 'But it's the only way I can get you to myself! Life – stuff – gets in the way of our sex life! It's just easier to tease you into it! You've been rather too busy to take notice otherwise–' Sherlock was beginning to sob now. 'Mmm sorry.'

'Too busy?' John stopped moving entirely, his face falling. 'Have I really been so busy that I've been neglecting you?'

Sherlock swallowed. 'Since I'm back to a normal weight you've been around less, yes.'

'Have I really?' John swallowed. 'I never noticed. I'm sorry.' He placed a soft kiss between Sherlock's shoulder blades and sighed. 'I'm so sorry, love. I'll try to be around a little more often now. And... I suppose I don't have to go to the Yard's party tonight. We can stay in and eat candy. Maybe watch a movie. A quiet night in. Does that sound ok?'

'No,' Sherlock said softly. 'Go. Have fun. You deserve it. I'll be ok.'

'Are you sure? Because I've canceled plans for you before. I don't mind. Really.'

'I'm sure. Just – finish what you started, please.' He wriggled back on John's cock.

'Ok, love. Ok.' John kissed his neck softly and released his hold on his hair. He began thrusting again, slow and deep at first, gradually moving faster and faster.

Sherlock sniffed his tears away and moaned softly. 'Thank you,' he whispered. John moaned and rocked harder, his hands moving to clasp Sherlock's on the kitchen floor. Sherlock arched upwards, entwining his fingers with John's.

'C-lose,' he gasped.

'Cum for me, Sherlock,' John purred, adjusting his position slightly so he could stimulate his prostate. Sherlock's body tensed as a third orgasm flew through him and he came on the floor.

'John!' he screamed.

'Sherlock!' John cried as his lover's orgasm sent him over the edge as well. He clenched Sherlock's hands tight and buried himself deep inside as he came. Sherlock breathed in sharply as John came inside of him. He closed his eyes and trembled violently underneath his lover, trying to ignore how his ribs were becoming more painful by the second. John pulled out of Sherlock and sat back, collecting his breath. Before he could say anything there was a knock at the door, followed by children's voices.

'Shit. The kids are here already.' John scrambled up and pulled his jeans back on, zipping them up as he moved to grab his sonic. He moved back into the kitchen and opened the bags of candy, pouring their contents into a large bowl. He finally went downstairs and opened the door, a wide smile on his face.

'Trick or treat!' the kids grinned, holding out their bags. John deposited some candy into each, wishing them a happy Halloween before closing the door and going back upstairs. Sherlock was still on the kitchen floor, but had shifted onto his back at least.

'Hey. You feeling ok? Your chest is really red. Did you hurt yourself when we fell?'

'Fell on it pretty hard,' Sherlock wheezed. 'Hurts to move and breathe. And I think it's starting to bruise.'

'Damn. Yeah, I can see some purple creeping in.' John moved to the medicine cabinet and handed Sherlock a bottle of painkillers. 'These should help. Take two every four hours as the pain persists.' There was another knock on the door. 'Ah. More kids. I'll be right back.' John dashed downstairs and handed out more candy, staying there for a few minutes as more children seemed to appear out of nowhere, demanding more candy.

Sherlock held onto his chest, sitting up to take the pills, dry swallowing them. God, why did everything hurt so much?

The sea of kids finally disappeared and John sighed in relief. He closed the door and returned to the kitchen. Sherlock's chest now looked as purple as his shirt.

'Jesus. Are you sure it's just bruising? Does anything feel broken?'

'You're the doctor,' Sherlock grit out, clutching his chest for dear life. 'You bloody tell me.'

'I don't have x-ray vision, Sherlock,' John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'I can't see through your flesh to your bones to see if it's just bruised and not broken. Should I take you to A&E?'

Sherlock wrinkled up his nose and shook his head. 'I'm not going to A&E.'

Still clutching his side, he rose to his feet. 'The painkillers will kick in soon enough. I just want candy and a warm blanket. I'll be fine.'

'If you're sure, ok. But if you start to feel worse, please don't hold it in. Tell me and I'll help, ok?' He helped Sherlock into their room, pulling his trousers off and sat him on the bed.

'Don't look at me like that. I know you were going to go to the sofa. But it would make me feel better if you were in bed. Get in the covers. I'll bring you some candy.'

Sherlock huffed and thought about retorting but instead he just crawled beneath the covers.

'Get me lots of candy,' he sighed. 'I deserve it.'

'I'll let you choose then. Just leave enough for the kids.' He went back to the kitchen and grabbed the bowl off the table and brought it to Sherlock. Sherlock grabbed two large handfuls.

'Thank you,' he grunted.

'Don't eat that all at once. You'll make yourself sick.' Another knock. 'Ah. More kids. I'll be back, love.' He kissed Sherlock's hair and went to give the kids more candy. Sherlock rolled his eyes and started to eat the candy. He began to eat it slowly but then, as though his body was on auto pilot, he began to shove them into mouth as quickly as possible.

The kids were coming in swarms now. John just sat on the steps, passing out candy, occasionally quoting Nine when the kids asked.

Sherlock blinked. Where had all the candy gone? Oh. His stomach made a gurgling sound of protest. Shit. He quickly hid the candy wrappers. God forbid if John found out he'd eaten all the candy so rapidly. At least this way he could say he'd stored the candy away for later. His stomach made another strange noise and he groaned audibly, placing a hand over his bloated belly and moving further into the warmth of his covers.

The kids began to come few and far between, and finally they stopped coming altogether. John looked at the bowl of candy. It was almost empty, about a handful of candy was left. He stood up and stretched, checking his watch. Almost 10 p.m. He had a little while before the Yard's party. He went back inside and shut the door.

'Hey, Sherlock? I'm going to go to the Yard party. I'll be back in a few hours.' He entered the bedroom and sighed. 'Where's all the candy then?'

Sherlock poked his head over the covers. 'I've stored it away for an experiment,' he lied smoothly despite his aching belly.

'Oh? Do I even want to know?' John smiled softly, crossing his arms over his chest.

'No.' Sherlock managed a smile. 'You really don't.'

If John knew the truth Sherlock knew he would be disgusted. Sherlock was certainly disgusted about his recent eating habits.

'Good. Don't ruin candy for me. And I'm claiming the candy that's left in the bowl for myself. Don't experiment on it or eat it.' He strode over to the bed and brushed Sherlock's curls off his forehead. 'I'll be back after midnight probably. And I'm warning you now, I just might be drunk.'

Sherlock frowned and shifted uncomfortably under his covers. 'I'd rather you didn't get drunk, but ok,' he sighed.

'Then I'll try not to get drunk,' John said. He kissed Sherlock softly, sucking on his bottom lip before pulling away. 'I'll see you in a couple hours, yeah?'

'Yeah.' Sherlock waved his hand at John. 'Now go. Have fun.'

'Ok. Love you.'

'Love you too.'

John waved and shut the door to their bedroom. He grabbed his keys and made sure he still had his sonic before he left. He hailed a cab and headed off to the Yard.

Sherlock scrambled from the bed as soon as he heard the front door slam. He hobbled out of the bedroom, one hand on his bruised chest, the other on his extended belly. He barely made it to the bathroom in time before he was throwing up violently into the toilet bowl.

Tears streamed down his eyes. Why was this happening? Why had he stuffed himself to the point of vomiting again? Why hadn't John noticed? He was a doctor. Shouldn't he have been able to see that something was very, very wrong with him?

 

**…::-::…**

The party was completely boring without Sherlock there. John missed him whispering deductions in his ear about the people who would end up going home together. Or about the people who just couldn't wait and had a quickie in the loo. John just stood in the corner, nursing a bottle of beer. Greg was having way too much fun. He had dressed up as Captain Jack Sparrow in the hopes Sherlock would talk some pirate to him. All it did to John was cause him to blush and miss Sherlock that much more.

He finished his one beer and bid everyone goodnight. Greg stumbled over to him and begged him to stay. John politely declined, saying it didn't feel right to be there. But Greg was having none of it. He dragged him over to the bobbing for apples game and pushed him to the front of the line. John sighed and knelt down, grabbing an apple quickly and tossing it into the crowd. Greg said that wasn't fair, he actually had to get wet, but John didn't want to play anymore. He stood and pushed his way out of the Yard and into the crisp autumn night. He checked his watch. It was nearly midnight. Good. Well, he'd stayed the two hours he said he would at least. Now he just wanted to go home and cuddle Sherlock as he slept. He hailed a cab and sat quietly as he was driven back to 221B.

 

**…::-::…**

Sherlock had cried himself to sleep. His hand rested over his belly, fighting off the new hunger pains he was feeling, even in sleep. His chest was killing him. He supposed it was because he'd thrown up the painkillers before they could really take effect.

He was too tired to care though. Tired and both emotionally and physically drained.

 

**…::-::…**

John handed the cabbie his fare and walked inside the flat. He locked the door behind him, not wanting any Halloween hooligans to stumble in and fall asleep on the stairs or, god forbid, in Mrs Hudson's sitting room.

He slowly made his way up the stairs, his knees still protesting from earlier. He took his jacket off and hung it on the hook in the sitting room. He toed off his shoes, left them by the door, and made his way to the bedroom.

Sherlock was curled in on himself, sleeping fitfully. John sighed and rubbed his face. Sherlock was clutching his stomach, a pained crease in his forehead. So, stomach problems on top of his aching chest. When John found the candy wrappers he understood. Ate too much too fast. Now the big question was had Sherlock been sick? One look into the bathroom answered that question. Yes, yes he had.

'We will be talking about this in the morning,' John mumbled to himself. He returned to the bedroom and changed into bedclothes. He crawled into bed and spooned Sherlock gently, nuzzling his hair softly.

'I love you, my beautiful idiot. We'll talk in the morning.' He curled closer to Sherlock as he relaxed and was lulled to sleep by Sherlock's soft breathing.

 

**…::-::…**

Sherlock woke to the intense pain of his chest. He winced his eyes open and groaned loudly.

'John.' He poked his sleeping lover with his foot. 'John.' He tried again when all he received was a loud snore. 'Wake up.'

John groaned and flexed his muscles. He was still exhausted. How long had he been asleep?

'Sh'lock?' he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep. 'Wha time izzit?'

'In pain,' Sherlock breathed sharply. 'Need meds.'

John grunted and rolled over. He cracked an eye open and grabbed the bottle of pills off the side table. He opened it and dumped out two pills. He set the bottle back on the table, not bothering to close it, and rolled back over. He groped blindly for Sherlock's hand and put the pills in his palm.

'Thanks.' He swallowed the tablets before cuddling up to John. 'It's only early, sorry.'

'Mmm. How early is early?' he mumbled, snuggling close to Sherlock's warm body.

Sherlock glanced at the clock on the wall. 'Two a.m.'

'No wonder I'm still tired.' John buried his nose in Sherlock's neck and inhaled deeply. 'Mmm. Gonna go back to sleep now.'

'Okay, dear. I'm just going to get something to eat. I'm starving.' He wriggled away from John. 'I love you.'

'Don't eat too much,' John mumbled almost incoherently. 'Don't want you gettin sick again.'

Sherlock froze. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Found your sick in the loo. No more candy for you.'

'I wasn't sick because of the candy!' Sherlock protested. 'I was sick because the pain in my chest was so intense.'

'Oh,' was all John was able to say before sleep took him again.

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. There was a bullet dodged. He crawled from the bed and padded to the kitchen.

Opening up the fridge he felt his mind scream at him. It told him to grab as much as he could to eat. Sherlock found that he couldn't bring himself to stop. It all looked so good. And an image of a smiling John flickered behind his eyelids, telling him that food was indeed good and wonderful. And for once there were no dead body parts in the fridge either. Just normal food.

He grabbed several yogurt pots, some cheese, ham, and some Indian takeaway leftovers. Within one hour he'd forced the food into his mouth and down into his stomach. Groaning, he threw the rubbish away and waddled over to the sofa.

His fingers pressed against the expanse of his stomach and he winced. He fell asleep feeling disgusted with himself and in terrible discomfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the poor boys. Sherlock just gets all the problems. I'm afraid there's going to be some more angsty chapters for a while. And some more dark!John moments as well, though it's really mentioned in passing. 
> 
> I am now off to watch the season premiere of How I Met Your Mother. See you Friday and Happy Red Pants Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	37. Problems Arise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I've been battling a migraine for most of the afternoon and trying to get myself prepared for my trip to a Halloweekend at my favourite theme park tomorrow. I'm going to be gone from 6 am until 1:30 am Sunday. I won't be getting much homework done...
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, Greg, Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: drunk John, verbally abusive drunk John, basically John is just a dick in this chapter, vomit, binge eating, Sherlock gets hospitilised yet again, mentions of abuse and rape

John's alarm went off at nine, startling him awake. His eyes snapped open and he rolled over to shut it off. He didn't have work, so why was his alarm going off? Oh, right. He'd forgotten to turn it off the day before.

 _Oh well. Might as well get up since I'm already awake,_  he thought. He frowned when he realised Sherlock wasn't in bed with him. In fact, his side of the bed was cold. So he'd been gone for a while. John racked his memory. Sherlock had left to get food after his chest had started playing up, but what he did after that was a complete mystery.

John sat up and stretched, sliding out of bed and padding out into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and nearly jumped back in surprise. It was almost completely empty. All that was left was some Chinese takeaway and some yogurt. Where the hell had all the food gone?

A groan from the living room answered that question. Sherlock was asleep on the sofa, his hand draped over his protruding stomach. John tutted and turned on the kettle.

 _So he was lying about being sick from pain last night. I thought so. When did the binge eating start and how on earth did I not notice?_  
  
Sherlock awoke with a loud whimper. God, he felt awful. What had gotten into him last night? What on Earth had compelled him to eat so much? John leaned against the kitchen door and frowned.

'You lied to me,' he said bluntly. 'When and why did the binge eating start?'

Sherlock jumped into a sitting position on the sofa at the sound of John's voice. 'I did no such thing! And I am most certainly not binge eating. Do not mistake me for my brother.'

'Oh? Then where did all the food in the fridge go? It didn't just get up and throw itself away.' He pointed to the rubbish bin and scowled. 'Now I'm going to ask you again: when and why did the binge eating start?'

'I'm running an experiment if you must know!' Sherlock snapped defensively. 'I want to see how food is affected by different bacteria at certain temperatures.'

He got to his feet, scowling back at John. 'How  _dare_  you accuse me of having another eating disorder after I worked so hard to rid myself of one!'

'Don't lie to me!' John shouted. 'I am sorry it took me this long to notice, but I  _do_  know what an eating disorder looks like! It happens a lot with starvation patients. Once you learn to like food again you find that you can't stop. The only reason it didn't happen with me was because I was still in rehab while I was going through it. I never thought it would happen to you because you never had a big taste for food. And I am so sorry it took me this long to see it. But now that I can I see that you've put on two extra stones and it's all sitting in your gut.'

Sherlock grabbed his stomach and was disgusted to see the flesh jiggle in his hands.

'Has not!' he screamed. 'I do not have a binge eating problem! Just shut up!' He shoved past John. 'I am fine!'

'No, Sherlock, you are not! Just look at yourself!' He followed Sherlock into their bedroom and shoved him in front of the mirror. 'Look at how much weight you've gained. Look at your gut, look at your face, your thighs. I'm not saying you're fat, because you're not, but your weight gain is not very appealing on your tall, lanky frame.'

'So you don't like my body the way it is?!' Sherlock raged. 'Fine then! You don't have to look at it a moment longer! Get out of my bedroom! Get out!'

'What?! I like your body fine! But this is different than when you said you would "feed me up" when I had body weight issues. I'm just telling you need to eat less instead of more!' John countered. 'I'm not leaving, Sherlock.'

'Please can you just get out?' Sherlock begged. 'I just–' He was seething. 'Get out!'

'Fine!' John screamed. He stalked from the room and slammed the door shut. He grabbed his coat and put on his shoes, not caring that he was still technically wearing pyjamas. He grabbed his keys and stalked from the flat, slamming it shut behind him.

**…::-::…**

_Fatty._

_Disgusting._

_Pig._

_Unappealing._

_Wrong._

Those were only a few of the names that Sherlock could think of as he stared at his reflection for the millionth time. And those were some of the nicer names. There were more horrible ones bubbling in his mind too.

_Fucked up._

_Dirty._

_Ugly bastard._

The man in the mirror stared back at him, smirking evilly.

The man was fat. His cheekbones were no longer prominent; they'd been covered by a layer of puppy fat. A disgusting amount of fat had taken the once flat belly. The man's bum was bigger too. In fact, everything was bigger.

'You did this to me.' He pointed at the reflection with an accusing finger.

 _No. You did._  
  
Sherlock hung his head low in shame.

He knew that this was all his doing. He was the one to eat everything in the fridge at night. He was the one who gorged on candy and all other kinds of sugary foods just to please his never ending hunger. He was the man who ate and ate till his body expelled what it had taken in.

No wonder he and John hadn't slept together in so long.

John found his fat repulsive.

Sherlock didn't blame him.

He and John still shared the same room but neither one of them stayed there long. John was often out on piss ups and Sherlock was left to binge. Neither spoke much and there had definitely been no love making sessions.

It had all been fine. He had been fine. Nothing was wrong with him.

Except now he couldn't really bring himself to believe that. His shirts no longer fit him. He was too fat for them. He had to resort to wearing John's fluffy jumpers to conceal the repulsive roll of fat underneath. It was the closest he'd been to John in weeks.

His trousers were all too small now, but he had been invited to his brother's birthday meal and he couldn't exactly turn up in pj bottoms.

He pulled the zipper up on his trousers with a great amount of effort that left him puffing and panting in exertion. He breathed in for the entire time and when he breathed out it physically hurt him, cutting into the soft flesh of his belly.

'I hate you.'

 _Oh, just you wait. A couple months down the line and you'll be nice and chunky. No one will ever want to look at you again. Especially John!_  
  
'Shut up!' he cried.

John adjusted his tie yet again as he stood in front of the mirror in the sitting room. Mycroft's party was in an hour and he and Sherlock had yet to leave for it. Greg had said it would be a formal party, but not black tie. So, John had put on a button-up shirt and tie, a nice pair of jeans, and his best shoes. Sherlock was still getting dressed in their room, a litany of grunts and groans escaping through the slightly open door. John sighed and went back to adjusting his tie. He just couldn't get the knot right it seemed. Maybe he should go without it and just wear the shirt? It was nice enough on its own seeing as it was the blue one Sherlock had picked for him almost a year ago. Good lord. Had they really been together for almost a year already? John still counted Sherlock's four months of being in a coma as part of their relationship. Even the two months when they technically hadn't been together. He was just stupidly sentimental that way. But if things continued the way they were – no sex, barely speaking, barely even looking at each other – then would they even be celebrating their one year anniversary?

John sighed and took off the tie, draping it across his chair. He unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt and cocked his head. Yeah, it looked better without the tie. Maybe a blazer? No. Just the shirt. It looked fine. He looked at his watch and sighed. Fifty minutes now.

'Sherlock? Are you almost ready? We should be going soon. I don't want to be late.'

Sherlock sucked in a deep breath and smoothed a hand over John's jumper. His trousers dug angrily into him but he couldn't care less. He'd just have to put up with it for now.

He swung the door open and stepped through, nodding at John to acknowledge him but not saying a word.

'Fine. You hail the cab. I'll be down in a few.'

Sherlock nodded and walked down the flat stairs and outside. He quickly set about hailing a cab. No takers.

 _It's because you're a fat fuck. No one wants to give taxi rides to fat fucks._  
  
John sighed and moved to the cabinet. He pulled out a liquor bottle and took a long swig. It burned his throat but he didn't care. If he was going to survive the night then he was going to need a drink. He took another long swig, four swallows worth, and capped the bottle before putting it back on the shelf. God he hoped he wasn't becoming an alcoholic like Harry.

Finally attracting a taxi cab, Sherlock yelled up to John, 'Hurry up!'

John ate a few breath mints before exiting the flat. His head was a little fuzzy already but it wasn't too bad. Judging by the look on Sherlock's face, John knew that he knew.

'Shut up and get in the cab,' he growled.

Sherlock sighed and slid into the cab. He wasn't going to say anything. Though he really did have to bite his tongue when he saw John stumble drunkenly. Still, he remained silent. If he was quiet about the alcohol then John would be quiet about the weight he had put on.

John gave the cabbie the address and sat back in his seat. How could the alcohol be affecting him so badly already? Oh, right. He hadn't eaten since breakfast and now it was two in the afternoon. Shit.

The journey was awkward and silent. Sherlock resumed his usual position of having one hand on the blob of fat that was his belly. It had become an almost protective stance, a feeble attempt to make it disappear.

John bobbed and weaves in his seat. Was the cab ride normally so bumpy? No, wait... Yep, it was definitely the alcohol. He attempted to right himself but he only ended up leaning against the window and watched London pass him by. When was the last time he had been sober for an entire day? He couldn't remember. Shit. Was he becoming an alcoholic like Harry? Or like Sherlock in his dream? Shit, fuck, fucking shit.

Sherlock reached out to the sleepy, drunken John, gently shaking him. 'We're here, John.'

John stuttered awake. He hadn't been asleep. Had he? He shook his head and pulled out his wallet, handing the cabbie what he hoped was the right amount of bills before opening his door and nearly falling out into the street. He giggled and righted himself, smoothing down his shirt before holding into the cab for support. He made his way to the other side where Sherlock was waiting and then grabbed onto him for balance.

'Lead th' way,' he slurred, smiling drunkenly.

Sherlock frowned and sighed heavily. 'You're drunk,' he finally stated, grabbing hold of John tightly. 'Please try to sober up. My brother has been through an awfully stressful time as of late.'

'Am not,' John protested. He straightened up and pushed Sherlock away, stumbling slightly from the force of it. He righted himself and marched to Mycroft's door and knocked rather loudly. Greg answered a moment later.

'John! Sherlock! So glad you could make it! Come in, come in!' He ushered the men inside and presented each with a glass of champagne. John downed his in one gulp. Greg raised an eyebrow.

'Thirsty, were you?' he asked sceptically. John just shrugged and placed the empty glass on a table. Or was it some sort of dresser?

'Where's th' party?' John asked, trying to act as sober as possible.

'In the sitting room. All the food and drinks are in the kitchen.' When John ambled away to pour himself a drink Greg turned to Sherlock, his eyebrow still raised.

Sherlock sighed tiredly, running a hand down his face.

'Please refrain from giving John alcohol.'

'How the hell is he so thoroughly pissed already? It's barely three in the afternoon.' He blinked, suddenly seeing Sherlock for the first time. 'Are you wearing one of his jumpers?'

'Yes. And your point is?' Sherlock snapped.

'Nothing. I just... I've never seen you wear a jumper before. Sorry.' Greg left to tend to the party guests, completely forgetting about John. The man in question was pouring a liberal amount of wine into a red plastic cup, swaying where he stood. The bubbles from the champagne had tickled his nose and he didn't like it. He either wanted liquor or wine, and since there wasn't any liquor out he settled for the wine.

Sherlock took a deep breath to try and calm himself down. He instantly regretted doing so as his trousers pinched and tugged at his stomach. He pulled a face and readjusted his trouser's waistline.

He walked over to John, a growl rising in his throat. 'I can just as easily send you home as I got you here,' he threatened. 'Now stop drinking.'

'Stuff it,' John spat, swallowing three large gulps of wine. 'Go stuff your face or somefin. Izznt that wha you do? Cuz you certainly don stuff me fulla your fat cock no more.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. 'And perhaps that's because you're too busy getting pissed.' He grabbed the wine from John and swallowed it in one gulp. 'Now go bloody sober up!'

'Fuck you fat arse!' John spat. He stumbled off to find a bathroom, grabbing the wall for support. Somehow he found a toilet and promptly knelt down in front of it. He stuck his fingers down his throat and forced himself to throw up all the alcohol he'd drank, his body quaking violently afterwards.

Sherlock placed the champagne glass Greg had given him earlier to one side. He suddenly wasn't very keen on alcohol.

 _He called you a fat arse._  
  
Sherlock ran a hand over his belly and then round to his arse. His lower lip trembled as he felt the flesh jiggle underneath the touch.

He  _was_  a fat arse.

John pressed his clammy forehead to the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl. What the hell had he done? He'd called Sherlock fat. And why? Because he took away his alcohol. He needed to stop drinking. The second they got home he was dumping everything he had down the sink.

Sherlock was on the verge of tears. John's words swarmed around his head like a group of angry wasps. He stalked over to the already laid out table and plopped down in a chair, leaning his head on the table, clutching his stomach self-consciously.

John flushed the toilet and stood up on shaky legs. All he'd had in his stomach had been alcohol, and now his stomach was empty and angry. He rinsed his mouth out and stumbled back to the kitchen, hoping to grab something to eat. That plan was made rather awkward as Sherlock was sat at the table, his head upon it, clutching his stomach tightly. John frowned and swallowed, an overwhelming wave of guilt crashing upon him.

Sherlock raised his head to meet eyes with John. He was quick to look away. He felt ashamed and utterly vile. It wasn't John's fault. It was his. He was the fat arse fuck who could barely fit into his own trousers now. John was allowed to state what he saw.

John swallowed thickly again and slowly moved to grab a plate of mini sandwiches. He popped one in his mouth and chewed slowly, swallowing it audibly. The tension in the air was so thick John could almost see it. He wasn't sure why he couldn't apologise but part of him was telling him not to. He hated that part of himself.

He slowly backed out of the kitchen into the hallway, making his way to the sitting room where the actual party was. He at least wanted to wish Mycroft a happy birthday before he ducked out. But he couldn't leave Sherlock there to wallow in self pity. He just couldn't.

Sherlock waited till John had left before piling his plate up high with buffet food. His mind was torn in two. He wanted to scarf the food down but he knew his body wouldn't appreciate it.

In the end, his fat fuck side won and he was stuffing his face as rapidly as he could, feeling his stomach bloat with each passing second.

John finally found Mycroft and began making small talk with him. He didn't stay for long, more guests were arriving and the birthday boy would probably have more to talk about with them instead of him. So he slunk into a corner and ate more mini sandwiches, watching as the crowd thickened and the volume of their voices increased.

Sherlock groaned audibly as he eyed his now empty plate. Hadn't there been a mountain of food there a minute ago? His stomach answered that one for him, growling angrily, pushing itself against his trouser's waistband.

He stood on shaky feet. He needed to expell all that as quickly and quietly as possible. He began to make his speedy journey to the bathroom but was stopped in his tracks by his brother.

'Ah. Sherlock. There you are. I was beginning to worry you hadn't come. When I only saw John I began to wonder. It–' He cleared his throat. 'It's good to have you here. Thank you for coming.'

'No – er – problem,' he stuttered. 'Good to see you, Mycroft. Happy birthday.'

It was taking all of his willpower to not puke up all over his brother.

'Are you feeling alright? You don't look so good.'

'Think I may have caught the flu,' Sherlock mumbled the lie. 'Sorry. Excuse me.' He barged past his brother and bolted to the bathroom, throwing up instantly when he got there. Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow and walked back to the sitting room. He found Gregory talking quite animatedly with the head of MI6. Interesting.

Sherlock spilled the mountain of food back up into the toilet bowl. Wiping his mouth, he stood to his feet and flushed the loo, a single tear rolling from his eye.

Time to go back to face the music.

John set the plate of sandwiches back on the buffet table, his belly now full. He met Sherlock's gaze briefly as he came out of the bathroom but quickly averted his eyes. He still felt so goddamn guilty. He hated himself.

Sherlock sped past John. He knew to John it was obvious what he had done. He scurried deeper into the house. He stopped when he came across the large kitchen. Big mistake.

 _Oh sod it. Stuff your fat arse! It's what fat arses do!_  
  
John shuffled back to the sitting room, plopping down in a chair and resting his chin on his hand. He was a right and utter arse. And he hated himself so fucking much.

'Just a heads up!' Greg said suddenly, the room dying down so everyone could hear. 'The cake will be served momentarily and then we'll be moving on to gifts. I hope you saved room for some death by chocolate cake!'

Sherlock was going stir crazy. Where were all the sugary foods? The biscuits? The chocolate? The cakes?

Oh yes. His brother was on a diet. His brother was no longer the greedy piggy. Sherlock was. The tables had turned.

That's when he saw it. The cake. Mycroft's birthday cake. It was humungous and dripping in triple layers of chocolate.

No. Don't you dare! You may be a fat fuck but there is no way you're gorging on that.

Sherlock found his trembling hands on the cake before he could blink.

The next thing he knew was he was scooping the chocolate cake into his mouth with his hands as quickly as possible, getting it all over the floor, himself, and in his belly.

He ate and ate and ate.

He couldn't stop even if he wanted to.

'Where's Sherlock?' Greg murmured to Mycroft. 'I saw him with John earlier but I haven't seen him in a while.'

'Oh, they're just having a bit of a disagreement,' Mycroft tutted. 'Seems they haven't been intimate in a while, judging by John's tense nature. And Sherlock has been incredibly jumpy lately, god knows why. I should probably talk to him.'

'Yeah. Good luck finding him.'

'Oh Gregory, you underestimate me,' Mycroft smirked. 'I know my brother better than anyone, possibly even John. I'll find him no problem.'

'Ok. But hurry. It's almost time for cake.'

'I will always hurry when cake is involved,' Mycroft purred. He placed a gentle kiss to Gregory's lips before walking away to search for his little brother.

Sherlock was still tunnelling the cake into his mouth despite the fact his stomach was already horribly extended and sore. He was going to regret this, but for now he was going to indulge in being the disgusting fat fuck he was.

Sherlock hadn't been in the bathroom, the bedroom, or the study. The only place downstairs Mycroft had left to search was the larger kitchen. As he neared he could hear a strange assortment of sounds echoing down the hallway. It sounded like someone stuffing their face, a sound Mycroft knew all too well. He hurried into the kitchen and stopped when he reached the doorway.

Sherlock was sat on the floor, stuffing his face with Mycroft's birthday cake. And he wasn't even using utensils for crying out loud! He had utterly ruined his cake and the kitchen floor.

'Sherlock! What the hell are you doing?!' Mycroft demanded.

Sherlock jumped at the sound of his brother's voice and swallowed down hard, looking at the mess he'd made of the cake.

'I–' His voice trembled. '–don't know.'

'You don't know?!  _You. Don't. Know?!_  How the hell can you not know that you are destroying and devouring my birthday cake?! A cake, mind you, that Gregory made special for me as a reward for following my diet so well? A cake that would have been my first cake in nearly six months?' He stood shaking in the doorway, gripping the frame tightly.

'Why would you do that?' he asked between gritted teeth. 'Why would you ruin my birthday like this?'

Sherlock pushed what was left of the cake away and stood to his feet. 'Perhaps I should just go,' he mumbled. 'I'm sorry, Mycroft. I never meant to ruin your day like this.'

As he went to move however there was a terrible, sharp pain like fire that spread across his thick middle. 'Sh–' He bit back the swear word and, holding his belly tenderly, began to try to get past his brother. Mycroft's anger dissipated as quickly as it had begun to boil. His brother was in pain and possibly ill. His well-being took precedence over any ill-will Mycroft may have felt toward him.

'Sherlock? What's wrong? Are you ok?' he asked quickly, grabbing onto his elbow before he could escape.

'Oh, I'm fine!' Sherlock yelled. 'Why does everyone ask me that lately?' He pushed his brother but it was a weak push and barely budged him. The pain in his stomach flared up again and he keeled over, wincing in pure agony. It was so much worse than the other times he'd gorged himself. He was hardly able to see straight because of the pain.

'You are not fine! What is going on?' Mycroft demanded. He held Sherlock up tenderly, trying not to jostle him in case he caused him more pain.

'N-othing,' Sherlock groaned. 'Just let me go. I just wanna – gah – g-o.' He clamped a hand over his mouth and kept the other cupping his belly.

'Ok, stop lying to protect yourself. I'm taking you to the hospital.' He helped Sherlock shuffle down the hall, gesturing to Gregory to continue the party in his absence. He hauled Sherlock outside and motioned to his security team to get a car. There was a sleek black car in front of them in seconds. He pushed Sherlock in and climbed in after him, telling his driver to take them to the hospital.

Sherlock closed his eyes, his breathing deep and shallow. 'Mmm sorry, Mycroft,' he managed to mutter before his screams and sobs of agony finally broke free.

'It's going to be ok, Sherlock. I'm getting you help.' Mycroft swallowed audibly, his little brother's cries of anguish reminding him of his screams during his beatings.

Tears rolled down Sherlock's cheeks. 'Why did J-ohn call me fat?' he whimpered. 'Mmm not. Mmm not fat.'

'No, Sherlock. You aren't fat. You look quite healthy,' Mycroft said softly.

'Shut the fuck up! Stop lying to me!' Sherlock pushed up the jumper he was wearing, revealing his blobby tummy. 'See?' he sobbed. 'At least John calls me a fat arse to my face!'

'John called you that?' Mycroft asked, glancing down at Sherlock's stomach. It looked so much like his own when he had been going through his binge eating.

'Y-eh. Didn't even bloody apologise,' Sherlock sobbed. 'Though he didn't need to. I know I'm a bloody fat arse!'

'You are not fat!' Mycroft roared. 'And I am going to bloody well kill John.'

'That is if the alcohol doesn't get there first!'

'Oh? So now he's drinking? Jesus fucking Christ, I am going to murder your lover. Is that ok?'

'Do what you like with him. He's not my lover anymore. Not after all the things he's said over this past month and a half.'

'What else did he say?' Mycroft growled.

'Oh, he always has a lot to say. He's called me a stupid fat fuck, he's complained that I'm stuffing my mouth with food when it should be his cock, and I think one of the more recent names he had for me was disgusting piggy.'

Mycroft clenched his hands tightly into fists, counting to ten before he spoke again.

'Is that all? Or are those just the kinder comments?'

'There's more,' Sherlock grit out. 'But I'd rather we didn't do this right now.' His shaking hands were holding his belly for dear life. They pulled up to the hospital after that, Mycroft pulling Sherlock into his arms and rushing out of the car as soon as his driver opened the door.

'My little brother needs his stomach pumped, now!' he yelled to the staff. When no one made a move to help, Mycroft pulled out the big guns.

'I have the Prime Minister and the head of MI6 on speed dial. Don't make me call them and fire you all for insubordination!'

Three doctors and five nurses suddenly appeared, only one being smart enough to bring a stretcher with her. Sherlock was loaded onto the stretcher and carted off to emergency care. Mycroft decided to dial John while he waited, sending his driver back for him.

'Hello?' John answered, confusion in his tone.

'When my driver arrives I suggest you get inside the car and sit there quietly as he drives you to the hospital,' Mycroft growled.

'What? Why?'

'Because my "fat fucking arse" of a brother is having his stomach pumped.' Mycroft hung up and pocketed his phone, his hands trembling from rage and worry.

'Wait, what?! Sherlock's having his– Mycroft? Mycroft?! Shit!' John hit END and pocketed his phone, running his hands over his face in exasperation. What the hell happened? He went outside to await Mycroft's car, climbing in as soon as it pulled up to the kerb. It didn't even stop fully as it was off once again as soon as the door closed.

**…::-::…**

Having his stomach pumped hadn't been pleasant and Sherlock still felt god damn awful, even after he got past the critical stage. His stomach felt bloated and yet devastatingly empty at the same time.

He'd been such an idiot. Why had he ruined his brother's birthday by binging on his cake?

How could his brother ever forgive him?

 _Forgive you? Why would he forgive a chubby thing like you?_  
  
John finally arrived at the hospital and was directed to the waiting area. Mycroft was hunched over in a chair, his head between his knees, and his hands clasping the sides of his head. He looked awful.

'Mycroft? Is Sherlock going to be ok?' he asked softly.

Mycroft's head shot up and fixed upon John a gaze so icy John actually shivered. He dropped his hands from his head and slowly stood to his feet. He loomed over John, glaring at his intently, unblinking.

'You call Sherlock fat daily, ridicule him about his weight, and make him feel like utter shit... And you want to know if he's going to be ok?!' Mycroft roared. Before John could react Mycroft drew back a fist and it collided with John's jaw with a resounding crack. Neither man was sure who had been hurt more at the time, all they knew was that it hurt like a fucking bitch to punch someone and get punched by someone. Mycroft pulled his hand back and hissed, examining his knuckles. John fell to the floor and cradled his jaw.

'I didn't ridicule him,' John protested from the floor. 'I didn't.'

'Sherlock says you did.'

'I was drunk! I didn't know what I was saying!'

'That's no excuse! Drunk actions are sober thoughts, Jonathan! And since when do you drink?'

'Since Sherlock and I stopped being intimate.'

'And why was that?'

'Because I caught him after gorging himself on leftovers shortly before he escaped to vomit it all back up.'

'And you didn't get him help?!'

'He refused it. He said he didn't have a problem. That he didn't have another eating disorder so soon after working through one. And I couldn't send him back to rehab, Mycroft. I just couldn't. I didn't want him to starve himself like last time.'

'Then you should have brought him to me! I would have gotten him help! You could have prevented this! Could have prevented his ruining my birthday! Prevented him devouring my... my special cake to the point of him needing to get his stomach pumped!'

'He ate your cake? Mycroft, I'm sorry.'

'Save it. I don't want to hear your excuses or your apologies. Just sit down and shut up until we hear from a nurse or doctor.'

John slowly stood up, still rubbing at his jaw, and sat down in a chair a fair distance away from Mycroft and his fists of fury. Mycroft sat down as well, resuming his previous position, but was favouring his right hand slightly. His knuckle looked bruised from punching John's jaw. Mycroft would treat it like a trophy. John would treat it as a warning.

_Mess with my little brother again, make him feel like shit or anything less than the brilliant genius he is, and I'll end you._

**…::-::…**

'Mr Holmes, you can have a visitor now,' a pretty, young, blond haired nurse said as she checked Sherlock's vitals. 'Only one though. You're still very poorly.'

Sherlock grunted. 'My brother. Gotta – apologise.'

'I'll go fetch him.' She smiled gently at him before leaving the room.

'Mycroft Holmes?' she asked, looking between the two men sat outside the room. 'Your baby brother wants to see you.'

Mycroft was up like a shot, ushering past the nurse and to Sherlock's room. John sat in the waiting room dejectedly. He deserved that, he did. He'd treated Sherlock poorly and now he was getting what he deserved back. He stared down at his shoes and sighed, fighting back tears.

'Croft,' Sherlock smiled weakly as his brother came storming through the door.

'Sherlock. Thank god you're alright,' Mycroft breathed. Before he realised what he was doing, he had wrapped his arms around his little brother in a tender hug and was crying into his shoulder.

'Don't cry,' Sherlock gasped. 'I'm ok.' He hugged his brother back tightly.

'He might be a bit out of it still,' the nurse informed the elder Holmes. 'I'll leave you to it. Don't be afraid to call if you need something.'

'I'm sorry,' Mycroft sobbed into Sherlock's shoulder. 'I've been a shite brother lately. I should have noticed you and John were having issues. I'm sorry you had to get to this place before anyone noticed and you got help. But I did sock John in the jaw for you. Look.' He presented Sherlock his bruised knuckle and wiped his tears away with his other hand.

'It's not your fault I'm a fat fuck lard arse who stuffs himself silly.' Sherlock gazed at the bruised fist. 'Does that hurt?' He frowned, stroking the purple bruise on his brother's knuckles.

'John hurt you,' he grumbled. 'John hurt me too. Made me fall onto the ground. Don't tell John, but I cracked two ribs that day. Had to go to A&E myself. Dunno why he was so rough with me. I'm always gentle with him.'

'No, it doesn't hurt,' Mycroft sighed. He dropped his hand and clasped Sherlock's gently. 'You cracked your ribs? How– Oh. You fell while you two were coupling.'

Sherlock's frown intensified.

'He was really angry at me. I have no idea why. I wasn't the one who cut John out of my life. It was the other way around. Idiot abandoned me and couldn't care less. I hate him.'

'You should get away from him for a while. Get back in shape without his bad influence.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'I love him too much. I can't just up and leave him.'

'Sherlock, he isn't good for you. He's a drunk who is constantly putting you down and he abandoned you. Why did he do that? Did he say?'

'No. He just became really distant. And the only times I did see him he was looking for one thing. And so I gave him it because I missed him. But then he just got mad at me.'

'He's using you for his own selfish purposes, Sherlock. He's practically turned you into his sex slave. You're only there for his pleasure. Can't you see that?'

'He loves me... at least, I thought he did. Do you think he ever truly cared for me?'

'In the beginning I'm sure he did. Now? I'm not so sure. He seemed too calm coming here today. Like you were barely a blip on his radar. I seriously think you should get away from him. Please. He could be dangerous for you. If you said he got mad during your love making and hurt you, what's to say he won't hit you next?'

Sherlock bit his lip. 'He already has hit me. He was pissed and apparently I was hogging too much of the bed because I'm too fat for it... and he dragged me out of the bed and hit me.'

'Sherlock, I swear to god, if you don't get away from him then I'll take him away from you. You aren't safe around him. If he's abusing you in any way–' He paused. 'Sherlock... Has he... has he raped you?'

'N-oo.' He swallowed down hard. 'I mean, no. W-hy would you think that?'

'Because it's obvious you two haven't been sleeping together. And if he was pissed one night and wanted you, you might not have been able to stop him.'

Sherlock licked his lips nervously. 'He tied me up. I thought it was just one of the games we used to play. I thought he wanted me for me. I was wrong. He... was too rough. He didn't even bother to prepare me. He... god... He treated me like a piece of meat.'

'That's it!' Mycroft stormed from the room and grabbed John by his shirt collar.

'The hell?' John barely managed to form the words before Mycroft's fist collided with his face, splitting his cheek open.

'You son of a bitch!' he roared, punching him again. That time he hit his nose, blood pouring from it profusely.

'Mycroft! Stop! Stop!' John begged. 'What did I do?'

'You raped my brother!' Mycroft screamed, punching his mouth, John's teeth scraping against his knuckles and tearing the skin. 'You beat him, you tied him up, and you raped him!'

'I didn't! I swear! Mycroft, please!' John begged, but Mycroft wouldn't listen to him. He kept hitting him, alternating between kidney punches and groin punches before hospital staff arrived and pulled them apart.

'He raped my brother! He violated and abused him! Arrest the bastard!' Mycroft screamed, tears of rage and sorrow flowing down his cheeks.

Sherlock was curled in on himself, his hands firmly placed on his ears. 'Shut up!' He screamed for the commotion outside his door to stop. 'Just shut up! I can't bloody hear myself think!'

'I didn't do anything! I swear!' John protested. A nurse dabbed a wet towel under his nose, soaking up his blood.

'Liar! He's a liar!' Mycroft shouted, struggling against the men holding him back. 'He was drunk so he probably can't remember what happened. But he raped my brother! He did!'

'I–' John stopped, his entire body going numb. Had he really done that? He searched his memory, bits and pieces coming back to him. But what he remembered wasn't good. In fact, it downright disgusted him. Before he could stop it, he vomited all over his shoes and the floor, tears streaming down his face.

'Ah! See! He remembers! You raped my brother! You–' Mycroft suddenly slumped down in his restrainers' holds, his eyes slipping shut. A doctor stood behind him holding a needle that had probably been loaded with a sedative.

'Set him down and wait for him to wake. As for the blonde, bring him to my office. We need to have a little chat.'

Sherlock cried himself to sleep. He didn't know what was happening anymore. He had no one to turn to. He was lost and alone and hurting.

Why had he opened his fat mouth? John may have done some shitty things but still... Sherlock loved him. And now John would be in massive trouble and there was no way in hell that John would ever learn to love him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god. Please forgive us. John really isn't himself when he's drunk. This was so hard for me to write because I don't believe John would ever do this, but alcohol is very destructive to the Watsons so it would make him act very out of character. Ugh. I just hate making John come off as a right bastard because he isn't. He can have his moments because of his soldier background, but generally he isn't a bad guy. I just... I need to stop. Monday's chapter may come a bit late as well because I'm going to be busy all day until about 7 pm or so. So if I don't update Monday I'll update Tuesday afternoon.
> 
> Enjoy your weekend everyone and we'll see you again Monday (or Tuesday).
> 
> TSA + IB


	38. Interrogations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy Monday! This chapter is pretty short, so maybe I'll post chapter 39 Wednesday and chapter 40 on Friday. I'll be going home for the weekend Friday so I'll be sure to post it early.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, Greg, Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: mentions of rape, Holmes brother feels, angst

John sat in that doctor's office for what felt like days but was probably only hours. He had been handcuffed to the man's desk to be questioned further by the proper authorities. He sat there, nose broken and soul utterly defeated, until the door clicked open and Greg walked in.

'What did you do, John?' he asked softly.

'Apparently I raped Sherlock when I was drunk,' he whispered in reply. 'Possibly even abused him, physically and verbally. Who am I kidding? I know I verbally abused him. I called him so many terrible things, Greg. And why? All because he'd put on some weight.'

'He's gained weight?' Greg thought back to the party, to Sherlock in the jumper and how it had looked almost comical on him. 'I suppose he's put on a little weight, but help me understand. What is going on?'

'Mycroft says I raped Sherlock. He was talking to him and apparently Sherlock said that I had tied him to our bed and... and raped him. I don't remember any of that. And they haven't let me talk to Sherlock, Mycroft I think they have somewhere charged with assault.'

'Yeah, I talked to him not that long ago. He's really shaken up. Says if you want to press charges then go ahead, but he would do what he did again in a heartbeat.'

'And I would accept it because I deserve it.' John sighed and laid his forehead on the desk. 'I used and abused the only person I've ever truly loved. I deserve to be locked up.'

'Well, right now it's all just speculation. I can't actually do anything until I talk to Sherlock. This all depends on if he wants to press charges against you or not. I'm going to go talk to him for a bit, then I'll come back here and let you know what I know.'

'Ok. But if he's not gonna press charges, charge me anyway. I don't want to hurt him again.'

'I can't charge you without probable cause. And I can't make him do anything he doesn't want to. I'll be back later.'

Greg left the office and made his way to Sherlock's room. He gently knocked on the door, not wanting to disturb him if he was asleep.

'Sherlock? It's Lestrade. May I come in?'

Sherlock roused from his worry riddled sleep and grunted, wincing open an eye. 'What do you want, inspector?' he asked sharply.

'I just need to talk about what happened earlier today. May I come in?'

'Yes,' Sherlock sighed. 'If you really must.'

Greg opened the door slowly and looked at Sherlock. He almost looked frail in his hospital bed, something Greg never thought Sherlock could ever be. Not even when he was skin and bone did he think he was frail. But now?

'There have been some allegations going around about John hurting you,' he stated simply. He pulled up a chair next to Sherlock's bed and pulled out his notebook from his jacket pocket. 'I'm here to set the record straight and to see if you want to press charges.'

Sherlock groaned and shook his head. 'I'm not going to press charges. I don't think I can bring myself to do such a thing. He was drunk and it's not as though he knew what he was doing.'

'Drunks should be held accountable for their actions too,' Greg stated. 'If someone commits murder while drunk, that doesn't make it ok. If someone rapes another while drunk, that doesn't make it ok. Sherlock, if he's a danger to you I– well, Mycroft can arrange for you to be taken somewhere safe. If this is Stockholm Syndrome–'

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes. 'I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. I am not under John's magical spell. I shall be fine. Mycroft probably just overreacted when I told him what John did.'

'Ok. Then why don't you tell me what John did?' He clicked his pen and held it to his notebook. 'I promise to remain impassive and not to judge or say anything.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously but complied. 'He dragged me from bed whilst I was asleep, woke me up rather violently with a hit to my jaw and a kick to my stomach, called me several names, fat fuck being his favourite it would seem. And then he tied me to the bed and... raped me. See! I told you my brother overreacted!'

'Uh huh,' Greg said sceptically. He wrote all Sherlock had said in his sloppy shorthand. 'Is that all?'

'Is that all?' Sherlock growled and then let out a little 'oh.' He closed his eyes. 'You don't believe me.'

'No, I believe you. I'm just wondering if there's something you're not telling me.'

'Like what?' Sherlock huffed, snapping his eyes back open to glare at Lestrade.

'I don't know. Maybe the binge eating? Did John ever force feed you or deny you food? Just tell me anything and everything that happened between you two after you gained your weight back and John became distant.'

'I suppose, in a way, he was the one who caused me to start to binge.'

'Ok. Why?' Greg held pen to paper again and waited.

'Because if I ate a lot he would reward me. He gave me the biggest grin and he'd take me to bed... and make me feel special.'

'So, if you ate, you were rewarded with sex?' Greg wrote it down. 'And this was after we took you from rehab and he was nursing you back to a healthy weight?'

'Yes. That's correct,' Sherlock whispered. It sounded utterly ridiculous coming from Lestrade's lips but it was true. 'The more I ate the bigger the reward.'

'So you started to eat bigger meals in hopes of getting a bigger reward.' Greg eyed his notes and sniffed slightly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 'And when did the rewards stop?'

'Just out of the blue,' Sherlock shrugged. 'The rewards stopped and my meals got bigger in the hope they would start up again.'

'You're an observant man, Sherlock, so let me ask you this: why did the sex stop? Did John's actions or body language give any indication as to why he stopped?'

'You're going to hear something that I'm not going to repeat: I don't know. The sex stopped, he became distant, and what once was a little problem of mine grew and grew. I started initiating the sex after about two weeks of that. But I still felt so... abandoned. Like he only cared about sex and not me.'

'And when was this taking place? How long ago?'

'God.' Sherlock clutched his head, his mind a scary blur. 'Well, John found out about my condition about a month and a half ago. So... err... Two months ago.'

'So, late October then?' Greg mused. 'And when did the drinking and abuse start?'

'The drinking started a month ago. The abuse following soon after.'

Greg wrote more in his notebook, creating a timeline of events. 'And how long ago were you raped?'

'Only a few days ago,' Sherlock admitted. 'To be honest, I was surprised I was able to walk today, because of the pain of both my trousers being too tight and well... you know... John not preparing me at all.'

Greg stopped writing, his pen stuttering to a halt. He looked up at Sherlock, his passiveness gone and only care and concern directed toward the broken man laying in front of him.

'Just a few days ago? Sherlock, why didn't you say anything? You came to the Yard a few days ago! You could have told me!'

'I didn't want to make a fuss,' Sherlock whispered. 'I mean – I didn't see it as a big deal.'

'How is rape not a big deal?' Greg glowered. 'Sherlock, the man you love and trust beyond anyone else broke that sacred bond of consent and boundaries. He violated you for his own pleasure, without your approval, and look at what he's done to you! You're binge eating, distancing yourself from him while also wanting to be close to him, and you claim to still love him after all the shit he's put you through. This isn't just codependency anymore. This is outright Stockholm Syndrome with John at the center of it all.'

'I am not dependent on John! It's not my fault I have a heart and am willing to forgive and forget. I do love him. Maybe not the man he is now, but the man I know he can be.'

'Why do people always think they can fix men? It isn't possible! My wife tried with me and we got divorced. Then Myc came along and I've never been happier. Know why?' He fixed Sherlock with a glare before continuing. 'Because he loves me for who I am and I love him exactly the way he is. I wouldn't change anything about him nor would he me. The fact that John has changed means that he's showing you his true self. The John you knew and the John you know now are two completely different men, and only one is the real John. Which one do you think it is?'

'Oh, silly me. I forgot. You and Mycroft have a perfect relationship!' Sherlock snapped, turning to face away from the detective. 'Please, can you leave now? I don't think I can cope with more questions.'

'I never claimed it was perfect. We do have our rows and bouts of utter silence. But Mycroft has never hurt me, nor have I hurt him. I'm just saying, John isn't the man we thought he was. I strongly advise you to seek help and get away from him before it gets worse. Please.'

'I don't take other people's advice, detective! Now leave! Or I'll tell Mycroft you upset me.'

'Mycroft wouldn't do anything,' Greg countered. 'He trusts me to do my job. And if I upset you in the process, so be it. I still highly advise you press charges and get away. But I can't control what you do. I can only hope you make the right choice.'

'I am not pressing charges!' Sherlock growled. 'Now get the hell out!'

'Ok. Ok, fine.' Greg pocketed his notebook and stood up. 'Just please think about what you're doing. If you get hurt again I won't be able to stop Mycroft from executing John in cold blood.'

'If Mycroft did that then I would simply kill him in return. He knows that I want John alive if nothing else.'

'Just... Look after yourself, ok? I'm going to relay to John what I know. Please be smart about this. That's all I ask.'

'Are you saying I've been an idiot so far? Because that's a very dangerous thing to say.'

'No. I'm just saying... I don't know what I'm saying. Just don't be stupid, ok?'

'Stupid? Me? Ha. I've never done anything stupid in my life.'

Greg just sighed and shook his head. He left without saying a word, closing the door behind him. He went back to the office where John was locked up and sat down in front of him.

'So, I just talked with Sherlock,' he said simply.

'And?'

'And it doesn't look good, mate.' John hung his head and swallowed down a sob.

'I assume he's pressing charges then?'

'No, actually.' John looked up, bewilderment clearly written on his face. 'He says you were drunk and didn't know what you were doing. He says he still loves you and he hopes you still love him. I strongly advise that you stop drinking and start paying attention to him more. You know how Sherlock craves attention. He started eating because he was seeking your approval and for sex. And then when the sex stopped he started eating more in the hopes of it starting again. You became distant, and he doesn't know why.'

'I don't know why I became distant. Work? Life? I saw he was getting better and he didn't need encouragement to eat well anymore?'

'So you used sex as a motivator to eat?'

'No! No, I swear! It just always seemed to happen after he ate. We were both high on endorphins and pride and joy. It just seemed natural.'

'So, the sex wasn't a reward for eating? It "just sort of happened."'

'Yes! That's all! I swear!'

'And the drinking and abuse? Did all that "sort of just happen" as well?'

'The drinking started because Sherlock and I weren't sleeping together. I don't know when the abuse started.'

'Sherlock said around the same time. And the night you raped him was only a few days ago.'

'A few days ago?' John paled considerably. 'Oh god. Oh god. What have I done?' He thunked his head against the desk and sobbed.

'You two both need counseling, I think. You need to stop drinking, Sherlock needs to go on a diet, and you both need to relearn each other all over again. Now, Sherlock isn't pressing charges, so I can release you.' He uncuffed John from the desk, the man rubbing his wrist tenderly upon release. 'I'm warning you now though: if you hurt Sherlock again, physically, emotionally, mentally, what have you, I will be powerless to stop Mycroft from hunting you down and killing you. Do you understand?'

'Of course I bloody understand. I'll seek counseling, I'll pay more attention to Sherlock, I'll treat him right. I promise. And, if I should break that promise in any way, go ahead and sick Mycroft on me. I'll deserve it. Just like I deserved his beating earlier.'

'I almost hate to ask, but do you want to press charges for that?'

'No. No, it's fine. I deserved what I got. It wasn't uncalled for.'

Greg sighed. 'I'm gonna go write up the report now. Take care of yourself and Sherlock. He needs the man he fell in love with.'

'Yeah. Do you think he wants to see me?'

'I would wait until he asks for you. Go clean up.'

'Yeah. Ok.' John stood, still nursing his wrist. He walked to the bathroom and gingerly washed his face of blood, using the loo and washing his hands before going back out to the waiting room. He would wait for Sherlock no matter how long it took. He would always wait for Sherlock. Always.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock broke down into uncontrollable sobs as soon as the D.I left. Having to answer those questions hadn't been easy. He didn't want to relive those past few months.

Sherlock felt out of control. He had no control over his emotions, his weight, his heart, his mind. His life was falling to shit.

His life was shit. It was always shit one way or another. He had been the boy beaten by his father. He had always and would always be fucked up in the head. He was fat and unappealing. He made everyone around him hate each other.

He'd lost John's love.

God, why him?

His sobs turned to panicked screams. 'Croft! C-roft!' he wailed, sounding lost and vulnerable, and like a broken down child.

Mycroft was getting his hand bandaged when he heard his brother's screams. His head shot up and he looked around, panicked.

'Hurry up!' he told the nurse. 'My brother needs me!' The nurse quickly wrapped the rest of the gauze around Mycroft's knuckles, tucking the bandage in its own folds before permitting him to leave. Mycroft ran from the room and to Sherlock's, sitting on his bed and pulling him into a soft hug as soon as he arrived.

'Shh. Shh. It's ok now, Locky. I'm here,' he soothed softly.

Sherlock whimpered and buried his head into his brother's chest. 'What – wa – what the hell is wrong with me?' he choked out.

'There's nothing wrong with you,' Mycroft said softly, petting Sherlock's hair. 'Nothing at all.'

'Then w-hy doesn't John love me anymore? Why am I so fucking greedy I couldn't keep my hands off your cake?'

'People grow apart. All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. As for the cake, you couldn't keep your hands off it because you needed comfort food. While you may have felt disgusting later, while you were eating it you probably felt good.'

'It was glorious, yes,' Sherlock said sadly. 'Far better than the buffet food. When I saw it I knew I'd hit jackpot. I'm sorry.'

He gazed up at his brother. 'If it was Greg, then what would you do?'

'If Gregory did what? Devoured my birthday cake? Or what would I do if Gregory didn't love me anymore?'

Sherlock chuckled lightly. 'The latter. Though it would be interesting to see how you coped with Greg stealing your cake.'

'You don't want to know what I'd do,' Mycroft blushed. 'As for the not loving me bit, it would be hard at first. I would be devastated, heartbroken, depressed, but I would move on eventually. It would be a long and arduous process, but I would work through it.'

'What would you do if he hurt you?'

'I would leave him. I have gone through enough abuse in my life, I don't need more, and I deserve better than a man who hurts me.'

'But people can change, can't they? Greg says they can't but I know they can. I changed, didn't I?'

'I believe people can change, if they're with the right person. You definitely changed for the better. John appears to have changed for the worse. If Gregory were ever to hurt me I wouldn't give him a second chance. As I said before, I've gone through enough abuse in my lifetime and I don't need any more.' He hugged Sherlock close and sighed loudly. 'I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm just going to say this: if you to back to him and he hurts you again, you must promise to tell me so that I can help you. Please.'

'I can't go back to him. Not yet,' Sherlock sniffed. 'I was, er, wondering if I could stay in your guest room for a while? I know it's a lot to ask but...'

'Of course, Sherlock. Anything.' Mycroft hugged him close.

'Thank you,' he sighed in relief. 'Don't think I can deal with being on edge twenty-four-seven anymore.'

'I understand Locky. I'm so sorry about all this. I wish I had known sooner. Please don't be afraid to tell me when something is wrong. I only wish to help you.'

'I suppose I just felt ashamed.'

'Please, just put your pride aside and call me next time. If there is a next time. There better not be.'

'It wasn't my pride I was worried about.'

'Oh? Then what?'

'I was worried that if you saw me... binge eating that it may have ended up affecting your progress.'

'Oh Sherlock. You shouldn't have worried. I would have been fine. Gregory says I've made a lot of progress. The cake was to be my reward for such a good job. But maybe it's a good thing that I won't be eating it. In all honesty, I really didn't want it.'

Sherlock nodded. 'My, I'm sorry about all the diet jibes I made in the past.'

'It's ok, Lock. I forgive you.'

'No. It's not okay. I didn't understand and now that I'm going through it... I still don't bloody understand!'

'Shh. It'll be ok. It is ok. I don't blame you for commenting on my yo-yoing weight problems. It took me far too long to get a handle on it. But with Gregory I've found a proper diet and exercise plan that fits my needs. And I've never felt better. Perhaps we can do the same for you.'

'Mmm perhaps. Then maybe I can finally be muscular enough to live out my dream and become a pirate.'

'You can be whatever you want,' Mycroft said softly. 'But right now I think you should sleep. You look exhausted.'

'I can be a pirate?' Sherlock grinned at his brother. 'Can I have a boat too?' He ignored his brother about sleep. He wasn't tired enough for sleep. He was too wound up.

'I'll get you whatever you want. A boat, a hat, a parrot, whatever. We'll discuss this when we get home. Would you please try to sleep?'

'I can't sleep. I haven't slept properly for over a month now. I'll be fine. Can I have a sword too?'

'You haven't been sleeping? Oh Lock. I'll have a nurse bring a sedative.' He hit the call button before Sherlock could protest.

'A sword, Mycroft?' Sherlock probed, half glaring at his brother. 'Tell me I can have a sword.'

'If I tell you I'll get you a sword, will you allow the nurse to sedate you?'

'I shall have to think about it very carefully before saying yes.'

'Then I will do my best to get you a sword.'

A nurse came in then, smiling at the brothers. 'How can I help?'

'Sherlock? Are you going to cooperate?'

'It better be one damn fine sword,' Sherlock grumbled.

'I'll let you pick it yourself,' Mycroft offered.

'Deal,' Sherlock nodded in satisfaction.

'Ok. He needs a sedative. Hasn't been sleeping.'

'Alright. Be back in a moment.' The nurse dashed off to get the proper medication.

'It'll be nice to sleep without the fear of getting dragged from the bed,' he sighed.

'Are you sure you don't want me to lock him up somewhere? Because I can and I will.'

'No.' Sherlock took a deep breath. 'Please, just leave him alone.'

'Fine,' Mycroft sighed. The nurse returned then with a sedative.

'Shall I inject it now? Or did you want a few minutes?'

'Might as well do it now,' Sherlock muttered. 'Will you be here tomorrow when I awake?'

'Yes, of course. Though I may leave for a bit tonight to finish up some work.'

'That's not code for "I'm going to kill John," is it?'

'No. It means what I meant it to. I have paperwork to finish from– well, you aren't exactly privy to that information. But it needs to be done by tomorrow and I should go finish it.'

'Okay. But I swear, I shall be in a foul mood if I find out you did anything drastic.'

'I'm not going to touch your precious Jonathan,' Mycroft glowered. 'Now go to sleep.' He nodded at the nurse and she readied the needle at the injection site on Sherlock's arm.

'This may sting a little,' she warned. She found a good vein and pushed the needle in gently before pushing down on the plunger, injecting the sedative into Sherlock's bloodstream.

'You should be asleep in a few minutes,' she stated. 'Have a good night.' And she left.

'Fu-mmm – guh.' Sherlock fell over his words as the sedative almost instantly began to work.

'Sleep, Locky. I'll be here when you wake up.' Mycroft placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock hummed and his eyelids closed.

'Sleep well, little brother. I... I love you.'

Mycroft stayed with Sherlock until he was sure he was asleep. He then rose from the bed and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He found John out in the waiting room, his blood boiling at just the sight of him.

'I suggest you go back to the flat,' he growled menacingly. 'You won't be seeing Sherlock any time soon.'

John swallowed and looked down at his shoes. There was still some vomit on them from earlier. He didn't care. He nodded his assent to Mycroft's words and rose, silently walking out of the hospital and into the cold December air. He hailed a cab and rode it back to Baker Street, his entire being numb from the cold and the day's happenings.

The flat was cold and empty without Sherlock there. It was practically dead. John ambled to the bedroom, wanting to sleep but knowing he wouldn't. He changed into his pyjamas anyway and crawled beneath the covers. Something was rubbing against his side, something rough and itchy. When he pulled the covers back to see what it was his heart stopped beating.

It was rope. Rope he had used to tie Sherlock to the bed and restrain him, rendering him helpless for when John had raped him.

John couldn't get away from the bed fast enough. He dragged blankets and a pillow with him as he fled to the sitting room. He slept on the sofa that night, curled up in a ball, burrowing into his sheets. He couldn't believe himself. He had never been such a violent, dominating, horrible person. What the hell had happened to him? He hoped Sherlock would be able to forgive him one day. No, he knew Sherlock would. That wasn't the real problem.

The real problem was if John would ever be able to forgive himself for what he'd done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't like reading rape fics, feel free to skip the next few chapters. You won't miss much, and if you want to know what you missed feel free to send me a message or send a comment my way so I can give you the brief synopsis. Happy Red Pants Monday everyone!
> 
> TSA + IB


	39. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy Wednesday! Since the last chapter was so short, here's another to hold you over until Friday.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John and Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: angst, feelings, home rehabilitation, separation, panic attacks, physical violence (Mycroft to John), and illusion to yet another rape at the end of the chapter (for those of you who don't like reading about rape, feel free to skip this chapter. You won't be missing much. Though I can give you a brief synopsis if you so wish)

Sherlock was released from hospital a week later.

He was currently lying face down on the bed in his brother's bedroom, sobbing his eyes out. He'd wanted to at least say goodbye to John but Mycroft simply hadn't allowed it. He had already collected Sherlock's belongings and had insisted that Sherlock was not to go back to the flat. He just wanted to say goodbye for goodness sake! He wasn't a child. He wished Mycroft would stop treating him like one. He gripped his pillow tightly and let out an infuriated scream that soon dwindled away into more sobs.

**…::-::…**

John couldn't sleep in the bedroom anymore. He couldn't stomach sleeping in the bed where he had violated Sherlock so cruelly. The ropes were still there too. John couldn't touch them. He wouldn't touch them.

Mycroft had come nearly a week ago to collect Sherlock's things. Sherlock was apparently staying with Mycroft until further notice. John accepted that, he understood that Sherlock would want to get away from him. John only wished he could get away from himself.

At the very least he had gotten rid of all the alcohol in the flat. He hadn't had a drink in almost two weeks. The headaches had started a week ago, and they had yet to go away. He knew it was all part of the process of drying out, so he worked through them. They didn't interfere with his work at least, so he could distract himself from how empty he felt for at least eight to ten hours a day.

Christmas came and went. As did New Years. Suddenly Sherlock's birthday was closing in. John felt like he should do something. Send him something to apologise and let Sherlock know he was still thinking about him and still loved him.

The pants.

Of course. The bee pants! The pants he'd had stashed away for over a year now. He had meant to give them to Sherlock so long ago, but then the memory loss, coma, and breaking up had happened. So it seemed that they would be an apology present now.

John found them in the back of his wardrobe, rushing from the bedroom as quickly as possible. He sat them on his chair and sat at the desk, staring at a piece of paper, conflicted. Should he write something? Yes. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't say it. He decided to tell the truth, no matter how concise it might be.

_Sherlock,_

_Happy Birthday. I hope this present finds you in better health and spirits. That is if Mycroft allows you to read this. If he doesn't, then there's really no point in my writing this is there? But I'm going to write it anyway._

_I am so sorry for what I did to you. I am sorry for the distancing, the drinking, the abuse, and the trauma I have caused you. I can only hope you will forgive me one day, but I can never forgive myself. I will consider it a miracle if you forgive me, and an act of God if I am able to forgive myself._

_I hope you will accept this present as the sincere apology I meant it to be. I have had these stored away for over a year now, and I am sorry I never gave them to you sooner. I am not sure of your current body stature, but they should fit you once you get back to a healthy weight. I bought them in your size before we even got together (if we even still are), and I hope they'll fit you. When they do, do you think you might be able to come home? It is an incredibly selfish thing of me to ask, I know, but I miss you with all my heart and soul. Please know that I think of you every day and that I still love you._

_I am so sorry that I hurt you, and I would promise that it wouldn't happen again, but I don't want to make promises I can't keep. There is a very good chance I could hurt you again, physically or otherwise. Mycroft told me about your cracked ribs, and I am so sorry. I wish you had told me. I would have helped you. I am sorry for being so rough that day as well. I don't know what came over me. I was not myself, and I am doing my best to better myself. I got rid of the alcohol and am drying out. I haven't had anything to drink since Mycroft's birthday._

_Once again, I am so sorry about everything I said and did. I cannot forgive myself for my actions, and honestly I wouldn't blame you if you didn't come back. You deserve better than me. So, if this is goodbye, please know that I do still love you, I am incredibly sorry, I will miss you every day, and I will continue to love you with all my heart and soul._

_Happy Birthday Sherlock._

_All my love,_

_John_

He looked down at the letter and wiped his tears away. He swallowed thickly and put the letter into an envelope before he second guessed himself. He put the pants and letter into a small box and sealed it. He wrote Mycroft's address on it and Sherlock's name on top. He deliberately left out the return address. They Holmes boys would know who it was from simply based on the handwriting. He put the box in the post and watched from the window as the postman collected it and carried it off.

All John could do now was wait.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock's time at Mycroft's house hadn't been easy. That was perhaps putting it lightly. He'd struggled a lot with his weight despite the regimen Lestrade had set up for him. He went through periods of barely eating to periods of gorging himself so severely that Mycroft had threatened to take him back to hospital to get his stomach pumped again. He just couldn't seem to find the right balance.

Being away from John was harder than expected. He missed him so damn much and all he wanted to do was go back to the flat, crawl under the covers, and cuddle up to the man he loved. Mycroft was having none of it and Sherlock was starting to think that maybe his brother would never allow him to see John ever again.

It hurt. He just wanted to see him, to hear his lush voice, to kiss his soft lips. Instead he was alone. Or at least that's what it felt like.

He'd spent Christmas feeling lonely and now it would seem he would be spending his birthday feeling lonely too.

When he woke up that day he crept downstairs.

That's when he found it.

The package.

Even from a distance Sherlock could tell that John was who had sent it.

He felt his stomach twist into a tight knot and before he could quite contemplate what he was doing he was in the kitchen surrounded by half the food stored in there, stuffing it into his mouth at a disgusting rate.

He couldn't bring himself to open the package. He couldn't. It looked like a letter was attached too. What if it was a goodbye forever present and John's letter was just a simple goodbye? He couldn't deal with that.

Instead he just gorged himself to try and forget.

It's Sherlock's birthday, was Mycroft's first thought upon waking. He rolled over and looked at the clock. Ten a.m. Good. He had actually managed to get some sleep. He rolled out of bed and padded downstairs, disappointed to see Sherlock sitting on the floor surrounded by food.

'What was the trigger today?'

Sherlock sighed, tossing a packet of crisps to one side and looking up at his brother with big, sad eyes.

'John.'

'What did the fucker do this time?' Mycroft scowled.

'Sent me a present and a letter.'

'Do you want me to toss them?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'No. Can you just store them for me?'

'For how long?'

'For as long as I tell you to!' Sherlock snapped before softening. 'Sorry, My. Didn't mean to yell.' He draped an arm across his belly and groaned.

'Do I need to take you to get your stomach pumped again? Because you know I will.'

'I'll be fine once I've thrown up,' Sherlock grumbled, standing unsteadily to his feet.

Mycroft sighed and began picking up the food. He tried not to listen to his brother vomiting in the toilet, but his ears had grown to listen for it, especially at night. Why couldn't John just leave things be? Why did he have to ruin everything? Bastard.

Mycroft grabbed the package and studied it. It was indeed from John. He would recognise the doctor's handwriting anywhere. There was indeed a letter inside, but there was something else too. The rustle of fabric, soft, cotton blend. Lightweight, small. Oh dear lord.

John had sent Sherlock a pair of bloody pants. Mycroft wrinkled up his nose in disgust. Had the man learned nothing? Was his libido seriously all he cared about? Mycroft frowned and huffed. He would grant his brother's wish and keep it, but he was going to put it somewhere where neither of them would have to see it every day.

Sherlock stumbled out of the loo, pasty faced and shaking.

'Happy birthday to me,' he mumbled miserably.

**…::-::…**

John never got a reply, but then he hadn't expected one. He could only hope that Mycroft hadn't tossed the package before Sherlock had even seen it.

January came and went and soon it was practically Valentine's Day. He and Sherlock hadn't had the chance to celebrate last year seeing as he was in a coma, and it appeared they wouldn't that year either. John sat in the fetal position on his chair all day, sobbing into his knees.

He wished Sherlock would at least contact him in some way. But Mycroft probably wouldn't allow it, seeing as he hated his guts now. John hated himself too. He would never be able to forgive himself for what he'd done, and he would be both amazed and slightly appalled if Sherlock ever did. He clearly deserved better, and John took his continued absence as confirmation that they had broken up for good.

**…::-::…**

'I want to see the package,' Sherlock announced out of the blue.

He dropped his t-shirt to the floor with a grunt and flopped down onto the sofa. He smiled as he ran a hand down his torso. The flab had dripped away over the past month, revealing a smooth torso and the promises of muscles that Sherlock hadn't even been aware he possessed. He couldn't help but occasionally stare at his new body. He'd never felt so comfortable in his skin before and it felt marvellous.

Now that he had his life back on track – the binge eating, his weight, his emotions – then maybe, just maybe, he could cope with finally opening John's package.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, looking up from his newspaper.

'You sure you're ready for it?'

Sherlock pursed his lips together and shrugged. 'There's only one certain way to find out.'

'Ok. But if it upsets you, please don't turn to food. You're doing so well. Go running. Put whatever you may be feeling into energy and use it.'

'I think I can refrain myself from going back to my ways.'

'Ok.' Mycroft stood and went to his study. He retrieved the package from behind some of his books and returned to the sitting room.

'Here,' he said, presenting his brother with the box. 'Do you want to do this in private? Because if you do I recommend going to your room to do so. I have work to do out here.'

'Yes, I think that would be for the best.' He held the package to his chest, and, grinning dopily, he placed a light kiss on his brother's head.

'Don't get used to it.' He glared at his brother's bemused expression. 'I just wanted to thank you.'

'You're quite welcome. Now go.' Mycroft shooed him from the room and sat back down to read his paper. The Koreans were still upset about their recent elections it seemed. He would have to do something about that.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and hurried to his room. He ripped the package open, not even bothering to deduce what was in it first.

He placed the letter to one side to get a proper look at the present and gasped, his heart both breaking and piecing itself back together again.

The bee pants.

He let out a loud laugh that carried throughout the house but then his laughter turned to sobs.

God, did he miss John.

Mycroft lifted his head to stare down the hallway. Sherlock was laughing? What? Why? The laughter soon turned to sobs and he rolled his eyes. Typical. John did seem to send him on emotional roller coasters as of late.

Sherlock stroked the bee pants. They were so soft and fuzzy. He loved them but more importantly he loved the man who had sent them.

He picked up the letter and started to read it. As he did so his sobs turned into violent screeches. There was so much emotion in John's words. He sounded sincere in his apology and utterly broken. There were tears staining some of the letters and soon Sherlock's tears joined them.

He forced himself to read the whole letter before chucking it across the room.

He cradled the bee pants and screamed into his pillow, feeling lost in his emotions.

Now those noises didn't sound good. Mycroft stood and made his way to Sherlock's room, knocking on the door gently.

'Sherlock? What's wrong? What did he say?'

'Go away!' Sherlock screeched.

'Ok. Ok. Sorry.' Mycroft left Sherlock alone, returning to his work. He couldn't concentrate as well as before. He was too worried about his brother. He hoped he didn't do anything drastic. Or stupid.

Sherlock's screams died in his throat and he was reduced to sniffles.

What did he do now? What the hell did he do?

His mind was telling him to rid himself of the letter and pants. His heart was telling him to go find John to talk things through.

Sherlock's heart was singing louder.

He crawled from his fetal position on the bed and walked over to his wardrobe, picking out a thick jumper. It wasn't John's, as Mycroft had been thorough in trying to delete the man from Sherlock's life. It was a dark blue colour and wooly.

Sherlock wanted to make sure that John was sincere in his letter about all the hurtful things he'd said and done. One way of ensuring that was covering up his muscular, toned body so that John wouldn't be able to tell the difference. If John called him any fat names because he thought Sherlock was still possessing a spare tyre then the detective was going to walk away for good, because he couldn't go back to that place where he'd been ever again.

Once dressed, he sighed. Now came the real challenge. How the hell did he sneak past both his brother and his brother's men?

Mycroft heard Sherlock's cries die down. He sighed in relief. Sherlock was calming down. Now he just needed to wait to see what he would do.

Sherlock quietly locked his door from the inside. That way it would at least give the impression of him being in the room with the need of privacy. That would buy him a little time at least.

He then proceeded to climb the fire escape outside his window. The guards were easily dealt with. Sherlock was an expert in martial arts and was able to knock them out within seconds.

He hailed a cab with ease and began his journey to 221B.

Mycroft heard a commotion from outside. He shrugged and dismissed it. It was probably just some animals fighting over territory. It happened all the time. Sherlock had gone quiet though. Maybe he was sleeping? Mycroft stood and checked the door. It was locked. So he wanted to be alone. Ok. He could understand that. He sighed and went back to his work.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock stared at the flat for a long time before entering it. Part of him was screaming for him to go back, but a much bigger part wanted to see John. The bigger part won.

He crept in and up the stairs, apprehension bubbling underneath his skin. However, when he actually got into the flat all that apprehension filtered away into a mixture of adoration and sadness. John was curled up on the sofa, fast asleep but not at rest. Frown lines marred his face and he was whimpering. The sofa would do no good for the man's back. Without so much as a second thought, Sherlock found himself carrying John upstairs to his room. He pulled up the covers, gently lowered him down, crawled under the covers himself, and covered them both back up.

John grunted when he felt someone shift his body. Was it Mrs Hudson checking on him again? He forcefully blew air out of his nose and turned over, burying his face in the blanket, willing whoever was disturbing him to go away. Sherlock chuckled softly and, out of old habit, found himself drawing closer to John.

'Shhh,' he whispered.

John grunted again. The person wasn't going away. They were closer, and very warm. He turned toward them slightly, keeping his eyes closed, and mumbled, 'Who's there?'

'The fat bastard,' Sherlock said before he could stop himself.

'Don't know any fat bastards,' John grumbled. He turned over and nearly had a heart attack when he came face to face with Sherlock.

'Jesus shit!' He jumped back slightly and fell onto the floor, dragging the covers of his bed with him. Wait... His bed? How the hell had he gotten there?

'What the hell is going on?' he demanded, sitting up and staring at Sherlock. 'Why are you here? How did you get here? Does Mycroft know? Did you get my present?' All the questions came out at once and John couldn't seem to stop.

'Oh, I'm sorry. Is fat bastard not the right terminology? Is it fat fuck?' Sherlock asked in a surprisingly calm voice, leaping onto his feet to circle John.

'I am here because I want some answers from you. I got here by taxi. Mycroft doesn't know. And yes.'

John gulped and watched Sherlock prowl around him. He looked like a shark circling its prey.

'You aren't fat, Sherlock. You never were. I like the new jumper though. It's a... a gorgeous colour on you.'

Sherlock stopped to study John carefully. 'It's hard to believe you're being sincere, Doctor Watson.'

'I know.' John hung his head in shame. 'But I truly am so sorry I said those things. I am sorry I hurt you. Sorry I... I raped you.' He choked on that word, his voice thick with emotion. 'I wish I could take it all back. All the pain, the distance, the drinking. But I can't, and I'm so sorry.'

Sherlock crouched down and offered John a small smile. 'I know you're sorry. And I suppose, to an extent, I forgive you or I wouldn't be here now.'

John looked up, tears in his eyes. 'I don't know whether to call you an idiot for forgiving me or to say I love you.' He smiled softly. 'You look good though. I can see your cheekbones again.'

'I love you too.' Sherlock dragged John into a warm hug. 'And I know that I am an idiot.'

'Well, at least it's not news to you,' John laughed softly. He hugged Sherlock close, burying his nose in the jumper.

Sherlock didn't join John in his laughter. 'John, I am here to ask you some questions. Then I have to be off. Preferably before Mycroft realises I am gone.'

'O-ok.' John sat back, drawing his sheets around himself. 'What do you want to know?'

'Did you honestly have a problem with my weight?'

'No,' John answered automatically, shaking his head. 'I mean, when you were a skeleton I did simply because I didn't want you to die. But when you gained weight I never had an issue with it. Not even when you were a couple stones heavier than I was used to.'

Sherlock looked at John a little sceptically. 'Then why did you call me all those names when you were drunk? Surely some of that hatred you had for my weight was true?'

'Some of it might have been, but maybe I was talking about myself too. I had put on more weight too, my belly was too fleshy. And the alcohol wasn't helping. Maybe I was talking about myself, you, or both of us. I really don't know.'

Sherlock frowned and growled fiercely. 'You were not bloody fat.'

'I was overweight though,' John protested. 'So I started working out again while you were gone. I have muscle tone again for the first time in years. Probably since I was discharged. And it would appear you're toned as well.'

Sherlock growled again and leaned in closer. 'Why did you rape me? Why did you drag me from my bed and rape me?'

'I don't know!' John cried, hiding his face in his sheets. 'I was drunk! I don't remember! I don't even remember doing it! But I found the rope still tied to your bed downstairs and I... I couldn't stomach being in there. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!'

'You should be! I was fucking terrified!'

John sobbed into his blankets, covering his face so Sherlock wouldn't see. But also so he wouldn't have to look at Sherlock. He couldn't bear to see the look of betrayal, hurt, pain, and fear that was surely on his face.

Sherlock groaned. 'Stop it! Stop crying! I was the one who was raped! Not you!'

'I was the one who raped you!' John cried. 'I hurt you! I violated you! And now you hate me! And I don't blame you. I hate myself too. Why shouldn't I cry?'

'I don't hate you. I hate what you did. I hate knowing that there is something dark within you that wants to hurt me. But I could never hate you.'

'Well, you should hate me. You should get as far away from me as possible. I don't want to hurt you again.'

Sherlock sighed. John just wasn't getting it. He shoved John backwards gently and leaned over him, placing a simple kiss on his lips before pulling away.

'No. I love you.'

John blinked and licked his lips. A faint taste of Sherlock was left on them from the brief kiss.

'I love you too, but I don't want to risk hurting you again. I... I don't know what was going through my mind while I was hurting you. What if I'm a sadist? I don't want to hurt you for my own sexual gratification.'

'Then we cut out the sex and see what's left behind. I started loving you long before the sex. We need to remind ourselves of why we love each other.'

'Ok. Ok.' John nodded almost eagerly. 'Yes. Let's do that.'

'Fantastic,' Sherlock beamed. 'First things first, we're going to remove the rope from our room.'

John paled. 'I... I can't. I can't go in there. I'm sorry.'

'Then allow me. Just come down with me. Wait outside the door. That's all I ask.'

'Ok.' John stood slowly, wrapped his blankets around himself, and followed Sherlock downstairs.

Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he reached his old bedroom. 'Here goes nothing.'

John whimpered and held his blankets close. He refused to close his eyes. Sherlock needed him to be strong.

Sherlock snapped his eyes open and slowly crept into the room. He almost vomited as the stale scent of sex, sweet, fear and anger hit him like a smack in the face. Perhaps it was all in his mind, perhaps not. Either way it was disgusting.

He plugged his nose with his fingers and held his breath as he went to the bed and removed the piece of rope.

Once he was back outside, he unplugged his nose and began to breath again.

'Hold it,' Sherlock muttered, holding out the rope to John. 'Please. I-I can't. I–'

John swallowed and took the length of rope, holding it in a blanket-covered hand. He refused to touch it outright, using the blanket as a barrier.

Sherlock couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move. 'I–' he gasped out. 'I can't breathe.' He keeled over, grabbing onto John to stop him from falling.

John held Sherlock's face in his hands, whispered softly to him, when he heard the door fly open.

'Sherlock?!' Mycroft cried.

Shit.

'Sherlock! I know you're here! Where else would you go? Your room is empty at home! How long did you think it would take before I noticed? Where–' Mycroft crossed the threshold into the sitting room and spun around madly. When his gaze fell across the kitchen and saw John holding a shaking Sherlock, a thick piece of rope in his hands, he exploded.

'You fucker!' he cried.

'Mycroft wait!' John protested, but he was too late. Mycroft had already grabbed him and punched him across the face.

Sherlock screamed at his brother, swore at him loudly, and then fled from the flat like a frightened animal.

'Mycroft! I wasn't doing anything! I swear!' John cried, hiding his face behind his arms. 'He just came to talk! That's all!'

'I don't believe you!' Mycroft screamed. 'Why were you holding rope? Were you going to rape him again? Were you?!'

'No! We were just talking! And we were going to throw the rope out! I swear!'

'Sherlock, is that true?' Mycroft looked around and didn't see his brother. 'Sherlock? Are you here?' There was no reply. Mycroft growled and dropped John, the little man falling to the floor with a thud.

'Don't go anywhere,' he growled threateningly. 'I'm going to look for Sherlock, and he won't be coming back.' John merely nodded and covered his entire body with the blankets. Mycroft dashed out of the flat, screaming Sherlock's name.

Sherlock ran for god knew how long. The entire city seemed to pass by him in a blur.

God, why did Mycroft have to be such an overprotective bastard? Sherlock wasn't made out of glass. Given the situation both he and John had been found in would have looked far more sinister to his brother's eyes. But still, that was hardly an excuse to punch John.

For a moment there had been a tiny glimmer of hope that he and John would be able to work through their problems. That glimmer was now faded.

Damn Mycroft. Damn John. Damn the whole world. Damn everything.

Sherlock came to a standstill to get his bearings.

That was his big mistake.

Something hard collided with his skull and his body slumped into unconsciousness without a fight.

When Sherlock next awoke he was aware of some terrifying facts. He was in a dark alley, he was stark naked, his hands were tied behind his back with rope, and he was not alone.

His heart pounded in his chest as he took in his situation and tried to calmly calculate in his mind palace as to whom the figure standing above him was. His heart stilled completely as he took in the height and stature of the shadowy figure. It was the same as John's.

'John?' Sherlock choked.

No. No, that couldn't be right. John said he was sorry. He said he wanted to try again without any form of sex. He wouldn't rape him again, would he?

The figure walked closer and dropped onto him, straddling him.

Sherlock took a deep breath and smelt something that sent him from being slightly confused and scared to downright panicking. He smelt John.

'John, please stop!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate that I'm ending this chapter here, but there really wasn't a place in the next chapter where I could cut it off. This is a terrible cliff hanger, I know this, but it will be resolved Friday morning. I promise. I've already got the chapter edited and everything. Things will be relatively OK after this chapter. No more rape, I cross my heart. Though there will be times of dubious consent, there won't be anymore rape. I promise.
> 
> So, on that note, we'll see you guys Friday with the resolution and some Holmes brother feels. Ta!
> 
> TSA + IB


	40. Imitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not posting this on Friday. It completely slipped my mind and I didn't remember until just now.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: Mycroft, random nursing staff, John, Greg
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: mentions of a violent rape, blood, angst, panic attacks, sedation, a lot more angst, and some more mild panic attacks as Sherlock and John work through their problems.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, where are you?!' Mycroft screamed. He ran the streets before realising Sherlock would want to remain out of sight. He began searching back alleys then, shouting for Sherlock until his voice went hoarse.

 _John raped you. The man you love raped you. John Hamish Watson raped you._  
  
The thought chanted through Sherlock's mind like a haunted echo.

Sherlock was still shaking from both his fear and the unexpected and unpleasant orgasm he'd just received. He could still feel hot breath brushing against his skin, the solid form of John's body crushing him, his body being violated in so many ways.

He was broken. He was as naked and vulnerable as a baby. He had struggled to escape the rope that was tied to his hands so frantically that he'd left rope burns there. He was covered in drying cum and he really didn't want to think about where the blood dripping down his leg was originating from.

He heard his brother's shouts and his heart momentarily lifted his spirits. His brother? Oh yes. Mycroft had probably been looking for him.

'Croft!' he sobbed. 'Croft!'

'Sherlock?!' Mycroft called out incredulously, spinning around madly as he searched for where the voice had come from. 'Sherlock! I'm here! Where are you?!'

'I – don't know! Croft! Croft! CROFT!'

'Keep shouting! I'll find you!' Mycroft stopped and listened to his brother's cries, turning around and heading back the way he had come. He turned right down a back alley and stopped dead when he saw Sherlock bound and naked on the dirty ground.

'Oh no. Sherlock!' Mycroft rushed to his side and untied his wrists. 'Locky, what happened?'

'J-ohn – he – I – raped,' Sherlock whimpered.

Mycroft growled menacingly. 'I knew it. I knew he wouldn't change. I'm taking you to the hospital. Get you tested and cleaned up. Ok?'

Sherlock sobbed heavily, nodding. 'Mmm sorry. I shouldn't have gone to him.'

'No, you shouldn't have. And now I'm going to have him arrested. I'll have the hospital run a DNA test to prove that he was the one who did this, then he can't deny doing it.' He carefully hauled Sherlock into his arms, picking up his torn clothes from the alley, and sent a text to his driver. A car was waiting for them when they reached the main road.

Sherlock felt pathetic and childish, clinging to his brother, trembling, crying into his shirt.

'W-hy? He said he loved me. We were going to try to make things work. Wh-y?'

'Because he's a liar who only cares about his own needs. He's selfish, deplorable, and he hurts the people he cares about. You deserve better, baby brother.' He kissed the top of Sherlock's head and smoothed down his hair. 'I will make sure that he pays for what he's done this time. He's not going to get away with this.'

'And worse still, he's made me ruin your suit,' Sherlock joked lightly, but it was no laughing matter. The blood spatters and cum now staining his brother's suit were a violent reminder of how he had been violated.

'I never liked this suit anyway. It's fine.' Sherlock's sobs started up again and he buried his head in the crook of his brother's arm.

'It's not fucking fine! It's not!'

'I know it's not, Locky. But I'm going to fix this. I'm going to make John pay for what he's done to you.' The car pulled up to the hospital and the driver opened Mycroft's door. The elder Holmes dashed out, holding Sherlock to him tightly.

'I need a doctor!' he shouted. 'Please! My little brother's just been raped!'

A swarm of nurses and a few doctors surrounded them, pulling Sherlock out of Mycroft's hands and collecting Mycroft's suit jacket and trousers for evidence. He was given a pair of standard hospital trousers in exchange for his own.

'Get the DNA results as quickly as possible. I need to be sure John Watson was the man who did this before I have my lover arrest him,' he growled.

'Of course, sir,' a nurse nodded, scurrying off to collect a rape kit and begin testing.

Sherlock screamed. His brother was gone. He was alone. John might come for him. He might come back to finish him off.

'Help!' he roared, fighting off the nurses. 'Help!'

He could hear John's grunts of pleasure so clearly still.

'FUCK! CROFT!'

'It's alright, dear,' a nurse said. 'It's going to be ok. You're safe here.'

Sherlock looked at the nurse. She looked on at him sadly. He instantly felt himself relax but that was most likely due to the sedative he'd just been injected with.

Mycroft sat in the waiting room, staring at the floor. He'd been there nearly an hour. What the hell was taking so long?

'Mr Holmes?'

Mycroft looked up to see a nurse standing in front of him. She was holding a clipboard tightly to her chest.

'Yes? Are those my brother's test results?'

'Yes sir. But, I'm afraid you won't like them.'

'What? Oh no. Does he have an STD?'

'No sir. Nothing like that thankfully. It's just... who did you say did this to him?'

'John Watson, his lover. He raped him once already back in December and it appears he's done it again.'

'Well sir, I'm afraid the man you want is not John Watson.'

'What? How is that possible?'

'The DNA found in and on your brother wasn't from a John Watson. It was from a serial rapist named Bobby Davison.'

'A serial rapist?!'

'Yes sir. They do exist. If you were planning on arresting that John fellow, I would suggest going after Bobby instead. He's the man you want right now.'

Sherlock had been turned into a madman. Or at least that's what it felt like.

Now that he was awake again he was going through periods of sobbing to periods of silence and thick contemplation, and then there were the periods where he was mumbling incoherently at a thousand miles per hour.

He was utterly broken.

'Can I see my brother? Please?' Mycroft asked.

'He should be awake by now, so yes. But he may still be a little out of sorts,' the nurse answered. She led him to a private room and knocked before entering.

'Mr Holmes? Your brother is here.'

Sherlock heard the voice but he didn't reply. He was currently in one of his deathly silent periods, staring at the suddenly fascinating ceiling.

'Sherlock?' Mycroft asked softly. His brother was staring at the ceiling, not blinking. 'Sherlock?'

Sherlock glared at the ceiling harder, ignoring his brother, remaining deathly silent.

'Sherlock? I know you can hear me. The tests the doctors took, they came back already. John didn't do this.'

Sherlock turned his glare to his brother and frowned, still not speaking.

'It wasn't his... DNA in you. It was this man's.' He held up the photo of Bobby Davison the nurse had given him earlier. 'He looks a lot like John, same height and build. Which would explain why you thought it was John.'

Sherlock swallowed and shook his head, not accepting it as the truth. 'And the smell? How the hell do you explain the smell?'

'The smell?' Mycroft raised an eyebrow quizzically.

'He smelt of John. No one could possibly even begin to smell like him. It's a unique scent. That is the one thing that doesn't make sense here.'

'Maybe he was wearing the same cologne John wears. Does John even wear cologne? Or... maybe he was wearing some of John's clothes.'

'No. He doesn't wear cologne.' Sherlock froze and his eyes narrowed. 'Why would he have been wearing John's clothes? Are you saying this isn't some random act? That perhaps someone planned to do this to me? In which case, is John safe right now?'

'I'll send someone to watch over him,' Mycroft said, sending a quick text. 'As for the clothes... do you think this was Moriarty's doing? When he first broke into your flat, did he touch anything? Move out of your line of sight at all? Was anything missing afterwards?'

'Shit,' Sherlock muttered. 'John was complaining that he couldn't find his favourite cardigan. It didn't seem significant then, but now...'

'I'll get my people on it,' Mycroft sighed. 'We'll get this bastard. And we'll get him to talk.'

'I don't know whether this makes things worse or better,' Sherlock sighed. 'Whereas I'm glad it wasn't John, it is a sickening thought that a rapist was out there, waiting for me.'

'I'm not gonna lie, but I was violently sick at the thought,' Mycroft admitted.

Sherlock winced. 'I'm terribly sorry about this. I should have just stayed in my room. Oh... erm... sorry about your guards too.'

Mycroft waved a dismissive hand. 'Don't worry about it. They'll be fine. They'll be busy hunting down your rapist for a while anyway.'

'I can't believe I was stupid enough to believe it was John. He was quite traumatised by what he'd done. He hadn't even been able to remove the rope from my room. And now, of course, you've probably made him ten times worse. Is your motto punch first and ask later?'

'Pretty much, yes.' Mycroft's lip threatened to twitch upward in a smirk, but he stopped it as it seemed entirely inappropriate given the current situation.

'Well thanks a bloody lot,' Sherlock scowled. 'You've probably terrified him for life.'

'Sorry,' Mycroft said softly. 'But given the state I found you two in, could you blame me?'

'I was having a bloody panic attack for Christ's sake! I thought you were going to beat him to death.'

'I don't think– No, I probably would have if given the chance. I'm sorry. I'll talk to him later and apologise. If you want... you can go back to him. You did say you two agreed to try to make things work. And I'll allow you two to do that, just so long as you come to me should he turn on you again.'

'Yes. Please get him here. I want him here with me. Please try to be civil.'

'Ok.' He paused. 'Would you maybe want to call him? I don't think he'll listen to me because... because I told him you weren't coming back when I found you. That I was taking you away.'

Sherlock sighed and brought a shaking hand up to run through his curls.

'I'll talk to him.'

'Ok. Here.' Mycroft pulled out his mobile and dialled John's number. He only hoped John wouldn't pay attention to the caller I.D. and would answer.

'Can you give us some privacy?' Sherlock shooed his brother away, waiting and hoping John would pick up.

'Yes. Of course.' Mycroft stood and exited the room, closing the door behind him and sitting in the chair conveniently posted outside the door.

_Please pick up, John. Sherlock needs you now more than ever. Please pick up._

**…::-::…**

His mobile was going off, buzzing somewhere off in the distance. He should probably get that. It might be a work emergency. John poked his head out from beneath his blankets, wiping his tears away. He shuffled over to the coffee table and snatched up his mobile, scowling when he read the caller I.D.

'What do you want Mycroft?' he spat into the receiver as he answered.

'J-John,' Sherlock stuttered, voice breaking slightly.

John's eyes popped open in shock. 'Sherlock?'

'Yes. It's me.'

'Wh-What's going on? Why are you using Mycroft's phone? Is everything ok?'

'No. Things are very much not okay. I need you to come down to Bart's.'

'O-ok. What happened?'

'I was raped,' Sherlock said bluntly.

'What?!' John screeched. 'Ohmygod! I'll be there as soon as I can!'

'Thank you. Oh, and wear cologne. No offence, but I don't think I can stomach smelling your natural scent.'

'I – what? No, I'm not going to ask. I'll be there as soon as I can, love.'

'Hurry, please.'

'I'm putting trousers on as we speak,' John said, struggling to get into his trousers with only one hand.

'I'm going to hang up now. See you later, yeah?'

'Yeah. I'll be there soon. I... I love you.'

'God, I love you too.'

John hung up and pulled his trousers on properly, tossing off his shirt and pulling on a fresh one. He was nearly out the door when he remembered Sherlock wanted him to wear cologne. What the hell for? He'd find out eventually, he supposed. He opened the drawer in Sherlock's dresser that he had deemed solely for disguise purposes and pulled out the first bottle of cologne he could find, spraying himself a few times before he called it good and dashed out of the flat. He ran down the street until he reached the main road, hailed a taxi, and twitched impatiently the entire ride.

Sherlock lay utterly motionless in his bed, trying to sort through his emotions that had been brought on by the day's events.

 _Please hurry, John. I need you._  
  
The cab finally arrived at Bart's almost ten minutes later. To John, it felt like ten hours. He threw a random assortment of bills at the driver before rushing out and into the hospital. A nurse recognised him and immediately led him to Sherlock's room. Mycroft was sitting outside the door, almost keeping watch. John stood straight and squared his jaw at the sight of him, preparing himself for another hit.

It never came. Mycroft just stared up at him with sad eyes and sighed, the silent apology hanging in the air as John refused to accept it. Sherlock needed his sympathy right now, not Mycroft. He opened the door slowly and gazed upon his flatmate-lover-boyfriend.

'Sherlock? I'm here,' he said softly.

Sherlock started at the sound of John's voice, jumping nervously.

'Hi,' he said in a small voice.

'Hey,' John said, barely above a whisper. He closed the door softly and made his way to Sherlock's bedside. 'I'd ask how you were holding up, but I think I already know.'

Sherlock's lower lip twitched. 'I thought it was you,' he sniffed, fighting off tears. 'I was so sure that it was you.'

'Why would you think it was me?' John frowned deeply, hurt. 'I said I wanted to fix this, make it work, cut out the sex. Why would you think – oh. This has something to do with you asking me to wear cologne, doesn't it?'

'It was dark. He was your height and body build, and he stank of... well, you.'

'He stank of me? How is that possible?' John very badly wanted to reach out and touch Sherlock, to comfort him, but if he had a problem with his smell then he would probably have issues with his touch too. And he didn't want to risk upsetting Sherlock further.

Sherlock's shoulders slumped in defeat. 'Moriarty is likely to be behind it. Remember when you lost your red cardigan?'

'Yes, but I just misplaced it. I mean, why would – oh. Oh! Dammit!' John ran a hand through his hair, taking deep breaths. 'So you're saying he took it to use later? But that was over a year ago. How could it still smell like me? Did he keep it in a plastic bag the entire time?'

'He kept it in prime condition. Just like little Carl's shoes. He then bundled a rapist into it and unleashed him on me.'

'Oh love. I'm so sorry.'

'It's not your fault.' Sherlock was shaking now, the tears finally falling, and loud wailing noises began to rise from his throat. John couldn't stop himself. He sat on Sherlock's bed and pulled him onto his lap, hugging him tenderly. Sherlock screamed instantly and tried to escape John's arms. Images flashed through his mind of the rapist's body pressed against his.

'Get off!' he roared. 'Just get off!'

Suddenly, the door burst open and a flood of nurses and doctors raced into the room.

John was pulled off Sherlock by one of the doctors. He could only watch as the nurses held the flailing Sherlock down and another sedated him, his body going limp instantly. John swallowed thickly, tuning everything out as he received a lecture about something or other, and sat in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chest. Mycroft had been standing helplessly outside the door, watching as his brother tried to fight the staff but lost once the sedative began flowing through his veins.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock's days in hospital stretched on. He had violent outbursts frequently, brought on by flashbacks. He spent most of his days sedated and he couldn't remember his last coherent thought that his mind possessed

John visited him daily. He simply stared at him sadly from a good distance away.

His brother was a broken mess by his bedside, sobbing. And Lestrade had been frequently sat by his side with Mycroft wrapped in his arms.

Sherlock didn't know what to do anymore. He was fine, physically at least. But within his great mind palace, he was beginning to slip and drown.

He felt worthless. Disgusting. Wrong.

'He hasn't said anything in days,' John said over lunch. Greg and Mycroft were picking at their salads, not really paying attention. 'Mycroft, have you made any progress in finding that Bobby guy?'

'We're on his trail, yes. But we haven't managed to capture him yet,' the elder Holmes answered dejectedly. 'And I want this bastard locked up for what he's done. Maybe then Sherlock would relax.'

'Sherlock won't relax until Moriarty is dead and his web of criminals is disbanded,' John scoffed. 'Sherlock will never relax.' He pushed his food away and stared into the distance, hating himself, the man who hurt Sherlock, Moriarty, and Mycroft. The two of them may have been on speaking terms again, but John refused to forgive the man for wrongly accusing him of raping Sherlock for a second time.

'I can't stay here anymore. I'm going back to Sherlock's room and I'm sitting in my corner.' John stood but Greg grabbed his wrist.

'What are you hoping to accomplish? He won't talk.'

'I'm just trying to let him get used to my presence again. Let him see that I'm not there to hurt him.' Greg sighed and released him, waving him off dismissively. John went back to Sherlock's room and sat in his corner, drawing his knees up and resting his chin on them. At the moment, Sherlock was sleeping somewhat peacefully. Hopefully he wouldn't freak out when he woke to find John there.

Sherlock woke several hours later in a daze. He lifted his head slowly. It felt too heavy for his neck. Probably due to the amount of sedatives that were pumping through his veins.

He looked on at the figure sitting in a corner of the room with barely a glimmer of recognition before dropping his head back to the pillow once more.

John fell asleep in his cramped position. Well, maybe sleep wasn't the right word. Maybe resting while acutely aware of his surroundings. He stayed like that all night, his muscles protesting as the hours dragged on.

Hot breath was trickling down his neck. His hairs were standing on end, quivering along with the rest of his body. He was lost between his screaming mind and his bodies reaction to having a warm body pressed up against him after much a long period of time of nothing.

The man grunted and panted and made Sherlock's mouth make its own sounds of encouragement, despite his mind protesting to the violation of his body.

Sherlock bolted upright from his nightmare and screamed violently. 'Help! Help!'

John's head snapped up at Sherlock's cries. He stood on aching legs and made his way over to the bed.

'Shh, love. It's ok. It was just a nightmare,' he said softly, hoping Sherlock wouldn't lash out at him again. 'I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help.'

'Help? Tell me how you can fucking help me?! Can you make every bad thing that has ever happend to me go away? Can you give me back the childhood I never got?! Can you take back your own fucking words and actions? Can you wipe my mind of the memory of being raped? Can you tell me why my body felt so good despite the fact I was terrified?! Can you make all my scars go away doctor? Well, can you?!'

'I'm not that kind of doctor,' John sniffed. Sherlock was right. What good was he? He couldn't help Sherlock, probably never would be able to.

'I can't make it all go away, can't explain why your body betrayed you when you were so terrified, can't give you a proper childhood, and I can't take back my own words. If I could I would do so in a heartbeat, but I can't. I'm not a timelord. I'm just ordinary, helpless to help the man I love, useless. What good am I when I can't even help you?'

'You're far from ordinary,' Sherlock said, feeling exhausted and emotionally drained. 'If you were ordinary you would have left the flat within days of knowing me.'

'You were too extraordinary, too interesting, too exciting. I couldn't have left even if someone tried to drag me away. I was captivated from our first meeting.'

Sherlock smiled for a brief moment and reached out a hand to John. 'You were the extraordinary one.'

'How was I extraordinary?' John asked softly, grasping Sherlock's hand gently.

'You accepted me for me. No one has ever done that before. That, in my eyes, makes you extraordinary.' Sherlock squeezed John's hand.

John smiled softly, but it didn't reach his eyes.

'You are a fascinating and brilliant man. I wanted to learn more about you, and I grew to love you as I did.'

'And you were a puzzle to me. You still are. And I'm determined to solve you. I suppose that's why I grew to love you. I love a good puzzle and you're a walking embodiment of one.'

John flushed slightly. 'Thanks.' He frowned again. 'I just wish I could help you more. I feel utterly useless just sitting in my corner doing nothing but watch you sleep.'

'There is one thing you can try.' Sherlock chewed his lower lip and tentatively peeled back his covers, patting the space beside him. 'I'll try not to flip out.'

'I – are you sure? Because the last time I tried that they had to sedate you.'

'No. I'm not sure. But we have to try at some point, right?'

'I suppose.' John toed off his shoes and cautiously sat on the side of the bed, giving Sherlock some time to adjust before he continued.

'Ok so far?' he asked softly.

Sherlock shivered in mild apprehension. 'Yes. Just, easy does it. I don't want to hurt you.'

'Yeah.' John slowly made his way up the bed until he was sitting against the headboard, keeping track of Sherlock's breathing and heart rate the entire time.

Tremors ran up and down Sherlock's body as he fought the instincts telling him to scream and run away. His heart thumped in his chest and his breathing hitched.

'It's alright,' he whispered. 'I'll be ok.'

John swallowed and squared his jaw. 'Don't... Don't hit me, ok? I'm going to hold your hand.'

'I can't promise anything.' Sherlock tried to still his quaking body and held his hand out to John carefully.

John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's slowly, lacing them together after Sherlock relaxed slightly.

Sherlock waited for his body to react violently, but instead it relaxed into John's touch and he budged closer to him.

John gently nudged his shoulder against Sherlock's, allowing their arms to touch.

Sherlock turned over and rested his head on John's shoulder, humming under his breath.

John hummed as well and squeezed Sherlock's hand gently. He rested his head on Sherlock's and sighed deeply.

'I'd forgotten how much I liked to just lie with you side by side.'

'Me too. When we get home I just want to cuddle with you on the sofa.'

Sherlock nuzzled John with his nose. 'I'm not sure whether... whether I can give you more than cuddling.'

'You don't have to,' John sighed. 'We need to spend time together other than fucking like animals. I don't want to hurt you again, not so soon after all this.'

Sherlock blushed a deep red. 'That's what I meant. I don't know whether I can physically give you more than cuddling. Ever.'

'Oh. Well, that's alright. We don't have to have sex to be in a relationship. We can just spend time together doing what we love. I'll blog, you'll experiment, and we can catch criminals.'

'But won't that just make you unhappy? I know how grumpy you get when you don't have sex for a while.'

'I can wank. It won't be a total loss. I'd rather have a sexless life with you than not have you at all.'

Sherlock let out a relieved sigh. 'Thank you for being so understanding.'

'What else could I be? I've been told I'm a great boyfriend. And also that you're a lucky man to have me.' He smirked slightly and brushed his nose through Sherlock's curls.

'I count myself very lucky indeed.' Sherlock smirked back at John. 'When do you think they will allow me back out?'

'Maybe once you stop having panic attacks. But I really don't know.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand again and kissed his head gently, not wanting to spook him.

Sherlock froze and shifted awkwardly. 'I wouldn't do that, not yet anyway.'

'Oh. Sorry.' John sat back and stared up at the ceiling.

_Idiot. Shouldn't have done that. Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

'John, it's ok. I just don't want to bring you any harm. We'll take things slowly.'

'I shouldn't have pushed your boundaries like that. I'm sorry. I don't want to scare you.'

Sherlock sighed. 'It's fine, John. It's all fine. You can push all you like but just be careful about it.'

'I don't want to do anything that will make you uncomfortable. I'll wait for you to make the first move, because I don't want to rush you.'

'Ok. It's not that I don't want you to kiss me. It's just... hard for me.'

'I know love. I just... I don't know what's ok anymore. What you're ok with. But I'll learn.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand again.

'For now I just want you to hold me.' Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed softly.

'Ok.' John wrapped an arm around Sherlock and pulled him closer, laced their fingers together, and began drawing lazy circles against Sherlock's hand with his thumb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I told you things would begin to get better. No more rape from here on out, though there will be some dubious consent in later chapters. But no rape. So for anyone who doesn't like reading rape fics, it's OK to come back now.
> 
> I am going home for the weekend, and Sunday I'll be going to a cider mill to pick up some cider (it may or may not be hard cider...). It's finally fall! I am so in love with this season! The leaves are changing colours, the air is crisp and refreshing, and it's just a beautiful season overall. I hope you all are enjoying the gorgeous fall weather too. Go buy a Pumpkin Spice Latte at Starbucks (or any other variant of the drink at any other coffee shop) and sit outside and sip it as you contemplate life and where you want to go and what you want to do. Be philosophical for a bit before coming back to the internet and reading smut slash fics ;)
> 
> Hope you all have a great weekend and we'll see you Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	41. Sex Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is being posted today to make up for the chapter that was supposed to be posted Friday and was posted Sunday evening. I do apologise for that. I could have sworn I posted it Friday before I left to go home for the weekend. I feel so awful for that. So here's the next chapter and the next one will still be posted on Friday. I'm still trying to think of a chapter title for it. But otherwise it's ready to be posted.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: sexual tension, masturbation, performing sexual acts while sleeping, sexsomnia.

They say time is a healer. And although Sherlock was a large leap from healed, things were starting to look up. He had a better hold on his emotions and found himself less sensitive to human touch and, most importantly, John's touch. He had been discharged several weeks ago and since then he and John had worked up to cuddling, hand holding, and kissing each other anywhere but the lips. The lips was a no go area at the moment for Sherlock but he was sure he'd work up to it. So far they had avoided even the subject of sex. That was quite an achievement as they both slept in the same bed. Sherlock didn't sleep naked anymore in the hope that John would find it easier to go without sex.

The result of this meant John hadn't seen his beautifully toned body.

So it was probably awfully selfish of him to walk around the flat, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. But it was almost summer now and the flat felt too hot for clothes. Besides, he tended to think clearer with less layers of clothes on. And Lestrade had trusted him with a case that for once wasn't cold!

He was determined to solve it.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock had been home for a good three months now, and things were slowly getting better. He didn't flinch whenever John would enter a room, was growing used to his touches, and even allowed him to place soft kisses on his head. Anywhere but his lips actually. But it was all fine. At least they were back together. Although sleeping together was still a little awkward, seeing as John always found himself wrapped around Sherlock with an embarrassingly aroused hard-on. He would always gulp and excuse himself to take a shower, sometimes relieving himself but most of the time just standing under the water until his erection went away.

About a week ago Lestrade finally allowed Sherlock back to consult on cases. He had been pacing around the flat for days, lazing about in his pyjamas as he roamed through his mind palace. John had left the flat about an hour ago to go grocery shopping, getting just the essentials (tea and milk) before heading back. It was finally starting to warm up and John was starting to sweat on his short walk back. He'd killed time in Tesco's trying to cool off, and now he couldn't wait to get back to the flat and take a cold shower.

When he arrived back at the flat Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa, in his thinking pose. But he wasn't in his pyjamas, he was solely in his boxers, and his body was beautifully toned. When the hell had that happened? John gasped slightly and his mind shut off. He dropped the Tesco's bag, the milk exploding and splashing everywhere, drenching his clothes and soaking into the carpet.

Sherlock snapped out of his mind palace and was greeted with the sight of a bewildered John surrounded by a mess of spilt milk. Frowning, he sighing in annoyance. John had interrupted his thought process. He stood to his feet and walked over to John.

'Are you quite alright?' he asked, puffing out his muscular chest, sounding irritated.

John's mouth had gone dry. His throat was tight, he couldn't speak. He stared at Sherlock's chest, feeling his cheeks heat up as he moved, his muscles moving beautifully beneath his skin. He managed a small whimper at least, his eyes not moving from Sherlock's chest and abdomen. God, he actually had abs!

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'Not in the talking mood then? Well alright. Just be quiet for the next couple of hours. I've almost solved the case.'

John watched Sherlock turn and head back to the sofa, his eyes falling on his ample bum. Holy shit, it was gorgeous. His cock went from interested to full on erect at the sight. John managed to come to his senses to realise not only was he standing in a puddle of milk but he needed to get in the shower before he came in his pants. He hobbled off to the bathroom, the friction of moving nearly causing him to come undone. But he made it and stripped out of his trousers instantly, chucking them out into the hall along with his pants. He turned on the shower and then chucked the rest of his clothes out into the hallway. He stood under the spray for a moment before he took himself in hand and began stroking slowly. He closed his eyes and pictured Sherlock's beautifully toned body, how his muscles moved, and how absolutely gorgeous that arse had looked.

John came hard, Sherlock's name on his lips as he shuddered violently, gripping the shower head for support. His orgasm was far too short but incredibly satisfying. His knees felt weak and his heart was beating erratically in his chest. He sat down and allowed the water to rush over him, his sweat and cum flowing down the drain as he began to relax.

Sherlock grunted as he was once again ripped from his mind palace by a shout of his name. He blinked, taking in the quivering moan.

Oh.

Had he done that to John? How? He hadn't even touched him.

He blushed a deep crimson and pressed a hand down on his crotch to stop his erection that was threatening to come out to play. His body may very well be ready for it but his mind certainly wasn't. He would just have to ignore it for now.

John managed to wash himself at the very least before turning the shower off and stepping out. His knees were still a little weak, but he could push past it. He dried himself off and wrapped his towel around his waist. He stepped out of the bathroom and made it to their bedroom without any trouble. He dressed in his summer pyjamas and dried his hair, letting it stick up wildly instead of patting it down. It allowed more air to reach his head, which he would need as the weather was starting to get unbearably hot.

He stepped back out into the sitting room and dropped his towel down on the spilled milk, soaking as much of it up as he could for the moment. His clothes would need to be washed too. But they could wait. Sure, they'd start to smell, but he didn't want to disturb Sherlock any more than he already had. He sat in front of the open window and let the cool breeze wash over him, closing his eyes and smiling as the sun warmed his skin. The two sensations made John very happy and content, and he couldn't stop the soft moan from escaping his lips.

Little to John's knowledge Sherlock had been watching him carefully. He'd seen him wearing nothing but a towel and it had taken literally all his will power not to turn into a whimpering mess. That image was pressed into his mind. John looked utterly gorgeous. His body had muscled out and it made him look even more like the captain Sherlock knew he was. He looked so peaceful now, head tilted towards the sun. Sherlock forced down his usual exclamation of how he'd just solved the case and instead sent a quick text to Lestrade, telling him the exact location where he would find his killer.

'Shall we proceed to bed? I know it's early but I'm rather tired,' he whispered gently as to not startle John. In truth, Sherlock just wanted to cuddle up to him.

'Sure,' John smiled softly, his face still turned to the sun. 'But can we open the window tonight? It's supposed to be a beautiful night.'

'Sure. Erm... You don't mind me just wearing these, do you?' Sherlock gestured to his boxers. 'It's too hot to wear proper pyjamas.'

'No, I don't mind.' John turned to look at Sherlock and smiled again. 'This is the first time I've seen your body since everything happened. You look great, love.'

'Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself, soldier.' John hummed and stood up. He helped Sherlock to his feet.

'Mind if I read for a bit? Or would the light distract you from sleep?'

'No. Go ahead, dear.' Sherlock stood to his feet, stretching his arms and legs like a cat. 'I should sleep pretty easily.'

'Mmm. Ok. Sorry, you just... You look great.' John couldn't take his eyes off Sherlock's abs.

Sherlock chuckled. 'Come on. Bed, Doctor Watson.'

'Right. Bed. Yeah.' He was working his way up Sherlock's chest, taking in the beautiful sight, his skin starting to feel hot again.

Sherlock was turning a deep red under John's gaze. 'Uh, yeah.' He was quick to get into the bedroom, trying to hide his erection. John blinked and shook his head. Whoa. Sherlock would need to be covered before he went into the bedroom. Otherwise he might not be able to control himself. He adjusted himself in his pants and walked to their room, peering in cautiously to see if Sherlock was already in bed. Sherlock was already hidden underneath the covers, clenching his legs together.

'Come on in,' he grunted. John entered and opened the window slightly, a cool breeze entering the now hot room. John climbed in the bed and grabbed his book. He set it on his lap, hiding his erection.

'Sorry about that. I didn't mean to stare. You just... you know. You're quite toned.'

'Lestrade gave me a rather extensive exercise and diet regimen.'

'I'll be sure to thank him the next time I see him,' John smirked. 'Because you look bloody gorgeous.'

Sherlock smiled sleepily, stretching out underneath the covers. 'I feel gorgeous,' he mumbled.

'It's because you are. Now go to sleep.' John kissed Sherlock's forehead and sat back against the headboard. He opened his book and began reading, immersing himself in the words. Sherlock hummed and closed his eyes as the warmth of the night sank into his body. He found himself slipping into a dream world where John was waiting for him, holding a white fluffy towel around himself. Sherlock lunged forwards in his dream, ripping the towel from John's body and jumping him, pressing his body tightly against the older man, and rutting against him like a teenager.

John squeaked and looked down at Sherlock. What the hell was he doing? Oh. Oh good god. He was rutting against him in his sleep. John could feel Sherlock's erection against his leg, hard and wanting. He moaned and forced himself not to do anything. He didn't want Sherlock to accuse him of rape again.

It was all a dream but it felt so fantastically real. Sherlock moaned John's name and rutted faster, determined to make his dream lover cum.

John clenched the sheets tightly and tried not to rut his hips in time with Sherlock's. He didn't want to push Sherlock too far. His body clearly wanted John, but was he ready mentally? He finally gave in and grabbed onto his throbbing cock and stroked in time to Sherlock's rutting, moaning every time Sherlock mumbled his name in his sleep. He came sharply, spilling himself inside his pants with a loud groan of Sherlock's name, his entire body stiffening in pleasure.

Sherlock chuckled as his lover in his dream came abruptly. He soon found himself cumming too. He tilted his head back and cried out John's name before lunging at his lover's innocent nipple and sucking on it.

'Mmm fuck,' John groaned, arching into Sherlock's mouth. He wasn't sure what was going on but he was definitely enjoying it. Sherlock too, although he was still asleep.

Sherlock swirled his tongue around John's nipple and scraped his teeth along it. John whimpered in return and brought a hand to Sherlock's cock, running it up and down the full length to get him hard again.

John was slowly losing control. He didn't remember when his hand had jumped to Sherlock's cock, nor how it had gotten so hard again so quickly. His own was starting to perk up again and his other hand moved to encourage it along. Sherlock let go of John's nipple and moved to bite and suck on John's neck, thrusting in and out of his lover's hand frantically. John moaned and whimpered, sinking onto the bed and began thrusting into his hand, matching Sherlock's pace.

'You've been a bad man, Watson. A very bad man indeed.' Sherlock sank his teeth in John's neck exceptionally hard and sucked on it till it turned dark purple.

'Gah! Yes! Yes! Punish me!' John cried, thrusting faster, moaning loudly as Sherlock bit him harder.

'I am going to suck you completely dry.' Sherlock dropped down his dream lover's body, batting his hand away from his own cock, and he swallowed John's cock whole. John gasped and cried out, Sherlock's wet heat enveloping him completely. He wouldn't last long, he knew that much. It had been too long since Sherlock had touched him, not to mention that this would be his third orgasm in just as many hours. Plus his second in barely twenty minutes. Sherlock hollowed out his cheeks and sucked in as much of John as possible. John whimpered and pushed a little further into Sherlock's mouth.

'Gonna cum,' he moaned. Sherlock groaned in unison with his dream John as they both found their second releases, both cumming long and hard.

John was shaking violently from the force of his orgasm. He stared at the ceiling, panting heavily. What the hell had just happened? He'd have to do some research, and the two of them would definitely need to talk about this in the morning. But he was too exhausted to do anything at the moment, so he closed his eyes and soon fell asleep.

Sherlock's dreams drizzled away into nothingness and he found himself waking with a loud groan. John was sound asleep, his body exhausted from his orgasms. He slept dreamlessly, although his mind conjured up the image of him curled around Sherlock, the younger man playing with his hair as he slept. Sherlock lazily ran his fingers through John's hair. His body felt completely drained for some reason. It was reminiscent of the post-sex feeling he used to experience with John. Strange. Very strange indeed.

John's neck was sore from Sherlock's bite. He probably shouldn't have been laying on it. He turned over and allowed the bite to get some air, stretching his neck to ease the tension. Sherlock's eyes widened as he saw the love bite. Oh god. When had that gotten there? And how had it gotten there? He screwed his eyes back shut. This was not happening. No. No. Please god no. Had that been there earlier? Who had given it to him? Had John started seeing other people for sex to make up for their lack of sex life?

Sherlock whimpered and tripped back into his dreams, not wanting to be conscious any longer. Dream John was waiting there for him and he shoved him to his knees angrily. 'Suck,' he hissed, taking out his member from his boxers.

His dream Sherlock was gone. John frowned. Where did he go? He rolled over and collided with the real Sherlock's body, humming in content. He wrapped his arms around him and snuggled closer to him, barely noticing his twitching as he slept.

Sherlock had shoved himself into his dream John's mouth and was thrusting in and out angrily, venting out his real life feelings. John fidgeted as Sherlock continued to twitch madly. What the hell was he doing? He woke slowly, blinking as he came to consciousness. He sat up slightly and looked down at Sherlock in shock.

He was wanking. Actually wanking. And he was still asleep. Ok, research couldn't wait. John needed to know what was going on. He got out of bed and silently padded out to the sitting room. It stank of warm milk and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. He opened both windows to air the room out and grabbed his laptop, sitting down on the sofa comfortably before beginning his searching.

Sherlock woke with a start as he came down dream John's throat. He was aware of two things. One, he was covered in something sticky, and two, John was no longer sleeping beside him. He dabbed a finger in the sticky substance and pulled away with a grunt when he realised it was cum.

John's research had actually been quite successful. It turned out Sherlock had a bout of sexsomnia. He hadn't even known that was a thing. But there it was on his screen, everything laid out in front of him. He hummed in thought and closed the laptop. Sherlock would probably hack into it sooner or later and see the tab he'd left open. If he didn't get a chance to speak to him face-to-face, then it would be the next best thing.

Sherlock slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and got to his feet. He padded out to the living room, completely unaware of the way his cock was hanging out of its cage.

'John?' he grunted.

John blinked and looked up, his eyes widening when he laid eyes on Sherlock's cock for the first time in months. He licked his lips and swallowed, forcing himself to look up at Sherlock's face.

'Yeah?'

'What's going on?' Sherlock said sleepily, rubbing at his eyes.

'Well, for one thing, you're hanging out of your pants,' John smirked. 'Want to fix that?'

'Hmm?' Sherlock looked down and a small squeak escaped his lips. He pulled his boxers over his cock and turned a shocking pink. 'Whoops.'

'Yeah. But the real thing is that apparently you have sexsomnia. Basically, it's performing sexual acts in your sleep, on yourself or others. Hence, this.' John pointed to the fresh love bite on his neck.

'What? Oh. That was me? When I woke up earlier and saw it I thought... that you'd found someone else for your physical needs.'

'I would never do that! How could you think that?' John stood and moved over to Sherlock, gingerly holding his face in his hands. 'I could never do that, nor would I ever do that. I love you, and I would never jeopardise our relationship like that.'

'It was a simple conclusion to draw when I saw the bite. Look, it's fine if you wanted to seek sexual pleasure elsewhere.' Sherlock's throat tightened. 'Because as much as I crave that side of things I really don't know whether I can participate in such things.'

'I'm not going to find someone else to seek sexual gratification,' John scowled. His hands dropped down to clasp Sherlock's and squeezed gently. 'Do you want me to relay what happened since you can't remember?'

Sherlock looked at John's hands and smiled weakly. 'Yes. I am rather curious.'

'Ok.' He led them to the couch and sat down, pulling Sherlock with him.

Sherlock swallowed. 'Why have I got a really bad feeling about this?'

'Don't worry, it's not that bad.' John paused and racked his memory. 'Ok, first, maybe twenty minutes after you fell asleep, you turned toward me and, well, you basically started humping my leg like a dog.'

'Oh god.' Sherlock facepalmed himself and a loud groan escaped his lips. 'And you say that isn't bad? Did I – did I – make you cum?'

'Yes, but I was touching myself, so technically I made myself cum. You came too, and latched onto my nipple soon after.'

'Oh, this is mortifying.' Sherlock moaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his crotch, biting down hard on his lower lip.

'If this is embarrassing you I can stop,' John offered. 'Because there's more, and based on your reactions so far you won't like it.'

'I need to know, John. Maybe I can stop this if I understand what I'm doing.'

'Ok. Just, don't freak out, ok?'

'I'll try not to.'

'Ok. Well, after you let go of my nipple you latched onto my neck. Hence, this purple monster.' He pointed to his neck again and smiled slightly. 'After that you said I'd been a bad man, so, in my lust-ridden haze, I told you to punish me. So you... you gave me a blow job.'

Sherlock whimpered and pressed the heel of his hand harder against his crotch. 'I don't know how to even respond to that,' he gasped out.

John blinked. 'Sherlock, do you... do you have a hard on?'

Sherlock blushed. 'I'm still capable of having them. I'm only human.'

'I know you are. It's just... you haven't been like this since... the incident.' John swallowed thickly and looked away. 'Anyway. I fell asleep after that and I think you turned over or something, because the next thing I knew the bed was rocking and I woke up to see what was going on. You were wanking, rather harshly too. So that was when I decided to get up and see what might be going on.'

Sherlock licked his lips nervously. 'Or perhaps I'm just incredibly good at shunning my body's reactions to you. Usually. So this sexsomnia thing? Is there a cure or am I going to wank my nights away?'

'I don't know. You can read about it if you want.' He passed Sherlock his laptop, knowing he'd be able to guess the password within seconds. He wasn't sure why he even had a password on it anymore. He should probably take it off.

Sherlock took the laptop and snorted at the password. '"Little John"? Your password is the name of your cock? Now who is the vain bastard?'

'Shush you. Just read.'

Sherlock sighed and scanned the information on sexsomnia.

'Well, there is always therapy, but I think we both know where my last lot of therapy got me. And I could change my lifestyle, but I'm quite content with my life right now. So I may very well be wanking my nights away.'

'Or – and I can't believe I'm suggesting this – we could try to have some form of sex again. Preferably while you're awake.'

'No,' Sherlock said a little too fast. 'I mean, no. I can't. My body might be ready but my mind isn't.'

'Ok. No rush. No worries. We'll find a way to cope somehow.' John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 'Now, I don't know about you, but I could use a shower before I go back to bed. Would you maybe want to join me?'

'I – John – yes. But just a shower. Nothing more.'

'Just a shower, nothing more. I promise.' John stood and held his hand out for Sherlock. 'Although I may wash your hair for old time's sake. Will that be ok?'

'I think I would enjoy that a great deal.' Sherlock grabbed John's hand and grinned.

'Excellent,' John grinned. He helped Sherlock to his feet and led him to the bathroom. He turned on the water, allowing it to warm, and turned back to Sherlock.

'Would you like to undress me? Seeing as you only have boxers on, I don't have much to remove.'

Sherlock didn't bother with replying. He all but ripped John's clothes from his body.

'Hey. Easy there, tiger,' John grinned. He moved forward a bit and dipped his fingers below the waistband of Sherlock's boxers. He slid them down just enough that when he let go they fell to the floor. He hummed and grinned up at Sherlock.

'I think we'll need clean clothes, seeing as we both came in our pants,' he smirked.

Sherlock groaned. 'You are such a bloody–' He couldn't quite find the right word. Sighing in defeat, whilst trying to ignore how impossibly aroused he was, he stepped out of his boxers and jumped into the shower.

'A dirty, kinky bastard?' John offered, climbing into the shower behind Sherlock.

Sherlock shivered and moaned. 'Yes. A kinky bastard.'

'You like my kinky side,' John purred, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist. Sherlock whimpered and tried to pull away from John. He was feeling damn aroused with John's body pressed against his, a clear erection digging into him. He didn't want to feel like that. He wasn't ready. John's eyes snapped open, sensing Sherlock's discomfort. He let go immediately, stepping back until he hit the wall.

'Sorry, sorry,' he apologised profusely. 'I didn't mean – I'm sorry.'

Sherlock turned around and looked at John with sad eyes. 'I'm sorry, John. I just – I can't.'

'I know, I know. I didn't mean to push you. I'm really sorry.'

'It's fine. My body has been giving out rather mixed signals.' He glanced down at his erection.

'Yeah. Your body is ready, but your mind isn't. I understand.' John swallowed and tried not to stare at Sherlock's very erect prick. 'Did you want to take care of that before I washed your hair? Or would my washing your hair afterwards only turn you on again?'

'I'm not going to wank in front of you. I–' An exasperated sound passed his lips. 'Maybe I should just go back to bed. My hair doesn't really need washing anyway.'

John swallowed and nodded. 'Yeah, ok. If it'll make you more comfortable. Go ahead. It was just an idea on my part. I didn't think you would say yes. So, you can go if you want.'

'I'm sorry.' Sherlock sighed and hopped back out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist. 'John–' He sighed again, shook his head, and left for the bedroom.

John sank to the floor and let the water rush over him.  _Stupid idiot. Should have known better than to hug him while you had a fucking hard on! Idiot! Fucking idiot!_

He sat there for a long time, his arousal dying, as did his spirits. The water grew cold, and John only turned it off when he began to shiver violently. He still sat there though, not wanting to disturb Sherlock, not wanting to scare him with his impulses and sexual advances.

 _Idiot._  
  
Sherlock pulled on a fresh pair of pants. Not just any pants though. His bee pants. He sighed and dived underneath the covers, scrunching his eyes shut to try and rid himself of John's utterly broken expression. Sherlock should have never accepted the offer to shower together. It was a stupid idea. He wasn't ready. He had given John the wrong idea. Sherlock, much to his frustration, found himself falling into another erotic dream.

John finally climbed out of the shower and dried himself off. He was shivering violently from the cold water and air. He needed to get into some clothes and get into bed pronto. He stumbled into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of pyjamas. He didn't care that he'd probably get too hot in the night. He just wanted to be warm god dammit!

He crawled into bed and curled in on himself, facing away from Sherlock. He seemed to be in another dream, but John couldn't tell if it was erotic or not. He didn't care. He closed his eyes and awaited for sleep to take him. It was a long time coming as his body wasn't warm enough to permit sleep yet. When he did finally fall under the sandman's spell, he slept fitfully. He was still so torn up about the shower that he didn't sleep well at all.

In his dream, he and John were in a shower. Except this time Sherlock didn't run away. He pushed himself close to John and wrapped a hand around John's member, whilst using the other to play with his bollocks.

Sherlock was touching him again. He was trying to push past his clothes to reach his bollocks. John scowl and sighed. So, it was gonna be like that, was it?

John growled and slapped Sherlock's hand away. He sat up and got out of bed, not giving himself time to get his bearings. He stumbled about for a few moments before his mind cleared. He then exited the bedroom and made his way upstairs to the spare one. It was stuffy up there, so John opened a window before crawling into the bed and falling back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was actually some smut in this chapter! Decent smut that didn't feel too rapey, right? And before you ask, yes, sexsomnia is a real thing. It was InvisibleBlade's idea to write it in. It definitely seems like something that would happen to this Sherlock now that he's used to having sex.
> 
> The next chapter will be posted at it's regular time. Oh! And for those of you who know what reddit is, BENEDICT IS DOING AN ASK ME ANYTHING AT 2:30 P.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME ON THE ELEVENTH. So... yeah. I'll definitely be there. Though I'm not used to how reddit works. Does it update in real time? Like a livestream? Or do you have to constantly refresh the page?
> 
> Sorry. Got slightly off track. So the next chapter will be posted Friday as soon as it has a title. And hopefully we'll be able to watch or join the Benedict AMA that day too. So we'll see you back here on Friday! Enjoy the rest of your week!
> 
> TSA + IB


	42. Déjà Vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Happy Friday! The Benedict AMA begins soon and I wanted to get this posted beforehand so I'd have time to submit my question early in the hopes of it getting answered. My brother, who is a reddit addict the same way I'm a tumblr addict, has been giving me advice all week about how to work an AMA. Get there at least a half hour early, submit your question in the first ten minutes, and just hope the person answers it. If Benedict does I will screencap it and save it forever.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: more sexsomnia incidents, masturbation, binge eating, relapsing, vomiting, emotions, snogging, sexual content, flashbacks, dubious consent, pain, angst

When Sherlock awoke he was covered in cum and alone. He padded out of his room, sighing heavily. 'John?' he called. No reply. Just a deadly silence.

John had shed his warmer pyjamas during the night and was now sleeping comfortably in his old bed. He had grabbed the spare pillow and held it tight, using it as a mock body to curl up to as he had grown rather used to sleeping with Sherlock.

He didn't hear Sherlock asking for him. He was dreaming peacefully about going on holiday with Sherlock. Somewhere warm where they could show off their toned bodies. And their possessive love bites. He smiled at the thought and cuddled the pillow closer.

'John!' he called again.

Still no reply.

He may have gone upstairs since Sherlock had obviously been making it hard to sleep in the same bed as him. But he might have gone out for some air too. He had looked pretty torn up over what had happened in the shower, or perhaps it was because nothing had happened. It was a fifty-fifty chance. He was either in the flat or out. There was one way to solve the puzzle of where John had gone.

He padded back to his room and rummaged through his weapons drawer, picking up a standard revolver. Gun in hand, he walked to where the smiley face was still painted in yellow on the wall.

'John!' he called again, shooting the wall three times, causing the whole flat to quake with the sound of the bullets hitting the cool air and finally the wall.

John gasped and jolted awake, woken buy three loud bangs. At first he thought he was back in Afghanistan, but one quick look around the room disproved that theory. Then he thought someone – Moriarty – had broken into the flat and had shot Sherlock in cold blood. He paled dramatically at the thought. He jumped out of bed and ran downstairs, fear threatening to ice his veins.

'Sherlock? Sherlock?!' he called out as he made it to the sitting room, his eyes wild with fear and confusion. Sherlock was holding a revolver, three fresh holes in the smiley on the wall. 'Wha?'

Sherlock turned to John, looking very much like a naughty school child that had just been caught doing something that he knew was wrong.

'Hello. There you are.'

'What the hell is wrong with you?!' John demanded. 'I thought I was back in Afghanistan! Or worse, that Moriarty had killed you!'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. 'And what the hell was I supposed to think?!' he retorted. 'Anything could have happened to you! Moriarty could have taken you for all I knew! Sorry for bloody caring!'

He chucked the gun at the wall. It hit it with a dull thud and clattered to the floor. He quickly turned on his heel and speed walked back into the bedroom, diving under his covers with a frustrated growl.

John blew a frustrated sigh out his nose, rubbing his eyes. Of course Sherlock would have worried. But once again John was only concerned for himself. He followed Sherlock into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock,' he said softly. 'I didn't mean to sound so harsh or selfish. It's good that you care about me, that you were worried about my safety. But you could have called instead of shooting the wall. Or I could have left a note for you. I'm sorry for not thinking.'

'I did bloody call! You didn't answer. I had to know whether you were still in the flat or not. I was fucking scared! I would suggest you leave now. I'm quite pissed off.'

'I meant call my mobile,' John explained. 'And I'd rather not leave right now. I want to stay and make this better.'

Sherlock crawled from the covers and peeked his head out to look at John.

'There's nothing to fix,' he grumbled.

'Can I apologise profusely then?'

'If you want to,' Sherlock sighed heavily. 'But you were the one in the right and I was the one in the wrong. Tell me something I don't know.'

'How was I in the right?' John crawled under the covers and budged close to Sherlock. 'And you were only trying to find out if I was ok. I don't blame you for what you did. Just don't shoot the wall next time. Call my mobile or search the flat for me.'

'I – erhh – fine!' Sherlock turned to cuddle John, wrapping his long limbs around him. 'I love you.'

John hummed and held Sherlock close, squeezing him gently. 'I love you too. Very much so.' He kissed the top of his head and nuzzled his hair.

'So I guess I was being a dick in my sleep again?' Sherlock hummed.

'You were trying to fondle my bollocks through my trousers,' John smirked. 'So I went to my old bedroom to get some sleep, because I know I wouldn't have with you groping me like that.'

'Oh. I'm sorry, John.' Sherlock groaned and shifted as his cock gave a violent twitch of interest against his love.

'It's alright. You can't control it. We'll work this out.' John tried to stay still, not wanting to accidentally rub against Sherlock's growing arousal. So he started to run his fingers through Sherlock's curls, noticing how much longer they were again.

'You could use another haircut,' he said softly, twirling a section of hair in his fingers. 'Do you want a professional to do it this time?'

'No. I want you to do it.' Sherlock shifted and groaned, facepalming. 'Fuck's sake.' He squeezed his legs together. 'I wish I wasn't so aroused all the time.'

'I'd offer to help, but I already know what your answer is going to be. So, you can take care of that and I'll set up my little barbershop in the kitchen.' He kissed Sherlock on the head and got out of the bed. He pulled on a shirt and pyjama trousers before padding out to the bathroom, grabbing a comb, scissors, and a spray bottle.

Sherlock spread his legs wide and fished his cock out of his bee pants. He dug his heels into the mattress and began wanking himself off in frustration. Why did his body have to betray him?

'Gah! Oh god!' No matter how quiet he tried to be he found a number of vocal noises escaping his throat. 'Oh Jesus! Oh bloody hell!'

John perked up at the sounds of Sherlock's pleasure, flushing deeply. He was starting to harden himself, his cock reaching towards the bedroom door like it was seeking Sherlock out. He had to sit down as his knees were quaking so bad he couldn't stand. He palmed himself through his trousers, spreading his legs wide and humping his hand. Little moans and groans escaped his lips as he listened to Sherlock get off, panting harshly as he began to pump himself in time to Sherlock's noises.

'John! Oh yes!' Sherlock came fast and hard with a long waning moan.

John whimpered and moaned obscenely as he followed Sherlock over the edge, clutching onto his seat until his knuckles turned white.

Sherlock wiped his chest of cum and got off the bed, stumbling out on legs shaking with pleasure, glancing guiltily towards John.

John blushed and removed his hand out of his pants and gulped. He cleared his throat and stood up, offering Sherlock his chair.

Sherlock practically fell onto the chair with a groan. 'Well fuck.'

'Indeed,' John smirked. 'Feel better?'

'Yeah. A little. You?'

'I should feel fine once I calm down. Close your eyes. I'm gonna spritz your hair down.'

Sherlock closed his eyes and hummed happily, tilting his head upwards.

John spritzed Sherlock's hair down with the spray bottle, combing it down as he moved around his head. Once it was wet enough he set the bottle down and grabbed the scissors. He cut enough off to take some of the weight off Sherlock's head but made sure it wasn't too short. When he was done, it sat just over the top of his ears. He ruffled it a bit so the curls would come out to play, grinning softly as he began playing with Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock moaned embarrassingly loud as John tousled his hair. His fingertips sent shivers down his spine and for some reason the simple act of having his hair cut had turned into something very erotic.

John hummed and twirled some strands around his fingers, curling them slightly. He then began to massage Sherlock's scalp while also lifting his roots, helping his hair to rise off his head and feel more lightweight.

'I love playing with your hair,' he whispered huskily in Sherlock's ear. 'It calms me like nothing else.'

Sherlock groaned and shifted in his seat. He'd need another wank after this. 'I love it too,' he breathed softly. 'Not so much because of its calming effects however.'

'Mmm. Yes. I can see that,' John purred. He eyed the bulge in Sherlock's pants, stretching out the bee on the front. 'Should I stop then and let you take care of that? Or can I help you along?'

'Don't you dare stop,' Sherlock growled. He gazed up at John, eyes as black as the night. 'Don't you dare.'

John scraped his fingernails against Sherlock's scalp and stared into his pitch black eyes. He really wanted to kiss him, wanted to watch him get himself off, wanted to help, but he didn't dare push.

Sherlock moved his hips in time with John's fingers, trying to create friction against his aching cock.

'Oh god.' He tilted his head back and arched his body. It felt so wonderful.

'If I close my eyes would you touch yourself?' John asked, scraping his fingernails against his love's scalp again. 'That poor bee looks stretched to the max.'

'Close your eyes,' he grit out before reaching inside his pants to get out his impatiently waiting member. 'Close them, John.'

John clenched his eyes shut, squeezing them tight so he wouldn't peek. He began massaging Sherlock's scalp a little harder, a little faster, scraping his nails against the soft flesh every now and again.

Sherlock fished out his cock and ran his hand up and down it as quickly as possible. That combined with John's fingers running through his scalp so thoroughly was sending him over the edge.

'Mmm close. God! Erhh! Oh fuck!'

'Cum for me, Sherlock,' John growled down his love's ear. 'Let me hear you. Please.'

Sherlock arched upwards and thrust into his hand with a harsh thrust of his hips.

'Yes! Yes! Oh, John!' His cum jetted out, some splattering on John as well as himself and the floor.

John's eyes snapped open when he felt a dollop of cum land on his cheek. He released his grip on Sherlock's hair and dabbed his fingers on his cheek, sucking them into his mouth and moaning at the taste. His eyes travelled down to glance at Sherlock's pants, his cock still out, and cum splattered on his chest. He looked gorgeous and absolutely debauched.

'Oh,' he breathed softly. 'You look... delicious.'

Sherlock scooped his cock up and put it back in its cage. His cheeks were burning bright red and he was trembling under John's hungry gaze. He wasn't trembling all for good reasons either.

'I said close your eyes.' His voice shook. 'Mm gonna go.' He stood on legs that felt like jelly and hurriedly made his way to the shower.

'I had them closed until your cum splattered on my face!' John called after him, sighing and rubbing his face. He decided to clean up the kitchen before he went to take care of his own erection. He decided it would be easier to mop instead of sweep, given that Sherlock's cum and hair had begun to mix together.

When that was done he hobbled off to their bedroom and flopped down on the bed. He took himself out of his pants and began to stroke slowly, closing his eyes and humming as he imagined what Sherlock must have looked like as he got off. It had been a while since he'd seen him like that, and he longed to see him so caught up in pleasure that he couldn't keep his eyes open or his mouth closed.

**…::-::…**

It was the first of September today. Sherlock was in a sullen and withdrawn mood.

September had been a painful time for him. He'd been a skeleton on the verge of dying. John started getting distant and Sherlock had become depressed and his binge eating problem had started. That had, in effect, led up to John violently raping him in December.

This September was so similar to the last it hurt. John was becoming distant. He supposed that was because his sexsomnia had become a daily thing, and apparently it was getting more and more intense. Sherlock was flickering between starving himself and gorging himself silly. He felt fat and thin at the same time. And he was terrified that it would all lead to somewhere as equally horrible as last September.

John groaned when his alarm went off, slapping his hand onto the snooze and letting his arm drape over the edge of the bed.  _Where the hell had the time gone? When had it become September?_  he thought glumly to himself. He slowly got dressed for work, occasionally glancing toward Sherlock who was still curled up in bed. They had actually had a restful night, Sherlock's sexsomnia taking a small break before it was sure to act up again.

He padded into the kitchen, making himself a cup of coffee and sipping it idly. He knew he would be staying out after work and, since he didn't know when Sherlock would decide to get up, he decided to write him a note.

He set his mug down and found a scrap piece of paper in his desk drawer. He grabbed a pen and scrawled a quick note for Sherlock.

_Sherlock,_

_I'll be staying out after work to go to the gym. I want to try to maintain my physique before the holiday binge eating of sweets begins. I'll be picking up milk and tea after the gym as well, so I'll be home a bit later than usual. If you want, you can join me at the gym but you don't have to. I'll see you later._

_I love you._

_John_

Sherlock was wide awake when he heard John leave and he instantly jumped from the bed and ran out to the kitchen. He found the note that John had left him and sighed heavily.

Of course John was going to be out later than usual. He half thought about joining him in the gym but then he thought about the Chinese takeaway leftovers in the fridge and before he knew it he was sat at the table staring at three empty tubs, holding an arm over his belly.

He'd reverted back. Oh god. What the hell should he do now?

He picked up his mobile that had been resting on the kitchen table among a load of experiments. He knew what he had to do now.

He sent a quick text to his brother with shaking fingers.

 _It's happened again. Need help. Confused. –SH_  
  
Mycroft's mobile chimed in his pocket. He ignored it for the moment as he was in an important meeting. Nearly an hour later, the meeting concluded and he checked his messages. Most were from Gregory, and Mycroft blushed at some of them. But one was from Sherlock, and his cheeks heated for an entirely different reason.

He dialled Sherlock as he walked out to his car, hoping he would be able to nail John for his misdeeds this time around.

'Not now, My,' Sherlock wheezed. 'Kinda busy – throwing up.'

'You're binging again,' Mycroft stated matter-of-factly. 'Baker Street,' he told his driver. To Sherlock he said, 'Finish up and clean up. I'll be there soon.' He hung up before Sherlock could decline.

Sherlock dropped his mobile to the floor and hung his head weakly on the toilet basin, reaching up to flush the evidence away before wiping his mouth. He closed his eyes tiredly, not really caring if his brother found him asleep in his bee underwear. Not really caring about much at all. Mycroft entered 221B a few minutes later, climbing the stairs and propping his umbrella by the door.

'Sherlock? Are you here?' he called out. He ventured over to the bathroom and sighed sadly. Sherlock was asleep, bent over the loo, wearing nothing but those wretched bee pants Jonathan had gotten him.

Sherlock gave a small hum in the back of his throat but didn't move, only half taking in his brother's presence.

'Sherlock, I strongly advise that you not sleep here. Shall I move you to your bed?'

Sherlock hummed again and gave a slight nod. 'Yeah.'

Mycroft gently picked Sherlock up and carried him to his bed, tucking him in before sitting on the edge of the bed.

'Do you want to sleep or talk first? Because I'd like some answers before I have to go back to work.'

'Mmm. Like why I've relapsed?' Sherlock grunted through the haze of sleep. 'I dunno why.'

'Yes, although I have a theory about that.' He looked at his brother the same way Sherlock eyed corpses. 'Has John been distant again?'

'Ummf. A little. Not his fault though. What's your theory?'

'That you're afraid it's going to happen again,' Mycroft said softly.

'Mm Sherlock Holmes. I don't feel fear,' he grumbled.

'Sure you do. You're only human. I feel it from time to time myself.' Mycroft placed a hand over one of Sherlock's gingerly. 'In my honest opinion, I don't think history is going to repeat itself. John has turned out a far better man since last year, and I don't think he wants to hurt you again. I believe you will be fine, just so long as you stop binging and purging.'

'I've been pushing him away. I could go into details but I doubt you want to hear about my sexsomnia.' Sherlock was awake now but he refused to look at his brother. 'I've been binging and starving myself. And I'm fairly sure I'm dealing with heavy depression. This is the first time I've gotten out of bed in a week. S'pose I was nervous about September coming.'

'I probably don't want to hear about your sexsomnia, although just by the name I already have a clear idea of what it is.' Mycroft shuddered and continued. 'You should do something with John to show him that you're still here. Make him see you. It doesn't have to be anything intimate. You could just watch telly together or go for a run. Go on a bloody date! Just be with him and show him you two can have fun without adding sex into the mix.'

'He did say he was going to the gym later. He invited me to join him. I dunno if he was just being nice though. He tends to enjoy working out on his own.'

'Go anyway. It could be nice to do some duo workouts. I enjoyed them when Gregory had me on my diet and exercise regimen. Sometimes it's nice to have a partner, you know?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Never gone to a gym before. Nasty, rowdy places that stink of sweat.'

'If you don't want to go, set something nice up here. Light some candles, make dinner, cuddle on the sofa and watch a movie. Hmm. I think I'll do that with Gregory when I get home.'

'Might have a Doctor Who fest.' Sherlock smiled and opened his eyes to look at Mycroft.

'Sounds like an excellent idea.' He looked at his watch and sighed. 'I should get back to work. You should sleep off your sick, but set an alarm so you'll have time to get ready before John comes home.' He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead and stood. 'Take care of yourself, little brother.'

'Mmm. Will do, My. See ya at some point in the future I s'pose. Oh, and get Lestrade to fish up another case. I've been bored witless.'

'I'll see what I can do,' he smiled softly. He left the room and closed the door, grabbing his umbrella on his way out.

Sherlock set an alarm before tumbling into a much needed sleep, a plan already made up in his mind.

**…::-::…**

Work was busy, but a comfortable busy. His patients came and went with relative ease, but his regular hypochondriac was a bit more difficult. He managed to convince him that he didn't have swine flu, bird flu, or any other type of flu except the normal kind in just under an hour at least.

When he clocked out he walked to the gym and changed quickly into his workout clothes. He ran a few miles on the treadmill before moving on to abdominal workouts and weights. He was tired but felt accomplished by the end of his workout, showering and changing back into his civilian clothes quickly.

He walked to Tesco's and got the milk and tea, grabbing some sugar and honey as well. When he made it home it was almost nine, but at least the lights were on in the flat. Good. That meant Sherlock was up. He climbed the stairs and, with a wide grin, jokingly said, 'Honey, I'm home.'

'And what time do you call this?' Sherlock purred in reply.

He was currently standing over the cooker making spaghetti bolognaise and Doctor Who was already beginning to run on the telly in the background.

He hoped it didn't seem suspicious that he was cooking a meal for them both. God forbid if John found out he'd relapsed and was feeling so low.

'Hey. I said I'd be home late,' he mock pouted. He set the Tesco bags on the counter and sniffed the air. 'Mmm. Smells delicious, love. What're you cooking?'

'Just some spaghetti bolognaise. Should be ready soon. Go sit down and watch Doctor Who. You look exhausted.'

'How thoughtful of you.' He pecked Sherlock on the cheek and moved into the sitting room, toeing off his shoes before plopping down on the sofa. 'Oh. You might want to put the milk away before it gets too warm. And I got you some honey for your tea since we're almost out.'

'Thank you, dear. And it's perfectly ok. I thought I'd spoil you a bit. You've been rather rushed off your feet lately. Hardly seen you because of it.'

He put the milk in the fridge and stored the honey in the nearest cupboard.

'Yeah. Work's been really busy lately. A lot of kids with runny noses and overly emotional parents. Sorry I haven't been around much.' He stretched out on the sofa and hummed, turning his attention to the TV.

'Oh! It's Nine! Fantastic!'

Sherlock smiled softly and piled up two plates of spaghetti bolognaise before plopping down beside John, handing him his plate.

'Thought you might like that.'

'Mmm, thanks love,' John hummed, accepting his plate with a grin. 'And yeah, I do like Nine. He's such an underrated Doctor. I don't understand why people don't like him as much as Ten or Eleven.' He took a bite of his food and moaned in pleasure. It was absolutely delicious.

'He's a brilliant doctor,' Sherlock hummed in agreement. 'Reminds me a lot of you. That's why I love him.' An idea invaded his mind and he swallowed down hard. He wanted to try something and he wasn't sure of how it was going to go.

'John, my head's killing me. I think I need a doctor.' He leant forward and before John could notice what he was going to do, he had planted a soft kiss on John's lips, sucking a piece of spaghetti that John had been eating into his mouth. John's eyes widened in shock, his lips parting slightly as Sherlock sucked the piece of spaghetti from his mouth. He grasped his plate tight, not wanting to drop it all over the floor.

Sherlock pushed his lips harder against John's and flicked his tongue out. John managed to set his plate on the ground somehow because both his hands were in Sherlock's hair, pulling him into the kiss and sucking on his tongue before flicking his own out in greeting. Their first proper kiss in nearly a year, and god it felt fantastic. John was determined not to ruin this moment.

Sherlock hummed and placed his plate down too. He then proceeded to climb onto John's lap, his lips never leaving John's. John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist and pulled him close, snogging Sherlock slowly and passionately. Sherlock reluctantly pulled away as the pain in his chest from not breathing properly became too intense. John panted against Sherlock's mouth and licked his lips, tasting their dinner and Sherlock on them. He hummed and squeezed Sherlock's waist gently, pulling him just a bit closer.

'Thank you,' he whispered softly, still catching his breath. 'That was... I don't even know how to describe it. Just... thanks.'

'It was fantastic!' Sherlock grinned.

'Mmm. Deliciously fantastic. Can we do it again?' John asked eagerly, grinning up at Sherlock.

'Maybe.' Sherlock smirked and slid off of John's lap. 'Eat your dinner first though.'

'I can't think about food now,' John pouted, sticking out his lower lip. 'But I'll try.' He picked up his plate and began slurping up the spaghetti, trying to pay attention to the TV. He bumped his knee against Sherlock's and kept it there, enjoying the contact.

Sherlock ate his meal slowly, playing with his food. 'I've missed you being around so much,' he whispered. 'It's been... hard.'

'Have I really been that absent?' John asked softly, swallowing his rather large bite.

Sherlock nodded slowly. 'I – I wasn't going to tell you but I've been binging and starving myself because of it. I binged this morning too. This month feels so similar to last September.'

'You've been binging again?' John sat his plate down again and turned to look at Sherlock. 'Now I feel cruel for asking you to go to the gym with me.'

'I don't like gyms anyway. It's fine. And yes, I have been binging. My brother came over to help me today. So don't feel guilty.'

'At least you talked to him about it.' John sighed and hung his head. 'I'm just sorry I've been gone so much that you started again. I'll see if I can get shorter shifts at work so we can spend some more time together like this.'

Sherlock smiled, biting his lower lip. 'I definitely want to spend more time with you.' He waggled his eyebrows.

John flushed. 'Can we start by snogging again?'

'I believe that's as good a start as any.'

John budged forward and took Sherlock's plate from him, setting it on the table. He then took Sherlock's face in his hands and stroked his thumbs over his cheekbones. He leaned in slowly, not wanting to spook Sherlock despite him being the one to initiate their first kiss. He brought their lips together and they kissed softly at first, relearning each other. Sherlock ran his lips over John's, getting used to how it felt to kiss after so long. The kiss was slow and even more nervous and careful than the first.

'I missed this,' John said against Sherlock's lips. 'I missed being around you, missed kissing you. I missed you.'

Sherlock sped up his lips. 'Missed you too,' he choked out. John kissed Sherlock harder. He slid across Sherlock's lap and straddled him, slowing down the kiss just enough to let Sherlock adjust to his body pressed against him. Sherlock moaned and slowly shifted his hips in circular motions, his cock nervously twitching and growing against John's warm body.

'We don't have to go that far,' John mumbled against Sherlock's lips. He moved to his jaw and nibbled it. 'If you aren't ready, we don't have to.'

'I want to,' Sherlock gasped out. He jerked his hips faster and his cock began to violently shudder.

'Easy, easy,' John said softly. He pushed back and sat up to look at Sherlock's face. 'Are you sure? I don't want you to rush into this.'

'I'm sure.' He moved and placed a hot kiss to John's mouth. John moaned and flicked his tongue out in greeting, deepening the kiss before he had to pull away for air.

'If we're doing this, let's do it properly.' He looked at Sherlock with hooded eyes and whispered as seductively as possible, 'Take me to bed, Sherlock.'

'I thought you'd never ask.' Sherlock scooped John up, holding him tightly. He carried him to their bedroom and set him down on the bed gently. John pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, unbuttoning his lover's shirt slowly and trailing his fingertips down his alabaster skin. Sherlock nervously began to help John shed his clothes with shaking fingers, pushing his body close to John's and devouring his lips. John pushed Sherlock's shirt off his shoulders and pulled him close, falling back on the bed and pulling Sherlock on top of him.

'I want to do this right,' he said softly between kisses. 'I want you to take me, at your own pace.'

'Just want to lie here a minute,' Sherlock whispered, worshipping John's body with his lips and hands.

'In your own time, love,' John hummed, stretching out along the mattress as Sherlock's tongue explored his body. Sherlock crawled to the end of the bed, reaching out to a drawer in the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube. He coated his fingers in it and crawled back over to John. He lightly pressed one finger against his lover's entrance.

'Are you ready?'

'Mmm, yes,' John moaned, pressing back gently on Sherlock's finger. Sherlock slowly pushed his finger in, pumping it in and out of John carefully. He was being overly gentle and cautious. The last time he and John had 'made love' it had been far from gentle. He wanted this time to be completely different. John moaned and closed his eyes, rocking gently back on Sherlock's finger. He smiled softly and moaned out a soft 'more.' Sherlock inserted a second finger and stretched John, studying him closely for any signs of discomfort.

John threw his head back against the mattress and moaned loudly, pushing back on Sherlock's fingers. 'More, more, more,' he chanted, rocking steadily. 'Don't stop. Please.'

Sherlock continue to pump his fingers in and out of John as quickly as he could. But where he was still with John with his body, he found his mind drifting to last December.

 _'Please, John, just stop! Please stop!'  
_  
 _John grinned at him, seeming to either be completely ignorant of Sherlock's pleas or just not caring that Sherlock was terrified and wanted him to stop._  
  
Sherlock blinked and zoned into the present, adding a third finger.

John gasped and arched his back completely off the mattress, panting heavily. 'Oh god. I need you, Sherlock. Now. Take me. Take me, please,' he begged. Sherlock chuckled, removed his fingers, and picked up his purple shirt, slowly running it over John's wrists.

'All in good time.' He pecked John's lips and tied John's arms together above his head.

'Please, please, please,' John begged, allowing Sherlock to restrain him. He stretched out further, pulling Sherlock close with his legs, rubbing against him. 'Please, please, please.'

Sherlock adjusted himself in front of John's entrance. 'Gorgeous.' He grinned and gradually pushed himself in. He began to pull back and push back in with the same gentleness as earlier, but then he began to feel something changing within him. Something dark. Something bad.

His mind was dragged back into the past again. He was the one pressed underneath a hot body. He was the one who was restrained. The rope cut into his skin and he was trembling, begging for John to stop what he was doing. John didn't stop. John only thrust harder and deeper, grunting in obvious satisfaction.

When Sherlock zoned back into the present this time he found that his gentleness had been replaced by thrusting with no mercy into John, going far too fast, being far too rough. His face was pressed into John's neck and he was breathing hot and heavy. It was his turn to grunt in satisfaction. His turn to be the one in control.

Their love making had started nice and gentle, just a hint of an edge since John was restrained. But then something seemed to click inside Sherlock, a desperate need of some sort. He started to move faster and harder, and no matter how much John tried to get his attention he just moved faster.

'Ugh. Sherlock, love, you're moving too fast. Gah! Jesus! What are you doing?' Then it hit him. Sherlock was getting back at him for the last time they made love. Sherlock was showing him how he felt when John had raped him, how scared he was that he couldn't get John to stop, how much he had been hurt. Silent tears fell down John's cheeks as he allowed Sherlock to continue. He deserved this, deserved to be shown how poorly he'd treated his love. But this was only a small taste of what Sherlock had felt. Sherlock hadn't had a choice, whereas John had. He swallowed down a sob and closed his eyes, allowing Sherlock to pound into him fast and hard at a punishing pace.

Sherlock was deaf to John's pleas and ignorant of his tears. He sped up even faster and made his thrusts rougher. He lunged a hand at John's cock and squeezed long and hard until John was screaming in agony. He knew deep down what he was doing was wrong but he couldn't get himself to stop.

John whimpered helplessly as Sherlock moved harder. Despite his discomfort, his cock was still achingly hard, and he was being dragged closer and closer to the blissful edge. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, refusing to watch himself cum. His entire body stiffened as he came painfully hard, his cum jetting out in sharp spurts across his stomach. It wasn't satisfying at all and he felt more exhaustion than relief after he finished. He wished Sherlock would hurry up and cum already. His arse was starting to burn from his thrusts.

Sherlock held back his own release for as long as possible, shoving his cock in John as hard as possible. When he did cum, it was a long and painful orgasm. He fell onto John with a loud smack and grunted. John shook beneath Sherlock for multiple reasons. He wanted to be untied, he wanted to take a shower, he wanted to vomit, he wanted to get away, he wanted to cry. But he couldn't do any of that until Sherlock pulled out and released him.

Sherlock pulled himself out of John and with trembling hands untied him. 'John – I – I–' He stumbled over his words. 'I am so sorry.'

'Save your apologies, Sherlock,' John grumbled. 'I deserved that. Just let me go so I can take a shower.'

Sherlock swallowed thickly and slithered off of John. 'No, you didn't deserve that.'

'Yes I did,' John sighed. He slid off the bed and winced as his arse twinged painfully. He hobbled off to the bathroom and sat down in the shower, turning the water on scaldingly hot.

Sherlock curled up in bed, sobbing into his pillow. What the hell had he done? He'd punished John. Why? John didn't deserve that. John deserved so much more. John had been drunk when he'd raped him. Sherlock was perfectly sober. God. Why? Why? Why?

 _You're a horrible bastard, that's why,_  a voice inside his head screamed.

Sherlock let out a yell of frustration, throwing himself out of bed and thrusting some clothes on. He stormed out of the room and grabbed his coat and scarf. He faltered by the flat door, deciding that he at least wanted to give John a proper apology.

He quickly found a piece of paper and began to write.

_John,_

_I know it seems I'm taking the coward's way out by leaving you after the event that has just occurred, but I have to get out of the flat to clear my mind._

_I apologise profusely for what happened in the bedroom. I got lost in my memories and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't stop. I suppose we've both, in a way, seen what it was like last December through each other's eyes._

_I understand now. You were just angry. Angry at me because what I was doing to my body was physically hurting you. That's why you took to the drink. That's why you raped me._

_I wish I could say that I've forgiven you but I don't think I have._

_And now my binging has started again and I fear you will pick up the drinking once more. I fear that you will hurt me._

_Even after all this time I find myself doubting whether I can trust you._

_I am angry. Angry at you, myself, the rapist that left me in the dirty backstreet._

_I've got to get out. Before you hurt me or I hurt you._

_I've got to get away._

_I still love you. I really do. But I am too scared for both our safety._

_I shall see you when I have my head sorted._

_Lots of love,_

_Sherlock_

He dropped the pen and ran from the flat as quickly as his legs could take him.

 _Coward. Bastard. Idiot._  
  
John sat in the shower for a long time, barely registering the slam of the flat door or the cooling temperature of the water. He didn't leave the shower until he started shivering violently. He dried himself off and stumbled back into the bedroom, pulling on some pyjamas and made his way upstairs to his old bedroom. He crawled under his covers and curled into a ball, sobbing himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and feelings and emotions out the wazoo. There will be more next chapter as well, but things start to look up in chapter 43. If you really need some fluff after reading this I recommend you read my new story The Return, part three of my Jumpers and Scarves series. It has emotions and humour! I recommend cuddling up in a blanket and drinking tea whilst reading it. Self promotion!
> 
> Reminder: Benedict's reddit AMA begins at 2:30 EST and will probably be live at 2. So get there early if you want to submit a question. Just get it in within the first ten minutes otherwise he'll never see it. I'll be ready and waiting at 1:45.
> 
> Enjoy your weekend and we'll see you back here Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	43. A Little Brotherly Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! And happy Monday! Midterms are upon me and I'm stressing out something awful. It's all over Thursday and then I can sleep restfully again. But enough about me. Enjoy the chapter. Just read the warnings for possible triggers.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John  
> Shared: Greg and Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: drunk Sherlock, dom!Greg, sub!Mycroft, suicidal ideations, Holmes brother feels, angst, emotions running rampant, Sherlock and John talk it out, sleep deprived John, some fluff near the end to make up for all the angst
> 
> Trigger Warnings: suicide attempt, blood, cutting

Sherlock ran to the only place his mind saw as safe: his brother's house.

He felt pathetic going to his brother every time a problem came up in his life, but what else was he to do? If he stayed on the streets he'd do something reckless. He wasn't going back to cocaine, even if it would temporarily wash away his problems.

He knocked out Mycroft's guards again and managed to sneak into the flat using a key he'd 'borrowed' off his brother a while back.

The house was silent. His brother and Lestrade were asleep then. Good.

**…::-::…**

'Do you know what we do with rule breakers, Mr Holmes?' Greg purred. He walked around the bound Holmes and cracked the riding crop against his submissive's thigh. Mycroft hissed and moaned, staring at Gregory with pitch black eyes.

'We punish them,' Gregory finished, hitting Mycroft's shoulder that time.

'Mmm! Yes sir!' Mycroft groaned. 'Punish me sir! I've been quite naughty.'

'Oh, I plan on doing just that,' Gregory growled. 'Spread those thighs. Present yourself to me.' Mycroft followed the order, spreading his bound legs as far as he could. Gregory growled appreciatively at the sight, whipping the crop against Mycroft's inner thigh.

Suddenly there was a loud crash from downstairs, both men's heads whipping toward the door in a panic.

'Someone's broken in,' Greg hissed. He dropped the crop and dashed over to his designated drawer. He pulled out his gun and checked to see if it was loaded. 'Stay here. I'll handle this.'

He dashed downastair, Mycroft still bound to his chair and incredibly aroused at the sight of Gregory's inner BAMF appearing to protect him. He was going to reward his Gregory greatly when he returned.

Sherlock was pissed. That's all he was aware of. He was very, inexplicably, and dangerously pissed. He'd dived into his brother's wine collection, cracking open almost every bottle in sight. Except somewhere between drowning his sorrows and now, he'd crashed into the alcohol cabinet, sending bottles flying everywhere and himself to the ground. He giggled and began lapping up as much escaped alcohol as possible.

Greg hid behind the wall between the kitchen and the sitting room, gun at the ready. He peered around to see if it was clear. It was. He then moved to Mycroft's office and saw the door was cracked open slightly. There was giggling coming from inside. Had some delinquents broken in to steal alcohol. Bad idea. Greg burst in, gun drawn, and was prepared to shout, 'Halt! Police!' when he saw exactly who had broken in.

'Sherlock?' he asked incredulously, lowering his gun. 'What are you doing here? Are you drunk?'

Sherlock sniggered, turning his head slightly to gaze at Lestrade. 'Amashing deducssson,' he slurred before turning his face to the ground once more, slurping up a white wine with his tongue like a dog. Greg tucked his gun into the waistband of his trousers and stooped down to gaze at Sherlock.

'Why are you here?' he asked again, but softer than the last time.

'Itsss hard to exssplain.' Sherlock hiccupped and slurped the alcohol faster. 'And dun ask me to.'

'Would you at least stop licking the floor? You look pathetic and disgusting.'

Sherlock raised his head, lips trembling. 'Disgusshing?' Tears brewed in his eyes. 'Pathetic? Disgusshing?'

'Oh. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry, Sherlock. Do you want to talk to Mycroft instead? I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.'

'No. Croft dun like it when mmm pissed. Dun leave me Greggy.' Sherlock lunged forwards and hugged the detective. 'You're too precioussss for thisss world,' he hummed.

'You have been watching way too much TV,' Greg sighed. 'You sure you don't want to talk about what happened?'

'No,' Sherlock grumbled before breaking out into song, clutching the detective tight. 'Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful phrase...'

'Oh my god. No. Nope. I am not dealing with this right now.' Greg stood up, Sherlock's arms falling down his body to rest around his ankles. 'I am putting you to bed. We'll deal with you when you're sober.'

'It means no worries for the rest of your days! It's our problem freeeeee! Philosophy!' Sherlock continued his song until a memory popped into his mind. A happy memory of him and John watching  _The Lion King_  and singing along to all the songs. That led to the memory of what had happened just hours earlier. Such a contrast between memories.

Sherlock's singing turned into sobs and tears streamed down his face.

'Ok. Yep. I am definitely taking you to bed.' Greg scooped Sherlock up in his arms, dropping his coat in front of the laundry room door as it was soaked with wine. He brought Sherlock to his old room, now their guest room, and set him on the bed. He began to slowly undress Sherlock so he wouldn't have to sleep in wine-soaked clothes, speaking to him softly the entire time.

'It will be ok, Sherlock. You'll go to sleep and have happy dreams. Then we can have a nice big breakfast in the morning. Just you, me, and Myc. Does that sound good?'

'Itsss not ok. I hurt John. Mmm a fucking monster. I am sick of the shit my lifess become. I fucking deserve to die. I wanna die. I wanna leave. So jus go back to My. Mmm fine.' Sherlock was wailing at the top of his lungs now.

'Mmm gonna fucking piss myself!' he sobbed, the warning coming a moment too late.

Greg sighed and ran a hand down his face. Sherlock was wetting himself like a child, and sobbing like one too. When he finished, Greg stripped him of all his clothes. He tossed them toward the door and wrapped a blanket around Sherlock's naked body.

'I'm not going to leave you alone right now. Not when you said you wanted to kill yourself. And I'm not going to press the John issue right now. Save that for when you're sober and have proper control of your bladder. I'll get you some dry clothes and you can sleep on the sofa then, since you wet the bed. Ok? I want to be sure you're comfortable and safe before I go back to Myc.'

'Fucking don't give a damn about what you do with me! Should have bloody shot me! Would have made the world a better place!'

'You shut up right now Sherlock Holmes,' Greg growled. 'I am not shooting you, nor will I ever. I am not going to kill you and I am not going to let you kill yourself.' He stalked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of pyjamas, helping Sherlock into them. 'I am taking you with me.'

He hauled Sherlock into his arms and took him upstairs into his and Myc's room. He set him on the bed and told him to stay put. He then dashed to the other bedroom and untied Myc from the chair.

'Sorry. We'll continue this later,' he apologised quickly. 'But you're brother's here, and he's downright pissed, in both senses of the word.'

Mycroft whimpered as he was released from his bonds, not wanting the game to end.

'Don't look at me like that. We need to help your brother. He's threatening suicide. Now, take care of yourself. I'll be in our room.'

He stalked off and returned to Sherlock. He put his gun in his drawer and locked it, not wanting Sherlock to get at it. Mycroft wanked himself to completion, cumming with a loud moan. He quickly composed himself and dressed, walking to his proper bedroom to join Gregory and Sherlock.

'What brings you here at this hour, little brother?' he asked calmly.

'Shut the fuck up, Mycroft. You fat bastard. I hate you! You gave me fucking shit advice! I bloody hate you!'

'What?' Mycroft blinked, taken aback. 'What bad advice did I give you?'

'You aren't fat,' Greg mouthed at him. He nodded but stayed a fist distance away from Sherlock anyway.

'It doesn't matter! Nothing matters anymore! Come morning and I'll be gone forever! Spose I just wanted to say goodbye.'

'No. I'm not going to let that happen,' Mycroft growled. 'You are not going to kill yourself. It's exactly what Moriarty wants.'

'You're not getting it, are you? I cannot live like thisss anymore! I can't wait for the next shit thing to happen! I am fucking done! If you respect me at all you'd bloody let me go.'

'Then make me understand!' Mycroft yelled. 'Tell me what went wrong!'

'Fuck off! Leave me alone! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! Fat fuck!'

'You shut up!' Mycroft roared. 'Shut up right now!' He grabbed Sherlock roughly and hauled him to his feet. 'You listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. I am not abandoning you, I will never abandon you, and especially not now when it is very clear you came here for something other than to get pissed and yell at us. So you tell me what's wrong or I will restrain you to a chair all night or until you sober up. Whichever comes first. Do you understand?'

'Oh? So you want to know how I fucked John into oblivion? How I couldn't stop myself from hurting him? How I bloody enjoyed myself because John was getting a taste of his own medicine?' Sherlock sneered, tears falling down in bucket loads. 'It wasn't even that great a fuck. Had a good long wank in your office just to satisfy my needs.'

'Yes. That is exactly what I wanted to hear.' He pulled Sherlock into a tender hug as he cried. 'I am sorry to hear that that happened though. I am sorry that you hurt John, and that you hurt yourself in the process. But please don't end your life over this. Nobody's life is perfect, everyone has shitty days or weeks or months or years. Please don't kill yourself over this. I'm sure you and John will be able to talk about this someday. It might not be soon, but it will happen trust me. It will happen.'

'Try a shitty life. I am done, Croft. Absolutely done. I can't do it anymore. I can't. Mmm sorry.'

'No. You are not quitting. Sherlock Holmes is not a quitter.' He pulled back to look at Sherlock's face. 'Please. Don't go. You can stay here as long as you like. You don't have to go back to Baker Street if you don't want. Just... please don't kill yourself. I... I don't know what I'd do.' Mycroft's lip trembled and his eyes shined bright with tears. No. A world without Sherlock would be a horrible one indeed. He may be a pain but he was family, and families stuck together. And he needed his brother more than he was willing to admit.

'Sherlock Holmes is a quitter! Sherlock Holmes wants to go because he's in a world of misery! Please let Sherlock go! I thought you loved him! I thought you cared about him! Then let him go!'

'I'm not letting you go because I love and care about you! I can't let you do this! I can't! I love you and I'm not letting you kill yourself!' The tears were falling down Mycroft's face now, hot and heavy. Greg just watched in an awkward silence.

'You can't stop me forever! One day I'll do it! I'll leave this rotten world and my pain shall end!' Sherlock hit his fists against Mycroft's chest. 'There is nothing you can do. Nothing.'

'I realise that, but right now I can help, and I will. I won't let you end your life over something that can be fixed. I'm going to help you and you can't stop me.'

'Right now mmm gonna either chuck up or piss myself again,' Sherlock mumbled.

'Well then, I'll help you to the loo.' Mycroft led Sherlock to the attached bathroom. He pulled his trousers down and sat him on the toilet, passing him a bin as well.

'In case you do both. Lord knows I've done it before.'

'You?' Sherlock giggled. 'Oh mmm in so much trouble when morning comes.' He leant his head over the bucket with a groan and began to chuck up violently. Mycroft flinched and swallowed down his own bile as Sherlock vomited.

'Yes, I have been pissed before. Though I don't get that way very often.' Sherlock didn't reply, just continued to shake and throw the entire contents of his stomach up.

'I'm going to put you to bed when you're finished, alright? You can clean up a bit first if you want, but you're going to bed.'

Sherlock groaned as his vomiting stopped and his bladder took its turn to empty its contents. Mycroft leaned awkwardly against the sink, looking anywhere but at his brother.

When Sherlock was done he grabbed his brother's shoulder. 'Your wine collection is shit.'

'Oh? And why's that?' he asked, raising an eyebrow.

'Itsss all French and it makes me fucking piss myself like a baby.'

'Well, I'm sorry you don't like it. But I do. Now, let's get you into bed, ok?'

'Spose I have no choice in the matter.'

'No, you really don't.' He pulled his brother's trousers up and helped him into the spare bedroom upstairs. He tucked him in snugly and kissed his forehead.

'I'm sorry about what happened, but please don't kill yourself over it. You can fix this. You can. It may take a while, just like your own rape, but you can fix it. I have faith in you.'

'Lucky one of us does, hmm?'

'Sometimes that's all you really need.' He kissed Sherlock's forehead again and smoothed down his hair. 'Now go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?'

'Not looking forward to that,' Sherlock grunted. 'Head's gonna fucking kill.'

'I know. Just sleep now. We'll take care of you in the morning.'

'Might want to text John to let him know that mmm safe.' Sherlock snuggled underneath the covers. 'Oh, and if my smexomina plays up mmm sorry. You're gonna have to change the sheetss.'

'It's ok. Just sleep. Goodnight, Sherlock.'

'Night, Croft. Have fun with the riding crop.' He giggled and grinned cheekily at his brother.

Mycroft flushed and swallowed. 'Yes, I believe we shall. Later though. When you aren't here to hear us. Uh... goodnight.' He dashed from the room and back to Gregory, straddling him.

'He knew about the crop,' he whispered in Gregory's ear. 'And it reminded me of how much I want you still.' Greg hummed and switched their positions, promptly taking him hard and fast, the two of them falling asleep in blissful exhaustion.

**…::-::…**

When Sherlock awoke he instantly wished he hadn't. His head was a pounding mess. He was stark naked and had a pillow clenched between his thighs. He'd somehow shed his clothes in the night. Then there was the stench of cum and sweat. His sexsomnia had played up then. Great. Bloody great.

Greg woke early, as was typical of him. Mycroft was stretched out like a cat yet was somehow entwined in a knot with Greg. He untangled himself and got dressed, stretching slightly when he heard a loud groan come from the other bedroom. So Sherlock was awake and probably suffering from the hangover from hell. He quietly made his way over to the door and knocked gently.

'Sherlock? It's Greg. May I come in?'

'Hang on,' Sherlock croaked, forcing his tired body to wriggle under the covers so he would at least have some dignity left. Though it was highly likely he'd lost the last drop of that whilst he'd been drunk. He shoved the covers over his head and mumbled, 'Come in.'

Greg entered quietly, not wanting to set Sherlock off. He made his way over to the window and shut the blinds, blocking out the sun. He then moved to the bed and sat on the edge.

'Not feeling so good this morning, huh?' he asked softly. 'I'm not saying that to make fun of you, I'm just wondering how you're feeling.'

'I drank from Mycroft's whole wine collection. I think it's safe to say I feel like shit.'

'Would you want to take a shower?' Greg offered. 'I was gonna make breakfast soon too, if you want to join us.'

'Don't think I'll be able to make it without collapsing,' Sherlock sighed. 'And I'm not in an eating mood.'

'I can help you to the shower,' Greg said. 'But if you won't eat would you at least drink some water? I heard you were pretty sick, so you should get some fluids back into your body.'

Sherlock grumbled under his breath incoherently before answering with a 'Fine.'

'Ok. We'll start with some water, see if you can get some strength back.' He went into the en suite bathroom and filled a cup with water, handing it to Sherlock upon his return. 'Drink that and see if you can get up. Once I start cooking, Myc will wake up, so be prepared for him to come check on you.'

'Hmm,' Sherlock hummed, sipping at the water. 'Brilliant. Just what I wanted to face when I have a hangover. A pissed off Mycroft.' He handed the water back to Lestrade before burying himself underneath the covers. 'Tell him to leave me be.'

'He isn't pissed at you. He's worried about you. You threatened suicide multiple times last night, and it scared him. He just wants to be sure you're alright.' He sighed when Sherlock made no acknowledgement that he'd heard him. He set the water on the side table and left the room. He went downstairs and began preparing breakfast, just some simple bacon and eggs. The bacon would rouse Myc in no time.

Suicide? Had he really been threatening suicide?

Sherlock may have been suicidal in the past but he'd never outright proclaimed to anyone that he was going to take his own life, let alone to his own brother. He felt like shit in both senses. He couldn't imagine the utter nonsense Mycroft and Lestrade put up with whilst he'd been drunk. He only hoped he would earn their forgiveness. Especially his brother's.

Mycroft hummed as the scent of bacon began to slowly wake him up. He stretched out and purred, cracking an eye open to assess his surroundings. He sat up and stretched, still sore from last night. He had some bruises from being tied to the chair and his legs hurt from the crop, but he felt fantastic otherwise. When he got dressed he decided to check on Sherlock to see if he was feeling any less self-destructive than last night. He knocked on the door softly, knowing Sherlock would be hungover.

'Sherlock? Can I come in?'

'Nope,' Sherlock replied grumpily. 'Though when has me saying no ever stopped you?'

'Well, at least you didn't reply with "I don't know. Can you?" Because I may have laughed, but I'd be annoyed too.' He opened the door softly and moved to sit on the bed.

'How's the hangover?' he asked softly. 'Oh. I see Gregory brought you some water. Good.'

'Oh, the hangover's bloody great. I've never felt better. I truly think this is the highlight of my life so far.'

'You always were especially sarcastic after a night of narcotics. Seems you're the same with alcohol.' Mycroft sighed and looked down at his brother sadly. 'Have you had any... suicidal thoughts since last night?'

'I always have suicidal thoughts, Mycroft. I have ever since I was a child. I never seem to escape them. I wouldn't worry. I'll get over them. I always do.'

'I'm sure I'll worry anyway,' he sighed softly. 'I worry about you constantly these days. About John hurting you, you hurting John, Moriarty, your rapist, and now you hurting yourself. I can't help but worry.'

'Will worrying stop me from getting hurt?' Sherlock snorted. 'No, because the fact is no matter where my life takes me pain follows.'

'I never claimed it would help you or make you better. I care about you Sherlock, and I'm just trying to look out for you. I've done a shit job so far though. I'm sorry.'

'Stop it. I am not dealing with the pointless guilt you carry because of me. Not right now.'

'I'll leave you be, then.' Mycroft stood and walked to the door. 'Feel free to come down and join us if you want. I promise to keep the lovey-dovey goo to a minimum in your presence.' He smirked slightly and left the room, joining Gregory in the kitchen.

Sherlock dragged himself from the bed, wincing as he opened his eyes and stood to his feet on shaking legs. He somehow stumbled into the en suite attached to the bedroom. He turned on the shower and by some miracle was able to stand up in the shower. He moved into the warm spray and groaned, wetting his hair in an attempt to help his migraine.

Mycroft hugged Gregory as he cooked, watching him in a contented sort of bliss.

'I never thought I would enjoy such domestic trivialities. But it's so different with you. Everything is,' he mumbled softly.

'A good sort of different I hope,' Greg grinned, passing Mycroft a piece of bacon.

'An excellent sort of different,' Mycroft hummed, accepting the bacon and humming.

'So, how's our unexpected house guest?'

'Hungover, in pain, and distant. So, normal apart from the hangover.' He paused and chewed on his bacon slowly. 'I wish he would just talk to me. And I can't exactly have John come over and talk some sense into him like he used to. Not after what happened between them last night.'

'They'll work it out. I'm pretty sure England would fall if they didn't.' Mycroft laughed softly and finished his bacon, hugging Gregory tight.

The hot water splashed against Sherlock's shaking body. His head was throbbing manically and his muscles ached. He was never drinking again. Why he'd turned to drink was a mystery to him. After all that had happened when John had been a heavy drinker he'd vowed to hate the stuff forever more. He supposed it'd been his way of coping with what happened between him and John and just life in general.

After a long soaking he reluctantly left the shower, stumbling back into the bedroom and throwing on the pajamas he'd discarded in the night, not bothering to dry himself off. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball under the covers again but his stomach was beginning to gurgle. He'd thrown up last night so perhaps it would be a good idea to get something to eat. With a sigh, he began to make his slow and painful journey to the kitchen.

Greg looked up from his plate, listening to the stumbling steps on the stairs. Ah. Sherlock was coming down. Mycroft swallowed his bite and waited for Sherlock to arrive.

'Good morning,' Greg smiled brightly. 'Come to join us?'

Sherlock glared at Lestrade and his brother and grunted, padding over to the toaster and putting two pieces of bread in.

'I was too cheery, wasn't I?' Greg whispered.

'Quite. It was rather unsettling,' Mycroft joked. 'He's not going to talk. He's hungover and in one of his moods. Just leave him alone.' He shoved another bite of his eggs in his mouth and chewed slowly, not wanting to eat too fast.

Sherlock waited impatiently for his toast and fished around in the cupboard for something to put on it.

His heart froze as he saw the same brand of jam John so often bought. Nostrils flaring, he grabbed the pot of jam and stared at it. Anger rose in his chest and he found himself chucking it across the room before he could so much as blink. It hit the wall and smashed, sending jam flying everywhere.

He growled underneath his breath and stormed from the kitchen as fast as he could, forgetting the toast, just wanting to get away.

'What the hell was that about?!' Greg demanded, turning and staring at the sticky mess of jam on the wall and floor.

'I'm not sure, but I feel it has to do with John in some way,' Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock had ended up back in the en suite. A blade was balanced between two of his fingers. It was shining under the sunlight pouring through the window.

He hadn't held a blade since his teenage years. He didn't think he'd have to. But there he was holding a blade, running it over old scars, wanting his pain to fade into something more physical.

The door was locked and the two men downstairs were unaware of what he was going to do.

There was no helping him now.

'Ugh! It's everywhere!' Greg complained as he attempted to clean the wall.

'Gregory, just let the maid take care of it. It's what she's paid to do after all.'

'Just let me do this!' Greg snapped. 'I'm used to cleaning after myself, not the privileged life where all your messes are cleaned for you! Go check on your brother!'

Mycroft sighed and let Gregory be. He ventured upstairs and knocked on Sherlock's door.

'Sherlock? Are you ok? Will you please talk to me?'

The blade had sunk into his pale flesh and the blood was beginning to drip down his arm. It felt better than he remembered. It made him feel numb and drowsy, even to the extent that his hangover was a little more bearable. Still, perhaps the blood was gushing a little too much, and perhaps the cuts were a little too deep.

He heard his brother's voice and groaned. 'No. I don't want to,' his voice cracked. Mycroft opened the bedroom door and searched the room. Sherlock wasn't there, but there was light shining from the bottom of the bathroom door. He knocked lightly and sighed.

'You don't have to talk, but you seemed really upset. Can I at least see that you're ok?'

Sherlock took a deep breath to stop the waves of dizziness threatening to overtake him, and shoved down his pajama shirt sleeve over his bleeding arm. He opened the door slowly, poking his head out to look at Mycroft, knowing his brother wouldn't leave him be till he'd seen him. Mycroft took in the sight of his little brother. He looked pale, his eyes looked sunken in and red, and he seemed to be struggling to hold himself up.

'Are you ok? You look like you're about to pass out.'

'Mmm fine,' Sherlock huffed, slamming the door shut just in time for his legs to give way beneath him. His body hit the floor with a dull thud and his world swam into darkness.

As soon as he heard the thud, Mycroft knew something was drastically wrong. He shoved open the door and screamed when he saw Sherlock passed out in the floor, blood dripping from his arm and staining his clothes. He found the blade on the counter. Where had he even gotten that? He quickly scooped Sherlock into his arms and ran downstairs.

'Gregory! I'm taking him to the hospital! He's passed out from blood loss. I'll be back later.' He dashed out the door and to his driver before Greg could even respond. His driver sped away to Bart's before it was too late.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock woke up feeling like shit. That wasn't too unusual. Lately he felt like shit a lot. That was probably thanks to his self destruction. His brother was hovering nearby and Sherlock swallowed heavily.

'Wha?' He looked around his surroundings. He was in hospital. Again. 'How'd I get here?'

'You bled out from the deep gashes you'd put in your arm,' Mycroft stated bluntly.

'Oh,' Sherlock mumbled. 'Is that all?'

Mycroft scowled. 'Is that all? What more are you expecting? Was that not enough? You scared me to death, Sherlock. I thought you were going to die. You almost did. The doctor said if we had arrived a moment later you wouldn't have made it.'

Sherlock shrugged, disinterested and uncaring. 'So? It shouldn't have come as a shock. I believe I told you how I was feeling.'

'You idiot,' Mycroft growled. 'How could you do that? You think killing yourself would stop your pain and make everyone else's life easier?'

'It'd have stopped my pain. I don't care about anyone else. What? I don't.'

'Not even about John? I realise you hurt him, and he has hurt you, but I know you two love each other. If you left him like that, it would kill him. Because suicide kills two people, Sherlock. And I wouldn't put it past John to follow you.'

Sherlock swallowed and shook his head. 'You're not doing this to me. I am not going to feel guilty because of my actions. And love? If what John and I have is love then I don't want it. And who am I to care about what John would do if I died? It would be his decision.'

'You honestly think you're the only couple that has problems? That you're the only couple that hurt each other? Stop being such a fucking idiot and observe! Don't just look! Observe what has happened to the people around you due to your actions! John is a mess, emotionally and mentally. Yes, I've seen him and he's here. But I sent him out when he was about to collapse from exhaustion. So he's asleep somewhere. Mummy is here too, and she's worried sick over you. You can't kill yourself, because that's exactly what Moriarty wants. If you do that, you're letting him win. And the Sherlock Holmes I know would never let that bastard win.'

'You don't know me. All you see is your darling little brother. You think I'm strong. Well, let me tell you that I am weak and I have given up. I don't give a damn about anything anymore. So no, you start observing. It's time you saw me for what I am.'

'You are not weak! Why can you not see that? You are the strongest person I know, Sherlock. No one else could go through what you have without killing themselves. No one else could survive what you've gone through. Parental abuse, drugs, multiple injuries, heartbreak, getting raped twice. You survived, Sherlock. And I realise you would rather give up, I wish you wouldn't. Because you've survived this long, and while it's been a tough and painful road, you have come out a stronger person. I know you have. I can see it. And I have been observing and I see you for what you are. A broken man who wants to give up but who also wants to fight. And I'm asking you to fight.'

Sherlock bit his lip, shaking his head, tears dripping down his cheeks. 'I don't know how much longer I can fight for, Croft. I have never wanted to die so much in my life. Please try to understand.'

'I have been there, Sherlock. Believe me, I have. You were in a coma, so you weren't there to watch me deteriorate. But you look exactly the same as I did. And John too perhaps. I know he was ready to kill himself before he ran into that Stamford fellow and met you. You changed his life, Sherlock. He grew to love you, and you love him too. Yes, you're in an extremely rough patch right now, but you'll work it out and things will return to normal. Please don't end your life. Suicide is a very permanent solution to a temporary problem. It might seem like it will never get better, but it will. I can't promise it will be anytime soon, but it will get better.'

Sherlock rubbed at his eyes. 'What do I do? How do I stop myself from harming myself? Because I don't even know how I got that damn blade. I tried to drink myself to death before for goodness sake. Suicide is on my mind twenty four seven. I can't stop this. I can't.'

'I would send you back to rehab, but we both know how helpful that turned out to be last time.' Mycroft sighed and moved closer, sitting in the chair by the bed. 'I wish I could be more help, but I honestly don't know what to do.'

'Well, I'm fucked then,' Sherlock sniffed. 'The great Mycroft Holmes doesn't know what to do.'

'I'll come up with something eventually,' he scoffed. 'Give me time and I will fix this.'

'Fix it?' Sherlock's face creased. 'You can't fix people. You can't fix me.'

'It won't stop me from trying,' he glowered. The door opened then and John hobbled in, holding a large cup of coffee from the café down the street.

'Iz he up yet?' he asked, yawning loudly. When he laid eyes on Sherlock he grinned dopily and ambled over to the other side of his bed. 'Hey.'

'Hello.' Sherlock swallowed, face contorting in pain. 'You alright?' he asked gently.

'Worried about you, but otherwise fine,' he shrugged. 'How about you? How're you feeling?'

'Brilliant!' Sherlock exclaimed a bit too enthusiastically. 'Really brilliant.'

'Liar,' John smirked.

'Of course I'm fucking lying,' Sherlock sighed heavily.

'It's ok,' John shrugged. 'I sort of expect it by now. Cuz I know you don't want me to know that you're human, just like everyone else. Cuz to me, you're a superman.'

'I certainly don't feel human,' Sherlock sniffed loudly. 'I feel wrong and out of place, and disgusting.'

'Me too,' John admitted, finally sitting down. 'Guess that's why we were drawn to each other. We didn't belong anywhere else, so why not share a flat with a fellow reject?'

'You're not a reject,' he scoffed. Sherlock looked at Mycroft. 'Perhaps you should leave now. John and I have a lot to talk about.' Mycroft nodded and stood, straightened his clothes, and left, closing the door with a solid click.

'Of course I'm a reject,' John muttered once Mycroft left. 'The army didn't want me, my sister didn't want me, no job would hire me. No one wanted to share a flat with a war vet with PTSD and depression. Who would want me?'

Sherlock frowned. 'I wanted you. I saw the good man hidden behind the broken soldier. I wanted you because I was lonely and you were lonely too. You're not a reject.'

John looked at Sherlock with tired, sad eyes. 'If I'm such a good man, then why did I hurt you? Good men don't hurt the people they love.'

'The best of men make foolish mistakes.' Sherlock reached out a hand to John's cheek and gently stroked it. John closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

'I still can't believe I did that. I don't know why I did it. I would never have done that if I had been in my right mind. So, I've sworn off alcohol. For good. Not another drop. Not even casually in a bar among friends. Because I don't want it to change me like that again. I don't want to hurt you again.'

'I don't expect you to do that.' Sherlock rubbed his thumb in circular motions across John's cheek. 'I suppose you will have heard about my own drinking binge?'

'Yes. And your suicidal actions too.' He glanced at Sherlock's bandaged arm and swallowed thickly.

'I am sorry on both accounts,' Sherlock apologised sincerely. 'Did you receive my note?'

'I did, yes.'

'I suppose I tried to tell you how I was feeling but without really mentioning how I was feeling. When I said I was taking the coward's way out, when I said I was leaving to clear my head, I think that may have been my way of saying goodbye forever.'

John clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. 'Woulda been a shit way t' say goodbye,' he mumbled. 'I cried when I found it, ya know? Cuz I thought you were already gone. Broke my heart.'

'I broke your heart long before the letter,' Sherlock whispered. 'It's why I wanted to leave this world.'

John shook his head again but harder. 'No. No. Don't want you to go.' A few tears escaped and slid down his cheeks. 'Want you to stay. With me. Forever.'

'Really? After what I did to you? After all the pain I've caused you? You still want to spend your life with me?'

John nodded eagerly, opening his eyes to look at Sherlock. 'We all make stupid mistakes. I'm not going to leave you because of them. I am willing to forgive you for what has happened. For everything. Because I love you and I don't want to lose you. But... can you ever forgive me for what I've done to you?'

'I'm not one to hold grudges but... you really terrified me. I thought given half the chance you would have beaten me to death, and you fell asleep still inside of me and...' Sherlock took a deep breath. 'When you released me in the morning you didn't even react to me being tied up, or to your cock still being shoved up my arse. So maybe I don't forgive you entirely. I want to but there's something in me that is holding me back.'

John swallowed and nodded. 'I wouldn't expect you to forgive me. What I did was terrible and horrifying and unforgivable. I'll understand if you want to break up. We can go back to being just flatmates if that's what you want.'

'Do you really expect us to just be friends after all that's happened?' Sherlock snorted. 'I still want to ravish you. I love you.'

'Well... No,' John sighed, his lip threatening to twitch up in a smirk. 'But there's always shag buddies. Or friends with benefits.'

'No.' Sherlock shook his head firmly. 'If I am going to have you in any form, I want all of you. I do not want you to be my shag buddy.'

John giggled. 'That sounds so weird coming from your mouth. Say it again.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'Shag buddy?' John nodded and laughed harder. A bubble of laughter trickled from Sherlock's lips as he saw the amusing side of things. 'God,' he breathed. 'I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard.'

John clutched his side and wiped his eyes, gasping for breath. He was so tired he was slap happy, and the last time that had happened he had been at his sister's for Christmas. He smiled over at Sherlock gently, trying not to start laughing again.

'I like it when you laugh. Why don't you laugh anymore? It's a good look on you.' Sherlock frowned, pursing his lips together.

'I don't know,' John sighed, looking down at the floor. 'But I like it when you laugh too, and I haven't heard you laugh in ages. But I can understand why. You went through a major trauma, twice in less than six months. And now this.' He gestured vaguely to Sherlock's bandaged arm. 'Why would you want to laugh when you're obviously depressed?'

'I've always had a slightly suicidal side to myself, John. I've hidden it pretty well over the years, I suppose. I don't like admitting it. I'm fairly sure I give off the whole self destructive vibe though. Just know that when I laugh it's because you are shedding light on the black and white world around me.'

'God. Why does everything you say sound like poetry?' He smirked and looked back at Sherlock. 'Are you sure you're not a poet? Because you could definitely be one.'

'I may have written some poems,' Sherlock admitted. 'I started writing a novel too. Never finished it.' Sherlock hummed softly. 'Probably should get round to that at some point.'

'I didn't know you were writing a novel.' John budged closer. 'What's it about?'

'It's about a detective and an army doctor,' Sherlock said softly. 'And it's not finished yet.'

'Oh.' John's eyes brightened and he smiled. 'Shall I be coauthor then?'

'If you like,' Sherlock smiled. 'I don't know if you'll like the way I've written us though.'

'Oh. I thought you were using a metaphor. Like we were our own story and our story wasn't done... Now I feel silly. I didn't know you were being literal.'

'Oh.' Sherlock's brow creased. 'Well, there is that. But yes, I have been writing an actual novel about us. Though it's not set in this century. Think the eighteen to nineteen hundreds with top hats, and moustaches. I'm still a genius though and you're still my sidekick.'

John perked up slightly. 'Top hats and moustaches? Have I got one?' He traced his finger against his shaven upper lip and frowned slightly. He'd always wanted a moustache, but he'd never been able to grow a proper one. He always ended up looking like a pedophile. Or Hitler.

Sherlock chuckled. 'Not yet, but it was rather fashionable at the time so I only thought it right that I gave John in my novel one. I have one too! Though imagine me with a mustache in real life? It takes me months to grow facial hair as it is.'

John giggled at the thought. 'It'd probably tickle when we kissed.'

Sherlock grinned. 'That's it!' he exclaimed. 'I'm going to grow a moustache just so I can tickle you.'

'You can tickle me without a moustache ya know!' John pointed to his ribs.

'But where would be the fun in that? No. I'd much rather tickle your far more sensitive lips.'

John huffed and pouted. 'I don't want you to grow a moustache. It'd feel weird. I've never kissed another man, Sherlock. And all the women I've kissed said they preferred me shaven because my whiskers chafed their skin. I don't even want to think about how a moustache would feel.' He shuddered slightly. 'So, no moustaches. Please?'

Sherlock pouted. 'But I want to leave whisker burns on you,' he whispered huskily. 'All over you. Besides you may just like it. Please let me?'

'If you want to leave whisker burns you'll want to grow more than just a moustache,' John pointed out, his pulse quickening at just the idea of Sherlock marking him like that. 'But, yes, I'll let you try it out.'

Sherlock laughed joyfully. 'You just wait, John. One day I'll have facial hair and I'm just going to take you by surprise and mark you all over.' His face dropped momentarily. 'That is if you allow me that close to you. After all that happened... maybe it would be best to at least wait a little while to do such things.'

'Well, depending on how long it takes you to grow that facial hair, it might not be a problem,' John sighed. 'And I understand why you did what you did. It's not as if it wasn't merited.'

'No one deserves to feel that scared and helpless. Not even after what you did. I mean, at least you were drunk. I was just acting out of pure anger.'

'My being drunk doesn't make what I did ok!' John protested. 'And I wasn't scared when you were so rough with me. I accepted my punishment wholeheartedly. I wasn't scared, I was resigned.'

'I never wanted to punish you! I wanted to show you that everything was alright. That things were getting better. What a fine job I did there, hmm?'

'Maybe now that I've been punished, things finally can start to get better. You said there was something holding you back from forgiving me completely. Do you think that maybe now that I understand what you wen through, to some degree anyway, that that may have helped? And now things can start to get better from here.'

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders lightly. 'Perhaps, but I think we should take things slowly.'

'That's fine. I wouldn't want to rush into anything right now anyway.' John yawned and stretched slightly. 'Maybe I should go t' bed. What time izzit anyway?'

'Evidently bed and snuggle up to your detective time.'

'Mmm. The best time.' John toed off his shoes and took off his jumper, tossing it in the chair by the bed. He crawled up the bed and rested his head on Sherlock's chest, listening to his heartbeat.

Sherlock sighed as he watched John falling asleep. He was utterly exhausted, the poor thing. He looked so blissfully at peace now, despite the few worry lines that marked his forehead. It made the detective wonder how exactly he could have even thought of leaving John behind via taking his own life. How could he leave such a beautiful, fascinating creature like John Watson? What on Earth had been running through his silly mind? He supposed not a lot because right now even the thought of dying and abandoning John made him shiver in repulsion with himself.

Sherlock was released from hospital a few days later. The doctors wanted to be sure he wasn't going to harm himself again, but John could tell just by looking at him that he wouldn't. Something had changed that first night after his suicide attempt. And it had made him realise just how utterly idiotic his choice had been. John's powers of deduction were nowhere close to Sherlock's, but even he could tell Sherlock had realised his mistake and had no plans to try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now things finally begin to look up for the boys. There will be lots of smut next chapter where both our boys are consenting participants. No dubious consent, no rape, just good old-fashioned smut ;) What a great way to start the weekend, eh? We'll see you then.
> 
> Happy Red Pants Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB
> 
> P.S. I just realised that now that I've added InvisibleBlade as a coauthor on here, she can technically add her own chapters to this story and it will say the chapter was posted by her. And while it may say that the chapter was by TearStainedAshes, it was actually written by both of us, I'm just the one posting it. OK? OK. :)


	44. Things Finally Begin to Look Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! Happy Friday! I am ill at the moment, but I still wanted to give you guys this chapter before I curled up on the couch and wrapped myself up in a blanket. I'm already feeling a lot better than I was yesterday, but my nose is still stuffed up, but it's getting better.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, Mycroft, Greg
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: smut (finally!), blow jobs, men going at it, emotions all over the place, mentions of physical violence, Sherlock and John have a bit of a row, biting, bloodplay
> 
> Trigger warnings: blood

The first week home had been a little tense. Neither of them wanted to speak about what had happened, and every lingering glance seemed to make it worse. Things evened out eventually, but they still had yet to talk about what John had come to call 'The Incident.' Sherlock had kept to his word about growing out his facial hair too. He now had a nice, thin beard growing. John didn't like it at first, stating that he looked so different with hair on his face. But he grew accustomed to it and was soon used to it, even going so far as to pet it while Sherlock slept.

October came and went. They celebrated Halloween in a tense and apprehensive silence. Sherlock had put on his bee bobble headband in an attempt to lighten the mood, and John had laughed at how ridiculously adorable he'd looked. They had shared a brief kiss, but that was it. They shared what was left of the candy after the kids had gone through it and had gone to bed.

Now it was the third day of November and John was at his wits end. Work was stressing him out like nothing else. Excessively stupid parents were dragging their kids in to see about stomach pains and tooth aches. It took all his strength to not scream, 'You go to the dentist for tooth aches you ignorant arsehole! Not the bloody doctor!' at each and every one of them. After a while, Sarah dismissed him, claiming she could handle the rest of his patients as he looked about ready to blow a blood vessel. John couldn't get out of there fast enough.

He threw the door open to 221B with a bang and stalked up the stairs, throwing his coat and shoes onto the floor as soon as he crossed the threshold. He collapsed onto his chair with an exasperated huff and rubbed his face with both hands, completely and utterly done with the stupidity of humanity.

Sherlock glanced up at John, an eyebrow twitching upwards in both amusement and curiosity. He studied the good doctor carefully and quickly deduced that he was in a foul mood due to work. His whole body looked riddled with tension. Sherlock hadn't seen him looking this tense since... 'the incident' and all that had followed.

In fact, he and John had both been in rather light hearted moods as of late. Their relationship had started building itself back up brick by brick and Sherlock felt happy again despite the fact that there were still threats in the outside world just waiting to close in on them. They had each other and for now that's all that really mattered.

The consulting detective uncurled himself from his position on the sofa and gently padded over to his grumpy little hedgehog.

'Long day at work,' he stated, nuzzling John's crotch. 'I could make you feel better, you know?' he said boldly. John groaned in agreement about work, tensing in apprehension as Sherlock nuzzled at the crotch of his jeans.

'Idiotic parents taking their kids to the doctor for a tooth ache,' he grumbled. He looked down at Sherlock and licked his lips. 'You sure you want to? Because I wouldn't mind just taking a shower to relax.'

Sherlock clamped his lips over John's crotch and hummed. He wanted to. He wanted to so badly. He loved John and he wanted to be the one to bring him into lighter spirits. John groaned and gripped the arms of the chair tightly, his hips canting toward Sherlock's mouth slightly.

'Ok. Ok,' he groaned out when he felt Sherlock's tongue press against the seam of his jeans. Sherlock sucked John's erection through his trousers and moaned as he felt it quiver between his full lips. John wouldn't last long. That much was clear. John whimpered and thrust harder, his entire body quivering with arousal and need.

Sherlock unclamped his mouth from John's erection and grinned wickedly. He pulled down John's trousers and laughed loudly. 'I'm going to enjoy this.'

'Oh, god!' John cried out as Sherlock sucked his member into his mouth. His mouth was hot and deliciously wet, and it felt bloody fantastic. Sherlock bobbed his head up and down as fast as he could, ensuring that his newly grown facial hair was leaving bright red marks on his lover's thighs.

'Gah! Fuck!' John thrust deeper into Sherlock's mouth, pressing his thighs closer to his face so Sherlock's scruff would leave more marks. He never thought it would feel good to receive whisker burns. How wrong he was.

Sherlock swirled his tongue around John's cock, his eyes dancing with humour. He rubbed his beard harder against his lover's skin and chuckled.

'Ugh! Faster!' John demanded. 'Please,' he added as a second thought. Sherlock went as fast as he could, sucking, swirling and rubbing, determined to make John cum. John tightened his thighs around Sherlock's face, drastically close to falling over the edge.

'Oh fuck. Gonna cum,' he grunted in warning. Sherlock sucked in his cheeks harder and closed his eyes in ecstasy, groaning as John's cum began to splash down his throat. John groaned and pulsed down Sherlock's throat, a hand reaching out and grasping his hair tightly. He collapsed against his chair as his orgasm subsided, panting but with a goofy grin on his face.

'Wow,' he breathed out. 'Just... Wow.'

Sherlock pulled John's trousers back up and clambered onto his lap. 'Wow indeed.' He rubbed his beard against John's chin. John moved his head to capture Sherlock's lips, pulling his hips down to rub against his lover's own erection.

Sherlock shifted and moaned, kissing John heavily. 'I love you so much.'

'I love you too, Sherlock,' John panted, thrusting his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. 'So bloody much.'

Sherlock whined needily and rubbed his erection over John's crotch. John reached down and unzipped Sherlock's trousers, pulling him out of his pants and stroking slowly.

'You're absolutely beautiful,' he moaned, pumping faster, squeezing tighter. 'Gorgeous. Sexy. And god, that beard. I never thought it could be so erotic.'

Sherlock moaned and threw his head back. 'Told you you'd like having whisker burns, dear,' he gasped out, thrusting himself into John's hand.

'Mmm. I most certainly do.' He squeezed harder, pumped faster, wanting to drive Sherlock over the edge. 'I may just grow my facial hair out again to give you some whisker burns in return.'

Sherlock's mouth dropped wide open and he panted happily like a dog, tongue sticking out of his lips. 'Please do – oh – gah!' He moved faster in John's hand. 'Not long now.'

John slowed down slightly, his other hand moving down to massage Sherlock's bollocks.

'Cum for me, love,' he purred down Sherlock's ear. 'Cum all over me and then I want you to lick me clean.'

Sherlock came with a cry, his cum spilling out all over John. He fell forwards with a wet smack and rubbed his whiskers against John's cheek whilst purring like the cat that got the cream.

'So beautiful,' John smiled, settling back in the chair. He rubbed his cheek against Sherlock's, scratching them harder. 'Thank you. I definitely feel a lot less tense.'

Sherlock laughed loudly. 'My cunning plan worked.' He slithered down John's body and began lapping up his cum.

'Mmm. It certainly did,' John hummed. He watched Sherlock lap up his own cum and groaned. 'How do you taste?'

'It's hard to describe.' Sherlock lapped up every little drop. 'So you might as well taste me yourself.' He crawled back up John and kissed him tenderly. John moaned and shoved his tongue inside Sherlock's mouth, tasting and taking.

'My god, you're absolutely delicious,' he panted, breaking away to catch his breath. 'I missed it.' He claimed Sherlock's mouth again before he could say anything, sliding his tongue against his lover's as he tasted him again. Sherlock's tongue fought with John's for dominance and he whimpered. This was so good. After all that had happened the kiss was like heaven.

John wrapped his hands in Sherlock's hair and tugged, deepening their kiss and shoving his tongue down Sherlock's throat. He growled and thrust his hips against Sherlock's, his cock coming out to play again.

'Hello,' Sherlock mumbled against John's lips, his own cock perking up again.

'Mmm. Hello indeed. Whatever shall we do about this predicament?'

'Hmm. Remember that one time I told you exactly how to wank? We could do that. If I remember correctly that sent you a little haywire.'

'Mmm. Sounds like an excellent idea,' John purred. 'Shall we move to the bedroom?'

'Mmm. Let's.' Sherlock scratched John's cheek one more time with his beard before scooping him up and carrying him to their bed.

'I want you to undress me,' John said huskily, working on Sherlock's shirt buttons. 'And I want you to follow every one of your orders as well. So you'll be teasing yourself as well as me.'

Sherlock slowly and seductively began to take John's clothes from him. 'You're not going to last long, dear,' he said huskily.

'Of course I'm not. Especially with you giving the orders.' He stripped Sherlock's shirt from him and began to work on his trousers, palming him through his pants. Sherlock tutted and patted John's hand away before chucking his lover's clothes to the floor.

'We have to set some rules,' he said, shrugging off his trousers and then rolling off of John. 'We're not allowed to touch each other, only ourselves, and only when the other says it's ok and tells you a pace for you to go at.'

'So we get to direct each other?' John asked, staring hungrily at Sherlock's naked form.

'Exactly,' Sherlock grinned like the mad man he was. 'Bonus points for dirty talk.'

'Mmm. Prepare for some filthy demands then.' John slid up the mattress and got comfortable, his cock standing erect and proud, waving at Sherlock. John patted the spot beside him and grinned.

'Come. Make yourself comfortable. Then I'm going to begin teasing you until your cock is red and thick and full and you're begging me to let you cum.'

'Are you now dear?' Sherlock deadpanned, crawling up the bed. 'Just so long as Little John is prepared for such a fate.'

'Or I could make it as quick as possible while still being quite satisfying,' John shrugged. 'I haven't decided which yet.'

'Ah, I see. I threaten your cock and you back down from the offer of teasing,' Sherlock smirked.

'When you're going to be instructing me how to wank then yeah, I'll back out of something like that. Because I want to cum just by listening to your voice. So very, very badly.' He quickly turned and kissed Sherlock thoroughly, both their pricks twitching in interest as he did. When he pulled away they were both red in the face and quite breathless.

'Just to start things off right,' John said, settling back against the bed. 'Now, shall we begin?'

'We shall.' Sherlock's whole body hummed. 'But I have other plans on how I can make you cum. Firstly, I want you to suck your fingers into your mouth. Swirl your tongue around them. Imagine my member pulsing in your mouth.'

John did just that, sucking three of his fingers into his mouth and coating them liberally with saliva. He imagined they were Sherlock's cock, warm and pulsing in his mouth. He moaned and sucked them in further, stopping when he gagged slightly when they hit the back of his throat and tickled his uvula.

He coughed and took them out of his mouth, spluttering a 'now what?' as he caught his breath.

Sherlock chuckled darkly. 'I want you to start fingering yourself. You're going to prepare your arse for a cock that will never fill it.'

'I, um... I've actually tried that and I didn't like it,' John admitted. 'It's just not as pleasurable for me unless you're doing it. I don't seem to enjoy it otherwise.'

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 'Don't you trust me to make you feel good? You weren't being instructed by me before, were you? I think I can make you love anything. Just ease into it with one finger to start with.'

John sighed and closed his eyes. If he was going to do this then he didn't want to watch. He circled one of his fingers against his entrance and grimaced. It felt so weird doing it to himself. He gently pushed in and grunted. He squeezed the sheets tightly with his other hand and pushed in farther until he couldn't push in anymore.

'It feels so weird,' he grit out.

'Shhh,' Sherlock hushed him, crawling closer to whisper into John's ear. 'Just relax, my love. I've got you. Start pumping that finger in and out of yourself.'

John shuddered from Sherlock's voice being so close but followed his order, pumping his finger slowly. His grunts slowly changed to small gasps and pants as he eased into it, Sherlock's deep baritone coaxing him on softly.

'Ok. Good. You're doing brilliant, John,' Sherlock praised his lover. 'Now curl that finger and try to find your prostate.'

He found it easily, his medical training coming in handy for something other than runny noses and upset stomachs for once. He groaned and pressed against it again, his cock starting to leak. Fuck that felt good. He did it again and his entire body lurched in pleasure, a soft gasp of Sherlock's name escaping his lips.

Sherlock chuckled against John's ear. 'Add a second finger and stretch yourself nice and wide. My cock's a big bastard.'

'Thick and juicy,' John moaned as he added another finger. He hissed slightly from the burn but he worked his way through it, the discomfort turning to pleasure.

'Add a third, stretch yourself further, and then hit your prostate repeatedly.'

John did and cried out, pumping his fingers furiously and rocking back on them. His cock was leaking profusely now; he could feel the small puddle growing on his abdomen.

'Please,' he gasped out, whimpering. 'Let me touch myself. Please. Let me cum.'

'Not yet,' Sherlock tutted. 'I want you to imagine my thick lips around Little John, my cock both shoved down your throat and up your arse, and god lord can you pump faster John?'

John whimpered and tried to move his fingers faster but his arm and wrist were beginning to get tired. He wanted to cum so badly, wanted his relief.

'Can't,' he mumbled, stopping his arm to let it relax. 'Arm hurts.'

'Do it for me,' Sherlock whispered softly. He gently pushed his hot tongue into John's ear, moving it in and out as motivation.

'Ugh. Fuck.' John turned to face Sherlock and stole another kiss, thrusting his tongue in between his lover's plump lips and licking along them. Sherlock sucked John's tongue into his mouth and reached down to tug playfully on John's beautifully tight balls. John groaned and started moving his fingers again, stroking his prostate gently with each movement.

'Please. Please. Sherlock,' he moaned, pressing himself closer to Sherlock's hand. 'I want you to make me cum. Touch me. Please.'

Sherlock slid down John's body and gently removed his furiously pumping fingers.

'Well done.' He placed his cock between John's butt cheeks and grinned. 'Oh yes,' he moaned, working himself into John as his lover watched in shock.

'Sherlock, what–? Ohhh god,' he moaned as Sherlock began moving. 'I thought we weren't– fuck it. Come here you sexy bastard.' He pulled Sherlock down into another bruising kiss and wrapped his legs around his waist, digging his heels into his bum to keep him close.

Sherlock rocked gently into John. 'To hell with it,' he grit out. 'Wanna sit on me?' he murmured, thrusting a little harder.

'No. Not right now. Just make love to me,' John moaned softly, rocking back on Sherlock's prick.

Sherlock kissed John lightly and began to tenderly move in and out of John, making love as carefully as possible.

'You can go a little faster,' John moaned against Sherlock's lips. 'It's ok.'

'Please, just let me be gentle,' Sherlock whispered back. 'Gonna make love nice and slow to you.'

'OK, baby. Whatever you want.' John kissed him gently, rocking back against him.

The love making was slow and steady and the kisses were feather light, and Sherlock was so beautifully close to his release. Sherlock was taking his sweet time and being incredibly gentle. While John was glad their sex life had returned, his cock was not appreciating the slow and gentle pace at which they were currently making love. It slowly began to go limp, but he didn't want Sherlock to see. He would feel so horrible otherwise.

He could tell Sherlock was close, could sense it in how tense his body was becoming so close to an imminent release. So John decided to play along, fake an orgasm (not for the first time, and probably not the last) to make Sherlock feel better. He rocked a little faster, egging Sherlock on, and panting harshly.

'Come on, love. Cum for me,' he purred down Sherlock's ear, clutching him tight and making his body twitch as if he were already cumming. He squeezed his arse tight around Sherlock's cock and moaned obscenely, hoping to drag him over the edge. Sherlock didn't need much convincing. His lover sounded so delicious when close to the edge. He arched up into the air and gently began to pump cum inside of John, glancing down at John's orgasm face but frowning when for a fraction of a second he didn't see it.

John groaned and threw his head back, squeezing tighter around Sherlock. He looked back at him to watch him cum but found himself staring into Sherlock's bright, sad eyes. Shit.

'You faked your orgasm,' Sherlock whispered, sounding dejected. He pulled himself out of John. 'I didn't make you cum.'

'Sherlock, it's not your fault,' John said, sitting up as Sherlock pulled away. 'My cock's been picky lately, and sometimes it just loses interest. This isn't the first time this has happened. This wasn't your fault. You didn't do this to me.'

'Then why not tell me that instead of faking?' Sherlock asked bitterly.

'It was the only thing I could think of at the time!' John sighed. 'I thought it would be better to fake it than to say my cock had lost interest! I didn't want to hurt your feelings that badly. Or have you think I had lost interest in you completely!'

'Well you were wrong! Don't keep things like that from me!' he snapped, leaping to his feet and grabbing his discarded clothes.

'I'm going out!' he yelled over his shoulder as he made his way to the bathroom to get dressed.

'Sherlock!' John leapt from the bed and followed Sherlock to the bathroom just as the door was slammed shut in his face.

'Sherlock! I'm sorry! I didn't expect us to go that far. I just thought it was gonna be a bit of mutual masturbation! I didn't think you would need to know about my flagging interest. Please! I'm sorry! Don't go!'

Sherlock ignored John's pleas, quickly getting dressed. He flung the door open and glared at the blonde haired man intensely before shoving past him and storming out the flat.

'Sherlock!' John cried after him. 'Sherlock, please!' The door to the flat slammed loudly, reverberating throughout the flat. 'Come back,' he sobbed, collapsing to the floor.

Sherlock stormed out into the night and walked through the streets, his legs never faltering, his mind blank. He groaned as the cold set in and began to sink into his unprotected body. He'd have to go back for his coat.

John sobbed on the floor, not caring that he was naked and cold. He slowly made his way back to bed, curling up in the sheets. He hugged Sherlock's pillow to him as he cried himself to a restless sleep.

Sherlock made the journey back to the flat. He crept inside and grabbed his coat and a scarf too. Glancing over to his and John's bedroom he felt a stab of guilt but that quickly left him. He wasn't the one to fake a bloody orgasm!

He slipped back out of the flat and back into the dark night.

**…::-::…**

John woke early the next morning. Sherlock was still gone, or maybe he was sleeping on the couch again. John pulled on some fresh clothes and went into the kitchen, turning on the kettle. He needed crisis tea.

Sherlock wasn't in the sitting room. John ventured upstairs to check just on the off chance that he was in John's old room. He wasn't. John was beginning to worry now.

When he went back downstairs the water was ready. He poured himself a nice cup of tea and sat down in his chair, deciding if Sherlock wasn't back by the time he had finished his cuppa then he would call Greg and see if there was something he could do.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock had set up camp on the other side of London. He was hidden amongst the homeless community. No one asked questions here because everyone was in the same boat. Everyone was running away from something, everyone had reached rock bottom.

What was he running away from?

The guilt, the lies, the pain, life, John.

He sat in a hunched position, hands under his chin, pondering on what to do next.

**…::-::…**

John took his time finishing his tea. He wanted to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt, that he hadn't run away and that he would be returning very, very soon.

But he didn't. John waited another hour watching crap telly, hoping Sherlock would walk through the flat door and sit and sulk on the sofa like he always did.

But he didn't. So John finally pulled his mobile out and phoned Greg, telling him Sherlock had walked out in a fit last night and hadn't come home get. Greg, as per standards of missing persons cases, said there was nothing he could do until Sherlock had been gone for forty eight hours. If he didn't return by then he would do everything in his power to get him back safe. John thanked him and hung up, curling in on himself on his chair, sick with worry.

This wasn't Sherlock disappearing while he was on a case. This was so much worse. And different. This was Sherlock walking out because of him. Because he had faked an orgasm so Sherlock wouldn't get his feelings hurt. Fat lot of good that did. And now he was gone, doing god knows what god knows where. He just hoped he was safe and sober.

His gaze flickered to the wall where they hung their coats, hoping Sherlock's newest Bellstaff would provide him some comfort. But it wasn't there. Neither was Sherlock's scarf. John paled. Where had they gone? Sherlock had left without them. Had he come back to get them? Or had someone broken in and taken them? Oh no. Did Moriarty have Sherlock finally? After all this time?

**…::-::…**

Time ticked by and soon night was beginning to fall once more. Sherlock knew that John would be worried, but he couldn't bring himself to move from the spot he was sat in. He was sifting through his mind palace at a hundred miles per hour. It was just like his cases when he was trying to solve one big puzzle. Why had John faked an orgasm? Why did their sex life have to be so damn complicated all the time? It should be easy, right? They loved each other, they were made for each other, their bodies fit together perfectly. So why had things turned sour?

He shivered, pulling his coat closer to him. The cold nipped at his skin angrily and he could tell from the thick clouds overhead it was going to rain. He still didn't move from the spot he was sat in. His stomach rumbled for food but he paid it no heed. His eyes ached for sleep but he ignored them too. He simply weaved in and out of past memories, trying to bring some light to the situation.

**…::-::…**

John slept restlessly that night. He was worried about Sherlock, panicked that Moriarty had gotten him and would be coming for him next, swimming in guilt from his fake orgasm and how hurt Sherlock had been.

He wanted to apologise so badly. Wanted to take Sherlock in his arms and just hold him. But Sherlock wasn't there to embrace or apologise to. John only had his pillow, which smelled faintly of his shampoo. The comforting scent lulled him into a false sense of security and he fell fully asleep, no dreams entertaining his mind that night.

**…::-::…**

When morning came around, Sherlock hadn't come to a conclusion. He decided that perhaps it was about time to get some shut eye if he were to come to any conclusion at all. What was the saying? You should sleep on the situation? Something like that. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep to strange and taunting dreams that didn't make sense.

**…::-::…**

John woke up the next morning in a cold sweat. He had finally started dreaming, but it wasn't a very nice dream at all. Moriarty had Sherlock's coat and scarf and had been going around committing crimes dressed as the detective. And Sherlock had been hunted down like a mad dog. No. John would not allow that to happen!

He bolted out of bed and got dressed, flagging down a cab to take him to the Yard. He wanted to see Greg face-to-face if he was going to fill out a missing persons report. He would need some comfort from his friend. And maybe some coffee.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock woke up with a groan. His muscles were cramped from sitting in such an awkward position for so long and he was shivering. It had rained in the night and his coat was soaked, clinging to him like a second skin. It would be some sort of miracle if he didn't get sick and John wouldn't approve at all. He groaned again as he remembered John and the whole situation came flooding back to him. Sleeping on it hadn't helped at all. It had just made the events blurry from the sleep clouding them.

**…::-::…**

'I've got the forms right here,' Greg said as John entered his office. He looked up and frowned at John's haggard appearance. 'Wow. You look like shit.'

'Thanks for putting it mildly,' John grumbled. He took the forms and filled them out, hoping his doctor's scrawl would be legible. He passed the forms back and sighed, running his hands over his face with an exasperated sigh.

'This time is different, isn't it?' Greg asked as he typed the information into the computer database. 'It's not for a case this time, so why'd he leave?'

'Got into a bit of a personal row,' John groaned. 'I'd rather not elaborate right now if that's alright.'

'No. It's fine. Only talk if you're comfortable.'

'I'm sure Mycroft will get it out of me soon enough. How much does he know?'

'None of it so far. But as soon as I enter this into the database I'm sure he'll know. Probably keeps tabs on Sherlock's name popping up in the media or in police reports.'

'Don't let him punch me this time. He's got a mean swing.' He rubbed his jaw in reminiscence of his precious punches and grimaced.

'I'll do my best, but I'm not making any promises.' John smiled softly and closed his eyes, falling into a worry-filled sleep as he listened to Greg fill out the entry on his computer.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock wasn't sure how long he was stuck in his mind palace this time, but he knew it was a long time as it was nearing night again. He sighed heavily. Perhaps he should go back to the flat now. The nice, warm flat. He could cuddle up to John and apologise for running off and everything would be fine. Except it really wouldn't be fine. There was still a massive issue that was coming between them and he hadn't solved it yet. So instead he remained huddled in his corner, shivering in the cold.

**…::-::…**

Mycroft had visited John that afternoon, demanding answers as to why Sherlock had disappeared. John had told him everything, not wanting to get hit again. Mycroft smacked him across the face anyway.

'You're no better than your father!' John had wailed. Mycroft had looked down at the hand that had struck John, the smaller man broken and crying on the floor, and then at his reflection in the sitting room mirror. He had apologised profusely and then disappeared as well.

John didn't feel guilty at all for that one. If Mycroft was going to start beating John every time he did something wrong to Sherlock then he needed to see the truth of his actions. He sobbed into his pillow again that night, fully clothed. He didn't sleep, just cried until he couldn't and the hiccups had started.

'Sherlock!' he wailed into the dark, empty room. 'Sherlock! Please come home! I'm so sorry! I won't ever let it happen again! Please, love, please! Come home! Come home!'

**…::-::…**

The days ticked by and Sherlock grew more and more miserable. He was tired. He was hungry. He was frozen and had developed a terrible cough. And yet the puzzle to his and John's relationship was still unsolved.

It had been four days and nights so far and he was missing John terribly so, and he knew that meant John was missing him equally as much.

_I can't go home now. I have to solve this puzzle._

**…::-::…**

Mycroft had come back a couple days later, apologising profusely. Said he was taking anger management courses now. Said if he was ever violent toward John again to report him for assault. John nodded, not really taking it all in.

Sherlock had been gone for four days. At this point John would be surprised if he was still alive. Moriarty had yet to contact him in some way, so John firmly believed that he was not behind Sherlock's lengthy disappearance. It was solely his fault for faking his orgasm and sending Sherlock away. Now he could only wait for him to come back. If he ever did.

On the seventh night Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. He left his hiding spot and caught a taxi back to the flat, feeling utterly deflated. He might be able to fit into the homeless community with relative ease but since he and John had become a couple he had steadily become used to the comforts of domestic life. Tea and a nice hot shower were what he was craving right now.

He stumbled into the flat just past midnight and immediately made his way over to the kettle to start a cuppa. He glanced guiltily at his room, knowing full well that he'd worried John terribly so.

John stuttered awake. Something didn't feel right. He sat up and stretched, then closed his eyes and listened. Someone was in the kitchen. Someone was making tea. His mind flashed back to the last time someone had broken into his flat and made tea, and then he started to panic.

Moriarty.

John slowly got out of bed and unlocked his bedside drawer. He pulled out his gun and made sure it was loaded before moving to the bedroom door. He stood and listened for a moment. Moriarty was stirring his tea now, his spoon clinking against the mug every now and again. Only when he'd stopped stirring and had moved to the sitting room did John dare to move.

He exited out the door that lead into the hallway, creeping down it silently, making sure to avoid the squeaky floorboard. He hid behind the wall for a brief moment, checking to see if Moriarty was on the sofa. He wasn't. Which meant he was in Sherlock's chair. Again. John growled and leapt forward, gun at the ready, and pointed it at the intruder.

'Get out of my flat,' he spat, shutting the safety off and pointing the gun at Moriarty's chest. When he looked up he didn't see Moriarty, a burglar, or even a homeless person in search of a free meal and a warm cuppa. No. What he saw was a very dirty, tired, and malnourished Sherlock sitting in his chair nursing a warm mug of tea, staring up at John with eyes so dull John didn't believe he was real.

'Sherlock?' he asked softly, slowly lowering his gun but holding it still just in case.

Sherlock stared at John with a blank expression, paying no notice to the fact he'd almost shot him. He took a long sip of his tea and exhaled deeply before finally acknowledging the befuddled looking man.

'Hello,' he said out of habit more than politeness.

John clicked the safety back on and slowly made his way over to Sherlock. He sat his gun on his chair and knelt down in front of his love, studying him.

'A week of your disappearing without a trace, and all I get is a simple hello?'

'Hello, how have you been? Better?' Sherlock replied sarcastically, sighing tiredly.

'Not even in the slightest.' John stood and took Sherlock's face in his hands, gently turning it this way and that in what little light he had. He began prodding him, checking for injuries, sighing with relief when he found none.

'Other than a sore throat, you don't appear to be hurt,' he stated, kneeling down in front of Sherlock again. 'What were you doing for the past week? Just sitting in one spot, unmoving and thinking?'

'Bingo,' Sherlock said bluntly, stretching out his aching muscles and arching in his chair till his back clicked. 'Not something I would recommend. Terribly bad for spines.'

'What were you thinking about?' John asked softly.

'Us.' Sherlock gave another blunt answer and sipped at his tea, moaning almost in pleasure as it soothed his throat.

'About what I did?' John looked at the floor, studying Sherlock's shoes.

Sherlock shrugged. 'It doesn't matter, John. I was only gone a week for goodness sake. I am a grown man. Why are you so curious about my thoughts?'

'Because you're you. You have to analyse everything. I was just curious.' He stood slowly, his knees creaking from kneeling on the hardwood floor. 'I'm sorry about what I did, I really am. I... I hope you can forgive me.' He grabbed his gun from his chair and returned to their room. He locked it away and crawled back into bed, curling in on himself and willing himself not to cry.

Sherlock sighed heavily and all but slammed his cup of tea down on the coffee table, feeling frustrated at himself. He stood to his feet and crept into their bedroom. A shower could wait. Time to snuggle his John now. He slid underneath the covers and wrapped his aching body around his lover's.

'I forgive you.'

'I still don't know why I did it,' John mumbled, shifting as Sherlock's body pressed up against him. 'If you're going to cuddle me would you at least get undressed? Your clothes smell like the Underground.'

'I'm so tired,' Sherlock complained, shifting closer to John. 'Let me sleep.'

'Hmph. Then I'll undress you.' John turned over, splaying Sherlock on his back, and began unbuttoning his coat and shirt. Sherlock groaned sleepily and ran a finger under John's left eye, tracing a dark purple bag.

'Tired too?'

'Haven't slept in three days,' John stated bluntly as he began to work on Sherlock's trousers and shoes.

'Because of me?' Sherlock sighed sadly.

'Yes. Because I thought Moriarty had you. Or you were already dead.' He chucked Sherlock's clothes to the floor and turned back over, giving Sherlock the option to cuddle him again if he wanted.

'I'm sorry.' Sherlock cautiously wrapped John in a hug. 'Just needed an escape for a little while.'

'You couldn't have called me to tell me you were alive at least?' John mumbled, clasping Sherlock's hand tightly. 'I filled out a missing persons report. And Mycroft came to visit – well, I say visit. He actually came by to yell at me and smack me about.'

'You would have forced me to come home,' Sherlock grumbled. 'And I swear, the next time I see my brother I shall smack him one.'

'Of course I would have made you come home. And you don't have to worry about your brother. I... said something that opened his eyes and now he's taking anger management courses.'

'What did you say to him?' Sherlock asked curiously.

'That he was no better than your father,' John swallowed thickly.

Sherlock's whole body stiffened and he rolled away from John. 'You told him he was like our father?' he asked coldly, hardly believing his ears.

'He is, Sherlock!' John protested, curling in on himself again, refusing to look at Sherlock. 'He would always punch and ask questions later! He was always looking for a reason to hit me after last December. I'm afraid of him now. I become a frightened little child in his presence, just waiting for him to find a reason to hit me. So, yes, I called him out on it in the worst way possible. But he's now taking courses to help him control his urges and his anger toward me.' John stiffened, almost waiting for a strike from Sherlock.

'Bullshit! You're a grown man, John!' Sherlock raised his voice angrily. 'He had to cope with both his own abuse from Father and watching his kid brother getting almost beaten to death by him!'

Sherlock was seething, a surge of protectiveness for his brother rising in his chest.

'And then he had to witness my self destruction after... after you raped me! You beat me up good and proper! Have you any idea of what that must have done to him? How scared he was? How he was terrified that I was going through the same hell as I did when I was a child?! You're the one who needs help! Not Mycroft!'

'Then send me away!' John cried. 'You obviously don't want me here! All I do is cause you pain! Just send me away!'

'Shut the hell up! You have no idea what I want! Just–' Sherlock growled and grabbed John, dragging him from the bed. 'Just bloody apologise to my brother, ok?' he asked, his voice a little softer. 'Now.'

John screamed and fought his way from Sherlock's grasp. 'No! No! Don't! Please!' he sobbed. 'Don't hurt me!'

Sherlock let go and took a step back. 'So you think I'm like my father too?' he questioned. 'I just want you to apologise to my brother. I wasn't going to hurt you.'

'I'm not scared of you,' John sniffled. 'I'm scared of your brother. Scared of him hurting me. Don't want him to hurt me.'

'Then give him no reason to,' Sherlock linked his hand with John's. 'My brother is not a bad man. He just wants to protect me.'

'By beating me?' John sniffled. 'How is that protecting you?'

'I suppose in those moments he sees all the times he didn't stand up to our father when he hurt me.'

'I don't want to talk to him right now,' John said softly, wiping his eyes clear of his tears. 'I just want to sleep. With you. Without arguing. Is that even possible anymore? Can we even have a conversation without one of us shouting or leaving?'

'Please,' Sherlock begged. 'Then we can sleep and just cuddle all day tomorrow. And I promise I won't leave. We can shower together too. Sound good?'

'Ok,' John sniffled softly. 'Bring me a phone or something. I'm not going out at this hour.'

Sherlock nodded and fetched his mobile. 'Here.' He handed it to John.

'What am I supposed to say?' he asked softly, staring down at the phone. 'What if he doesn't want to hear me apologise?'

'You tell him – tell him that I'm ok.'

'And then what?'

'That we'll see him tomorrow for dinner.'

John groaned. 'I thought we were gonna cuddle all day tomorrow? I'm not sure I want to have your brother over for dinner.'

'Shh,' Sherlock hushed John. 'We shall hug all day but I was rather hoping to have a proper dinner. And I know you need some food in you too. I bet I could guilt trip my brother into buying us a free meal.'

'Good. Because I don't want cook for anyone right now.'

'I don't blame you,' Sherlock sighed.

John looked down at the phone and scrolled down until he found Mycroft's name and number. He swallowed thickly and hit TALK and held the phone to his ear. He slid closer to Sherlock until he was enveloped in his arms. He was trembling slightly, from nerves and from being on the cold floor. He desperately wanted to hang up and go to bed. Or that Mycroft didn't answer and ignored his call.

'John?' Shit.

'Hey, Mycroft. Sorry about calling so late, but... Sherlock's back. And he's safe.'

'My brother has returned?! How long ago did–'

'Only a few minutes ago. Look, he wants me to apologise to you for what I said. Will you listen to me?'

'What? No! I want to talk to him!'

'He wants to talk to you,' John said softly, passing the phone over to Sherlock.

Sherlock groaned, knowing that he was in for an ear full.

'Mycroft, will you please just listen to John? He's sorry for what he said.'

'I don't care about that right now! I want to know where the hell you went! I'm coming over.'

'No, you're really not coming over. I'm tired and dirty and hungry. We'll catch up tomorrow at dinner time. Dinner's on you since I think you owe John an apology too.'

'What?! How do I owe him an apology?  _He's_  the one who said I was like Father! Did he tell you that?'

'Yes. That's what I told him to apologise for. You're nothing like father, Mycroft. But you did hurt him and I'm not very happy about that.'

Mycroft sighed loudly into his phone. 'Fine. I'll bring dinner. I'll be there at six. I want you two to be dressed properly.'

'So, no bee pants then?'

'Definitely no bee pants!'

'TARDIS pants? Red pants? Dalek pants? Pirate pants?'

'Just normal pants! My god! Don't dress like a child! Dress like an adult!'

'Then stop treating me like one,' Sherlock huffed.

Mycroft huffed and mumbled a 'see you tomorrow' before he hung up.

Sherlock chuckled and grinned at John. 'I think I pissed him off.'

'Good,' John half smiled. 'Help me up to bed?'

Sherlock placed an arm around John's waist. 'Have I ever shown you my pirate pants?' he asked as he levered his lover onto the bed.

'You have pirate pants?' John quirked an eyebrow, a smile threatening to brighten his sullen features.

'Yup. Ooh that reminds me!'

Sherlock began tapping a text out to his brother.

_Bring my sword over tomorrow! I want to go all pirate on John's ass. –SH_

_**Pirate how? You're not going to swashbuckle him or whatever it is pirates do, are you? –MH  
**_ __  
I don't think you want to know the details. –SH

_Unless you want to hear about John being quite the screamer. –SH_

_**Excuse me while I burn my eyeballs to rid that image from my brain. –MH  
**_ _  
_ _ **Go to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow. –MH  
**_ __  
Arr meharty. Be prepared to walk the plank. –SH

_**Shut up and go to sleep. –MH** _

_Very well. Goodnight brother. Don't let Gregory bite. –SH_

_**He doesn't bite me. I bite him. –MH** _

'Sherlock? What are you giggling about?' John asked, pulling his phone down to look at his lover.

'Uh, nothing.' Sherlock snorted and bit back more laughter. 'Now let me send one more text.'

'Hurry up. I want to snuggle you. And maybe kiss you until we fall asleep.'

'Sounds like a plan.' Sherlock grinned and typed out the text.

_Shame. You wouldn't believe how good it feels to be bitten. –SH_

_**We tried it once. I didn't like it. Now go be with your Jonathan. –MH** _

Sherlock giggled. 'Oh god.' He wiped his eyes and placed his phone to one side.

'What is so funny?' John giggled softly.

'My brother doesn't like to be bitten it would seem.'

'Not sure I needed to know that,' John smirked. 'Now get your arse over here and snuggle with me.'

Sherlock practically jumped onto John. 'Told him I like to be bitten. Bite me.'

John hummed and sunk his teeth into Sherlock's neck.

'Shit,' Sherlock moaned. 'Harder!'

John growled and bit down until he tasted blood.

'Harder!' Sherlock roared. 'More!'

'I don't want to rip a chunk of flesh out of you like you did me that one time,' John said softly. He licked the wound with his tongue.

'John, this is the most active our physical relationship has been in a while. If I tell you to bite harder then you bite harder.'

John groaned but sunk his teeth into the mark on Sherlock's neck again anyway.

'Yes! That's it! Harder! Bite me harder! Deeper!'

John bit down until he felt the blood trickling into his mouth at a steady rate.

Sherlock giggled giddily. 'That's the spot!' he panted. 'Why'd you stop?'

'Just let me sooth it for a moment,' John said softly. He licked the bite wound, lapping up the blood, before sinking his teeth in again harder and deeper.

Sherlock moaned obscenely. 'That's it–' He gasped, feeling more blood pulsing from the wound. 'Bite me nice and hard.'

'Fuck me,' John gasped out as he came up for air. He lunged back down on Sherlock's neck and bit harder, a large spurt of blood flowing down his throat.

Sherlock's cock stirred as John gnawed at his neck. 'Maybe I will if you bite me all over,' he grit out. John moved to bite down on Sherlock's shoulder, quickly drawing blood from the force of his bite.

'All over, John. Mark me. Show me how much you love me.'

John bit down all along Sherlock's arm before moving to his other one. He sat back to admire his handiwork before realising his lover's chest was just too bare. He lunged forward and gnawed on his collarbone. John was leaving him with marks everywhere. Blood trickled down his body from them but Sherlock found that sensation turning him on something chronic.

'Quite a kink you have, Mr Holmes,' John purred against one of Sherlock's nipples. He bit around it hard and swirled the tip of his tongue around the pert bud. 'We'll have to find out what it is.'

'Shut up and bite!'

'Hurry up and fuck me!' John countered.

'I want more bites first!'

John bit down on Sherlock's pectoral harshly, blood flowing down into his mouth. He'd probably be sick later from all the blood he'd eaten, but for now he was fine.

'Gah!' Sherlock yelled loudly. His vision was beginning to blur from the blood loss but he didn't care. John sucked more blood down his throat like a ravenous vampire. Sherlock was becoming quite heavy, his body falling as his limbs became weak. Blood loss. Shit.

John released Sherlock and set him on his back, looking at all the tears in his skin he'd left. He groaned and dashed off to get his medical kit and some dressings to stop the bleeding.

'Your brother is going to kill me,' John groaned when he returned.

Sherlock giggled. 'Wha? Wha you done wrong?' His voice was slurred and it only made him giggle harder. 'Wha you stop biting me?'

'You're losing too much blood, Sherlock. Stop wriggling! I'm trying to save your life!'

Sherlock groaned. 'Bite me!' He impatiently waited for John to mark his skin once more.

'No!' John stated, dressing the worst of Sherlock's bites. The others were wrapped in gauze, the blood flow not severe enough to warrant thick bandages.

'You have lost too much blood as it is. Now go to sleep so your red blood cells can multiply and you can regain some of your blood supply. I'll be making you a nice, big breakfast in the morning.'

'Gotta fuck you,' Sherlock whined. 'That was the deal. Cus look at how turned on I am from the blood.'

'Look at how  _limp_  you are from the blood loss,' John growled. 'You can't lift your head or limbs and your prick has gone soft. Just sleep and we'll see how you feel in the morning. If you're better, I'll let you fuck me then. Ok?'

'Mmm alright,' Sherlock huffed. 'I feel brilliant though. Dun see what you – m-m-mean. Blood loss isn't that bad.'

'You're stuttering and shivering. Here.' John set his medical kit down and grabbed another blanket to drape across their bed. 'We'll have you warmed up and a little more coherent by breakfast. Now please sleep.'

'I'm sorry, you know,' Sherlock muttered as he closed his eyes. 'For leaving you like I did.'

'I'm sorry for faking my orgasm. I won't do it again.' John crawled beneath the covers and snuggled up to Sherlock. 'Now go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning. I love you.'

'G'night,' Sherlock slurred weakly.

John didn't sleep much that night. He wanted to make sure Sherlock wasn't going to slip into another coma in his sleep. Or that he wasn't going to wake up at all. He would check his vitals every couple of hours or so, listening to his heart, checking his pulse, listening to his breathing to be sure it never got too shallow. But the man slept peacefully and deeply throughout the night, his vitals only improving as he slept. John would have to check his blood pressure when he woke, but he looked OK otherwise.

He crawled from the bed at ten to eight and pulled on his TARDIS pyjama trousers. He padded out to the kitchen and began preparing a simple breakfast of bacon and eggs with some fruit on the side. He was surprised they even had fruit other than bananas in the flat. Especially since the fruit he found was a mix of strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries. The fruit salad must have been from Mrs Hudson. John made a mental note to thank her later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have basic medical knowledge, and I realise John probably should have taken Sherlock to the A&E or wherever to deal with the blood loss, but let's say for the sake of the story that when John is worried about Sherlock his medical knowledge kinda flies out the window. Until of course Sherlock faints or something like that. But things are finally starting to look up for the boys, and it's about damn time, right? Next chapter is a little shorter, so I'll probably post an update on Wednesday and Friday next week. See you then.
> 
> TSA + IB


	45. Back to Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Happy Red Pants Monday! I am apologising in advance for this chapter. There is a lot of vomiting in this one, so if you don't like reading about people puking their guts out, I suggest you skip this one. You can comment or message me for a synopsis if you don't want to read this chapter. But otherwise you won't miss much. Sherlock just ends up in hospital to get a couple of blood transfusions, things go awry, and John and Mycroft talk about Sherlock as a child. Which is super cute btw. It warms the heart.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, random nurse  
> Shared: Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: lots of vomiting, vomiting blood, kid Sherlock feels, Moriarty is back to his evil tricks, binging and purging

Sherlock awoke to the glorious smell of bacon and eggs. He licked his lips and hummed appreciatively. Good old John. He wondered if he could get away with breakfast in bed. John had, after all, taken massive chunks out of his skin and if he remembered correctly he'd passed out from blood loss in the end. He licked his lips again and groaned. There was something about John's teeth digging into his flesh so hard that blood trickled from his wounds that was incredibly entrancing.

With that thought in mind he snuggled back under the covers and pretended to be asleep, a small smirk pulling at his lips.

John flipped the last piece of bacon over to cook and moved to grab a plate and tray. He put the eggs on the plate and the fruit bowl off to the side. Once the bacon was done he put that on Sherlock's plate as well. He poured a glass of milk and set that on the tray gingerly, not wanting to spill it.

He slowly made his way back to the bedroom and set the tray on the floor, wanting to surprise Sherlock. He crawled over the lanky man who was pretending to be asleep. John had lived and shared a bed with him long enough to tell when he was faking. He nuzzled his hair and kissed down the back of his neck until he heard his love pretend to stir.

'Morning,' he said softly against the bandage on Sherlock's neck. 'How are you feeling this morning?'

'Like my blood supply was drained by a vampire,' Sherlock purred. 'But other than that I am utterly content with the man I love.'

'Yeah. Sorry about that. But you didn't want me to stop, so this is partially your fault.' John kissed the bandage on Sherlock's neck and sighed. 'I'd like to find out what this is. Because if this is a kink of yours I think we should only indulge it once a month or so. It's potentially dangerous, and I don't want to accidentally kill you in the throes of passion.'

'It's quite a way to die,' Sherlock moaned. 'Good lord, even thinking about your teeth and all that blood is – mmm.'

'Shush. I'm not biting you again. Not for a while anyway. Now, do you think you can sit up? I made breakfast.'

Sherlock pouted. 'But it's so good!' His stomach grumbled loudly at the smell and sound of food. 'Might need some help up.'

'You lost a lot of blood, Sherlock. If I am going to bite you I'm not going to break the skin.' He helped Sherlock sit up and propped him up against some pillows, smoothing out his bandages softly.

'Blood is boring anyway.'

'Same as breathing then?' John smirked.

'Blood more so. It looks far better on the outside of my body.'

'Let's keep your blood inside your body and leave the bleeding out to corpses, shall we?' John asked, raising an eyebrow.

'I just find it kind of... erotic,' Sherlock shrugged. 'But alright.'

'Erotic? Really?'

'I didn't want you to stop, John. So yes, it was very erotic.'

'I could have killed you!' John protested. 'Look, if we ever do this again, we'll need to set some rules and boundaries. I don't want to bleed you to death simply because you find it erotic. I don't want to be the one to kill you. Do you know what that would do to me?' John shook his head and took deep, calming breaths.

'I don't want to think about that right now. Here.' He slid from the bed and picked up the tray of food, setting it across Sherlock's lap. 'Eat. Please. Get some strength back and then we can shower together. Ok?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'You found it erotic too. You were drinking the red stuff to your heart's content. I imagine you're not particularly hungry today.' He dug his knife and fork into the food and grinned. 'Luckily, I am.'

'I'm actually surprised I haven't thrown up all the blood I drank last night,' John mused. 'Hmm. So, you have a biting kink and I have what? A mild blood kink or something?' He watched Sherlock eat and smiled softly. He'd never seen him so eager to eat before.

'I am a man of many kinks,' Sherlock said through a mouthful of bacon.

'Oh?' John raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'And what other kinks do we have yet to indulge?'

'Just wait till my brother brings my sword around later.'

'You have a sword? Since when?'

'It was my "if you let the nurses sedate you then you can have a sword" present from Mycroft. Daft sod said he'd get me a boat too.'

'And did you get a boat?' John smirked. 'Or did he cheat and get you a toy replica of a ship?'

'He's getting me one,' Sherlock chuckled. 'I want a big boat.'

'Planning on pillaging some peasants?' John smirked. He stole a piece of bacon and nibbled it, not really hungry after last night but he figured he should have some real food in his stomach to counteract the blood. God, that sounded so disgusting. He shuddered slightly and swallowed his bite of bacon, his stomach growling as the food entered his system. Uh oh. Maybe real food had been a bad idea.

Sherlock's eyes widened and he eyed John carefully. 'That didn't sound good.' John looked a little green around the gills. 'Actually, you're not looking well at all.'

'I think... I–' His stomach lurched and he sprinted to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he began vomiting violently. All the blood he'd ingested plus what little bacon he'd had all came up and spilled into the toilet bowl, bright red with specks of what looked like flesh mixed in. Just the thought that he'd ingested human flesh as well as blood made John vomit harder, his entire body lurching and twisting as he expelled his stomach's contents.

Sherlock sighed heavily as he heard John throwing up heavily. He pushed his plate of food aside. He'd eaten a majority of it but he couldn't eat anymore. His stomach was churning just by listening to those awful sounds. He pushed himself out of bed. He was still feeling a little weak and anemic but he ignored those feelings and padded over to the bathroom. He promptly kneeled down beside John and gently rubbed his back.

'It's alright, John. It's going to be alright.' He winced at the bright red colour of John's vomit. 'Blimey, you drank a lot.'

'Well you told me to keep biting you!' John coughed, spitting more blood into the toilet. 'The more I bit the more blood I drank. Ugh. It looks disgusting.' He flushed the toilet and sat back to gather his breath. He was now covered in a cold sweat and he was shaking slightly. He leaned into Sherlock's touch and sighed.

'You enjoyed it last night at least.' Sherlock attempted a smile. 'I think we should sit in a warm bath to gather our wits. We're both feeling vile.'

'I do not want to do that again for a while,' John groaned. 'And yes, a bath sounds magnificent right about now.'

'You say that now but you never fail to obey me,' Sherlock smirked, walking over to the bath. He placed the plug in and started running the hot and cold water.

'I mean it this time,' John scowled. 'I don't want to be biting and draining you every night. Not only would that be detrimental to your health but I'm pretty sure my stomach wouldn't agree to my drinking blood on a daily basis. I'm not a vampire, I can't digest blood. If we ever do this again I suggest we only do it as a sort of special kinky night surprise thing. And I have to be in the right mood to listen. I'm not going to bite you just because you want me to. Not after this. I'm a doctor, Sherlock. And I nearly killed you last night. I'm not going to risk that happening again so soon. If we're going to be doing this again I want a game plan set along with safety measures. No more spontaneity when it comes to your kinks. I want to be prepared in case something doesn't play out right.'

'You didn't almost kill me! Stop overreacting!' Sherlock protested. 'And what is life without a few risks?! Nothing, that's what. I loved it! It made me feel better than I had in ages! And – and – errrh!' He stomped his foot angrily on the floor tiles.

'And what?' John asked, chucking off his pyjama trousers and moving over to the edge of the bath to test the temperature of the water.

'And–' Sherlock frowned. 'I suddenly don't feel very well.'

'How do you mean?' John looked up at Sherlock and swallowed. He had gone deathly pale. 'Sherlock? Love? What's going on?'

'I mean – I feel like–' Sherlock barely had time to gather what was happening before his whole body slumped forwards and he fell to the ground with a loud crack.

'Shit! Bugger! Fuck!' John cried. He turned off the water and drained the tub before running out to grab his mobile and dial for an ambulance. Jesus, another hospital trip. How many was this now? Eight? He'd lost count a while back. But Mycroft was sure to kill him now, seeing as John had basically drained Sherlock of blood.

He got dressed quickly and managed to pull his discarded TARDIS trousers onto Sherlock at the very least. He held the unconscious Sherlock in his lap, checking him for injuries. He had a rather large bump on his head from the fall, but otherwise he looked alright apart from the bite marks.

The paramedics arrived a few minutes later and carted Sherlock away, John hitching a ride in the back to watch over Sherlock. And, as much as it pained him to do it, he informed Mycroft that Sherlock was on his way to Bart's as a patient yet again. There was no reply, but John knew the cold fury would arrive sooner or later. Probably once Mycroft laid eyes on John in Sherlock's room. John swallowed and clutched Sherlock's hand, anchoring himself to reality.

**…::-::…**

Ok. Maybe John had been right. The whole blood loss thing was serious. He had almost killed him. Or maybe he was dying. Or dead. His veins felt empty, his body was feather light, and everything was pitch black. Well isn't this a wonderful 'fuck you' kind of morning? Gone were the plans of cuddles and dinner and pirates. Who knew what life had in store for him now? If this was life, that is. He felt dead. There was nothing. No sounds. No dreams. Just a kind of numbness.

**…::-::…**

'How long has he been unconscious?' Mycroft asked softly as he entered the room. John flinched out of habit but swallowed down his fear.

'Not long. Close to an hour though. They hooked him up to the blood shortly after he arrived. He's almost done with the first one. A second will be brought in soon.'

'What happened to make him lose so much blood?'

'I don't think you want to know that.'

'John, please. I promise not to get mad if it was you.'

'Ok. Fine. But I'm holding you to that promise.' He took a deep breath before continuing. 'Let me start off by saying it was all consensual. He asked me to do it, so I did it.'

'Did what?'

'Bite him.'

'Until he bled?'

'And then some.'

'Good lord.'

'I know. I just wish I had stopped sooner. Maybe then he wouldn't be here.'

Sherlock's eyes flickered open.

He had eyes. Oh good.

'Wha?' he moaned. His eyes moved over to his brother and John and he grinned dopily. 'Hullo.'

'Hi, love,' John smiled softly. He smoothed out Sherlock's hair and sighed. 'Gave me quite a scare. How are you feeling now?'

'Don feel good,' Sherlock groaned.

'You'll be ok soon,' John hushed, grabbing Sherlock's hand and squeezing slightly. 'You'll be getting another pint of blood and then you can go back to sleep. Then we can go home and eat dinner with Mycroft after you're released. Sound good?'

Sherlock giggled. 'Better be allowed to wear my pirate pants. An' I should hope my sword makes an appearance too.'

Mycroft sighed. 'Fine. You can wear your pirate pants. And I'll have the sword sent over to the flat.'

Sherlock grinned. 'An' we have t' discuss my pirate boat. Wan 'er to be authentic.'

'I'll send an expert over for that one. He'll design the ship to your specifications, alright?'

Sherlock's face lit up in genuine joy. 'Ya meant it? Yer really gonna let me have a boat?'

'Why the hell not?' Mycroft threw his arms up in exasperation. 'Might as well indulge you while your life is at risk.'

A nurse entered then with the next pint of blood.

'Hello Mr Holmes,' she smiled sweetly. 'I'm just here to hook you up to this. Once it's entered your system completely you'll be free to go.'

Sherlock was still grinning from ear to ear at his brother. 'Soft sod,' he chuckled before turning to face the nurse. 'You're lucky. You've found me in a good mood. Go ahead.'

'Oh? And what has got you in such a good mood, Mr Holmes?' the nurse asked. She unhooked Sherlock from the first pint of blood and attached him to the second, hanging it up and flicking at the needle to be sure it was transferring correctly.

'I'm gonna become a pirate,' Sherlock laughed joyfully. 'I get to make people walk the plank into shark infested waters.'

'Sounds exciting,' she grinned. To John and Mycroft she said, 'If any problems arise don't hesitate to call. Have a good day.'

'Thanks,' John said as she left. He kissed Sherlock's forehead and smoothed his hair back away from his face. 'I can't wait to see you as a pirate.'

'Mmm. I make a great pirate. Ask Croft. He had to deal with little me bouncing about, ransacking things, and searching for buried treasure.' Sherlock frowned. He was beginning to feel strange. Maybe he just needed sleep.

'Gonna go sleep,' he mumbled.

'Ok. You sleep. Mycroft and I will take a trip down memory lane.'

Sherlock closed his eyes. He really didn't feel right but best not mention that to his overprotective lover and brother.

'So.' John turned to Mycroft and grinned. 'Pirate Sherlock, eh?'

Mycroft's lips twitched upwards in amusement. 'There are quite a few heartwarming stories attached to my brother's pirate obsession. I have to say they're probably the only few memories of our childhood that aren't sad.'

'Would you be willing to share some?'

Mycroft, for once, found himself looking at John with warmth in his eyes and he nodded. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a wad of photos from his inside pocket.

'Tell him I have these on me at all times and I shall make your life miserable.'

'Cross my heart,' John said, making an X motion across his chest.

'Then here.' Mycroft handed John the wad of photos. 'I shall explain each one as you look at them.'

'Wow. How many photos of him do you have?' John examined the first one, a shot of Sherlock as a toddler grinning toothily at the camera with an eye patch on.

Mycroft shrugged. 'It's sometimes nice to remember that not all the days of our childhood were bad. We had our good days too.' He smiled softly at the picture. 'I bought him his first eye patch.'

John grinned back at the toddler Sherlock. 'He was an adorable child.' He flipped to the next photo. Sherlock was a little older, probably seven or eight, and was brandishing a wooden sword, wearing his eye patch, and had also acquired a hat.

'That he was,' Mycroft sighed gently. 'I carved him that sword myself for his eighth birthday. Mother bought him the hat.'

'How did the pirate obsession start?' John asked softly, flipping to the next picture. He laughed softly and smiled. It was a teenaged Mycroft reading Treasure Island to a young Sherlock. Sherlock was clutching to him tightly, enthralled by the story, but still looked a little scared. Scared of what though?

'If I had to pinpoint the start of his obsession it would have to be there. There'd been a particularly bad storm that night. He was terrified. He came running into my room in the middle of the night like a ghost. I read him Treasure Island and he fell asleep on my lap,' Mycroft chuckled. 'So, in a way, I started his obsession.'

'Well, at least you gave him something to hold on to when times were bad,' John sighed. He looked over at Sherlock and frowned. His injection site on his arm looked quite red, and some bumps were beginning to form around it.

'Does that look right to you?' he asked Mycroft. He stood to look at the blood. Maybe it was out of date? He frowned again when he couldn't find anything wrong with it. Not at first glance anyway.

Mycroft moved in closer to inspect the red bumps. 'No. What does–' He was cut off by Sherlock's body suddenly lurching violently upwards. 'Good lord,' he gasped, quickly pressing the help button, his heart thundering in fear as his brother's body twitched and trembled.

'What the hell is going on?' John demanded. He looked at the blood again. It had to be the blood. He paled suddenly as something caught his eye.

'Mycroft? Remind me, what's Sherlock's blood type?'

'A-positive,' Mycroft replied quickly. 'Are you implying that some idiot has been pumping the wrong kind into him?'

'Yes. Because this type is B-negative. He was given the wrong type blood! What kind of idiot does that?!'

Mycroft felt his own blood run cold. It was at this point the same nurse from earlier came rushing in.

'You.' He pointed an accusing finger at her. 'You did this to my brother. Are you an idiot? Are you even trained? Fix this, now! Or I swear to god that it won't just be your job on the line, it shall be your life too!'

'Sir? What's going on?'

'He's having an allergic reaction to the blood!' John yelled. 'It's not the right type!'

'But his file says B-negative. It can't be wrong.'

'It's clearly not! I am his brother and I can tell you it is A-positive. He's been in hospital more times than I would like to admit. Fix this!'

'Of course, sir.' She turned to John. 'I know you're a doctor, so you go ahead and remove the wrong blood. I'll get a batch of A-positive.' She dashed away to get the correct blood and John hurriedly unhooked Sherlock from the IV.

'Who the hell changed his records? Who has the power and the means to–' John froze and nearly dropped the bag of blood. 'Moriarty.'

Mycroft closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his nose. 'Perhaps.'

'This is your division Mycroft, not mine. So, I suggest you check the records to see when Sherlock's blood type was changed and by whom.'

The nurse returned with the correct blood and hooked Sherlock up to a new IV so what was left of the B negative wouldn't enter his system.

'His antibodies should kick in and fight off the wrong blood cells now that more of his own type are returning,' she said. 'I am dreadfully sorry for the mix up. I'll go change the information in his file right away.'

Mycroft swallowed thickly. The entire world was suddenly pressed to his shoulders. His chest constricted and his breath all but left his lungs.

'Uh, yes, do excuse me.' He scuttled from the room. He rushed to the nearest bathroom. Just in time too as his stomach emptied its contents. The fact was that he knew this was Moriarty. Who else had all the information about Sherlock to do something so utterly vile as switch the data of his blood type?

It was then that Mycroft remembered just why he had the information.

Mycroft only threw up harder. It was his fault his baby brother was in agony. Not Moriarty's. Moriarty was acting out of boredom. Mycroft had given him the information that could destroy Sherlock because he needed a damn key code. A whimper left his lips as his stomach had no more to expel but he continued to dry wretch.

 _This is your doing Mycroft!_  his mind screamed.

 _Fill me up till I'm full to the brim!_  his stomach yelled back.

'Thank you,' John said to the nurse. 'And he'll be fine. Just worried about his little brother.' The nurse nodded and scuttled away to change Sherlock's file. John sighed and sat down at Sherlock's side and grasped his hand, drawing circles on it with his thumb.

'You'll be ok now, love,' he whispered softly.  _I hope_.

Mycroft had stuffed himself with an entire packet of chocolate biscuits. He'd relapsed. Good lord, Gregory would be angry if he found out. No. He would be disappointed. And somehow that was so much worse. Mycroft clutched his extended belly and raised two fingers to his lips, knowing what he had to do. He rammed them down his throat and instantly began throwing up once more. Once he was done he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and stood on shaking legs, walking back to Sherlock's room like a pale ghost.

'He's getting better already,' John said softly, smoothing Sherlock's hair off his clammy forehead. He looked up at Mycroft and blinked. 'You alright? You look really pale.'

'I'll be ok,' he said, sounding weak and small. He stumbled into the room and plopped down in a chair beside John, holding his suddenly too heavy head in his hands.

'How much did you eat?' John asked, wiping Sherlock's forehead with a damp cloth a nurse had provided. He glanced back at Mycroft and scowled. 'Don't look at me like that. I can see the crumbs on your jacket. And your skin is torn on your knuckles of your right hand. So you binged and purged. Shall I keep you under observation as well?'

'Don't be absurd.' Mycroft gave John a scathing look. 'I am perfectly fine.'

'Don't lie to me, Mycroft. I may not be as observant as you or your brother, but I  _have_  picked up a few things over the years I've lived with Sherlock. I'm not an idiot. I can see the signs of a binge and purge relapse. I  _am_  a doctor after all.'

Mycroft sighed in defeat. 'It doesn't mean I need to be put under observation because of it.'

'Don't let it get out of control and I won't tell Greg.'

Mycroft glanced away from John. 'It's already out of control,' he admitted. 'Has been since Sherlock tried to... kill himself.'

'So you relapsed back in September?' John raised an eyebrow in concern.

'Yes.'

'Oh Mycroft,' John sighed, shaking his head. 'Why didn't you get help? Greg would have helped you. You know he would have. Even I would have helped you.'

'Not if you realised what I've done in order to make me relapse. Neither you nor Gregory would speak to me again.'

'What you did to make you relapse? So something else other than Sherlock's suicide attempt pushed you to start binging again?'

'I made a couple of terrible decisions. I'm a shit brother. A shit person actually.'

John swallowed thickly. 'Mycroft... What did you do?'

Mycroft shook his head. 'I don't want to answer that,' he whispered hoarsely.

'Mycroft, you tell me what you did. If Sherlock's life is at stake because of what you did I need you to tell me.'

'No!' Mycroft exclaimed. He pushed himself to his feet but instantly fell back down with a thud and a groan. 'No.'

'You realise that you'll have to tell me one day, right? I'll badger you about it every time I see you until you finally break and tell me.'

'I'll have probably broken long before then.'

'We're all just a bunch of depressed idiots, aren't we?' John said softly, squeezing Sherlock's hand tightly.

Mycroft sniffed. 'Yes. It would appear so.'

'I know you'd probably just purge it later, but you should eat something. And you're still invited to dinner later if you want. Otherwise Sherlock and I will probably just order some takeaway.'

Mycroft shook his head. 'I owe you an apology. Dinner's on me. Besides, Gregory was quite insistent on seeing Sherlock. Lord knows why. I don't feel hungry now however. I shall just wait.'

'So it'll be me, Sherlock, and Greg for dinner? Interesting.' John yawned and rubbed at his eyes. 'Sorry. I haven't slept in a few days. Do you mind if I kip for a while?'

'I'll eat later for Gregory's sake. Go ahead. Might catch a few myself.'

John crawled onto Sherlock's bed and toed off his shoes. He snuggled close to his lover and held his hand over his chest, listening to his heartbeat while allowing Sherlock to feel his. He closed his eyes and was asleep almost instantly, exhaustion taking him.

Mycroft stretched out in his seat like a limp rag doll. His head rolled to one side and fell asleep in an awkward position, pale and shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this chapter was so short (only 11 typed pages) I'll most likely be uploading the next chapter on Wednesday, provided I get it edited in time. Though I


	46. A Little Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy Wednesday! And what a grand Wednesday it is! I just got word that Sherlock Series 3 will air in America on PBS January 19! So to all you Brits out there, you'll get it before 2014! Lucky little bastards. My friends and roommates are already planning a Sherlock night/weekend to "catch up" as a few of them are just getting into the series. Not sure when it's gonna happen yet, but it's gonna happen.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Holmes brother feels, blow jobs in hospital (again), sexy times in the bath, John is a romantic, Sherlock is scared as shit, slightly dubious consent

Someone was shaking his shoulder roughly, whispering his name. He groaned and buried his face in whatever was beneath him. The sheets, Sherlock's chest, whatever. He didn't know what was there, he just knew he wanted to sleep.

'Mmm. Sh'lock,' he mumbled before falling back asleep.

'John,' Sherlock moaned as he awoke for the third time since he'd gone to sleep. 'Mmm, John.'

'Sh'lock,' John grumbled, burrowing closer.

Sherlock sighed and poked his lover in the ribs. 'John.' John squirmed away and nearly fell off the bed. That woke him up. He sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily.

'Sh'lock?' he mumbled again.

'Hello,' Sherlock laughed softly.

'Hey,' John yawned. 'How long have you been awake?'

'Been in and out of it for a while. Awake now though.'

'Mmm.' John rubbed his eye again and moved to sit by Sherlock. 'How're you feeling? Any lightheadedness? Spotty vision? Nausea?'

'A little lightheaded but I think I'm fine.' Sherlock glanced up as he heard a loud whimper. He was surprised to see his brother slumped in a chair, shaking and whimpering as he tossed and turned in a restless sleep.

'Is he though?' He frowned as another whimper left his brother's lips.

'He's had it rough since your suicide attempt,' John told him honestly. He leant over and poked Mycroft in the shoulder, leaning him over just enough that his body registered he was about to fall and he woke with a jolt and a loud gasp. Mycroft leapt to his feet in a daze, glancing around the hospital room anxiously. His breathing was panicked and by the time he found no immediate danger he practically keeled over. The only thing that stopped him from falling was the chair he'd been asleep on.

'Mycroft?' John asked softly. 'Are you alright? Sherlock's awake. Look. He's fine.'

Mycroft swallowed thickly and nodded before locking eyes with Sherlock. He feigned a smile. 'It's good to see you awake, little brother.'

Sherlock made a growl like sound in the back of his throat as he studied his brother carefully.

'Hey. Be nice,' John scolded softly. 'What's going on?'

'Nothing,' both the Holmes boys said at the same time. Sherlock chuckled lightly and soon Mycroft was laughing along with him. Neither knew why they were laughing. All they knew was that it felt good to do so.

John smiled at the two of them. He could see the toddler Sherlock again, wearing his eye patch, listening to Mycroft read him  _Treasure Island_. What had happened to those photos? A quick look around said they weren't on the floor, so they were probably back in Mycroft's suit jacket pocket. Good. Then Sherlock wouldn't ridicule him for sentimentality.

'So–' Sherlock exhaled heavily as his laughter began to die down. 'Did I miss anything?'

Mycroft paled and shifted in his seat guiltily. 'Nothing to worry about now.' John looked to Mycroft and raised an eyebrow.  _Should I tell him?_ Mycroft shook his head, begging John with his eyes to remain quiet.

'Nope,' John lied. 'Nothing to report. You just slept straight on through your last blood transfusion.' Mycroft smiled appreciatively at John. Sherlock looked between his brother and his love.

'You're lying. Don't you dare lie to me.'

John swallowed. 'Mycroft showed me some pictures of you as a kid pirate, ok? Don't be mean to him. You were quite an adorable child.' It wasn't a total lie. It had happened. But it was better than telling him that Moriarty had tried to kill him again.

Sherlock pouted. 'I'm still adorable.' He knew something more was going on that John and his brother weren't letting on about, but he decided to let it go for now.

'Yes. You're very adorable.' He kissed Sherlock's cheek. 'And sexy as fuck.'

Mycroft coughed awkwardly. 'I should probably leave.'

'If you want to,' John said softly, kissing Sherlock's nose.

'I shall see you later then.' Mycroft stood to his feet. 'Is there anything in particular you want for dinner?' he asked his brother.

Sherlock shrugged. 'Chinese takeaway?'

'Of course,' Mycroft nodded. 'Take care.' He looked at his brother and John with sad eyes before taking his leave.

'He'll be fine,' John said to Sherlock's silent question. 'He was just worried about you is all.' He looked up at the bag of blood and smiled. 'Almost done and then we can go home.'

'He's relapsed,' Sherlock stated coldly. 'I would hardly call that fine.'

'I know, but he'll be ok. I'll let Greg know and he can watch over him.' John kissed Sherlock's throat and settled down against him.

Sherlock closed his eyes and leant into John's touch. 'It's my fault.'

'Shhh,' John soothed him softly. He kissed his jaw and sighed. 'Don't beat yourself up about it, ok?'

'How can I not? I put him through so much shit.'

'You've put me through a lot of shit too, but I'm coping well enough,' John pointed out. 'You have to stop blaming yourself for everything. Please.'

'I know.' Sherlock opened his eyes and pecked John on the lips. 'Things were so much easier when we were at each other's throats. Caring hurts so much.'

'I know, love.' He pecked Sherlock on the lips again and hummed. 'But we can go home soon and have dinner with Greg and maybe we can discuss how to help your brother.'

'Do you think he knows that Mycroft's not coping?'

'I'm sure he has his suspicions. Greg isn't a complete idiot. When it comes to people he cares about he can be one of the most observant men in the world. So I'm sure he's noticed something.'

Sherlock hummed in agreement. 'If it wasn't for him I would have been lying in my own piss for the whole of that night when I got drunk. I probably would have been dead too. I owe him a lot.'

'I'll make sure to thank him for saving you,' John said softly. He kissed Sherlock properly then, to sooth them both. Sherlock pushed his tongue down John's throat and groaned loudly.

'The blood has gone south,' he whispered. 'Look.' He pointed to the large tent between his legs.

'And the blood in the bag is almost gone,' John observed. He straddled Sherlock and kissed him again. 'Wanna risk it?'

'Hell yes! As I was saying before I collapsed, what is life without risks?'

'Boring,' John answered. He slid down Sherlock's body and pushed the sheets away. 'Glad there's no heart monitor to ruin our fun this time,' he said before he engulfed Sherlock's prick completely. Sherlock grunted and thrust himself as deep as he could go into John's mouth.

'Bloody hell!' he gasped as his lover began to use his tongue. John hollowed his cheeks and bobbed up and down furiously, swirling his tongue around Sherlock's prick until it curled around him completely.

 _So that's how he gets me to fuck his tongue_ , John mused as Sherlock began clenching the sheets tightly.  _He won't last long._

Sherlock's body flew up. Oh god. That felt so good. He thrust harder and faster and suddenly he was gasping that he was going to cum.

'Fuck. Fuck. Je–' He felt his cum jet out and fly down John's throat. John swallowed thickly as Sherlock pulsed down his throat. He hummed and released Sherlock's prick with a wet slap. He moved up and kissed him thoroughly, letting him taste himself.

'Oh fuck,' Sherlock panted against John's lips.

'Mmm. You taste good,' was all John was able to mumble before he sealed his lips with Sherlock's again. Sherlock nipped and licked along John's lips. God did he taste good.

'Mmm. I want to take you home now. Treat you special,' John moaned.

'Treat me special right now if you like.'

'I want to do it properly. In our own bed. With candles.'

'Candles? You old romantic,' Sherlock chuckled softly.

'Yeah. But you love my romanticism,' John grinned softly. He laced his fingers with Sherlock's and kissed him softly.

'Yes, I do. I love you full stop,' Sherlock mumbled against John's lips.

'The feeling is mutual,' John whispered, sucking Sherlock's tongue into his mouth. A small cough came from behind them and John reluctantly pulled away from his love. A nurse, the same one who fixed the blood issue, was standing in the door.

'Sorry to interrupt, but the transfusion is complete.' She pointed to the blood and John noticed that it was empty. He slid off Sherlock but held onto his hand. The nurse moved to remove the needle from Sherlock's arm and bandaged the injection site.

'Sorry about the mixup earlier,' she said. John paled and shook his head, begging her to stop. 'But the records have all been corrected. And I take it this batch worked out better? How are you feeling, Mr Holmes?'

'I feel fine.' He narrowed his eyes and gave John a look that could kill.

'Good,' the nurse smiled. John slunk back into the corner, unable to break away from Sherlock's death glare. 'You can get dressed now and I'll clear you out. Have a nice day you two.' She left the two of them alone in the room, not realising what she had just unleashed.

'So the truth finally comes out,' Sherlock growled. 'How dare you keep it from me.'

'I was going to tell you! I swear!' John whimpered. 'I just didn't want Mycroft to get mad at me for telling you!'

'Come here,' Sherlock sighed and beckoned John closer. 'What has my brother done now?'

John budged closer and stood at the side of the bed. 'Nothing. Well, maybe something. But he refuses to tell me what he did.' Sherlock studied John to see if he was telling the truth. He was.

'I see.' Sherlock pursed his lips in thought. 'Oh Mycroft, what have you done?' he sighed again.

'He refused to tell me. Said he'd made a few bad choices and he blamed himself for what happened earlier.'

Sherlock wiped a hand down his face tiredly. 'He takes on far too much pressure for his own good.'

'He's just trying to look out for you. But yes, sometimes he takes on more than he can handle. Maybe that's why he relapsed.'

'Most likely. He always has. Ever since he was a child really. Dammit.'

'Before or after he read you  _Treasure Island_?' John asked with a soft smile.

Sherlock laughed. 'Oh, that bloody sentimental bastard. Caring is a disadvantage my arse.'

'I'd love to hear more about your pirate adventures,' John grinned. 'But let's go home first, ok? Maybe we can take that shower?'

'A shower would be nice,' Sherlock agreed.

'Good. I'll even wash your hair,' John grinned. 'Now get dressed.'

'Wanna dress me?' Sherlock asked hopefully.

'Sure, love,' John smiled. He grabbed the TARDIS pyjama bottoms and shrugged at Sherlock's expression.

'These were all I could grab at the time. Sorry, but you hit the floor with a loud crack. Proper clothes were the last thing on my mind. You can wear my jumper if you want. I've got another shirt on underneath it.'

'What a shame,' Sherlock pouted. 'For a moment I thought you were going topless.'

'Not in November. Sorry. Now budge up so I can put these on you.'

Sherlock pouted harder but budged up. 'You're so sexy though.'

'You'll get to see me topless soon enough,' John said, pulling the trousers on Sherlock. He rested his hands on his thighs and squeezed as he said, 'And much more once we get in the shower.'

Sherlock groaned at the images in his head. 'You bloody tease.'

'And it's all just a taxi ride away,' John purred with a smug grin. He leaned back and took off his jumper slowly, teasingly. When he finally took it off completely he ruffled his hair free of static and looked back at Sherlock triumphantly.

'Has the genius been successfully turned on?' he asked with a smug grin.

Sherlock moaned loudly and shivered. 'The genius has, yes.' He had to clamp his lips shut to stop his tongue from sticking out as he breathed heavily, becoming more and more flustered.

'Then we better get home as soon as possible so I can ravish you,' John purred. He yanked his jumper over Sherlock's head and pulled his arms through the sleeves.

'Shall I carry you out of here?'

Sherlock nodded frantically. 'Yes please,' he purred.

John picked Sherlock up and held him gingerly in his arms, adjusting his hold until he got a good grip. He kissed Sherlock softly and smiled.

'Let's go home.'

Sherlock hummed happily, curling up in John's arms like a small child. 'Let's.'

John carried Sherlock from the room and out of Bart's into the crisp Autumn air. He managed to hail a cab in less than five minutes and they were soon on their way home.

'I'm guessing that you won't be biting me any time soon.' Sherlock ran his fingers over one of the deeper bites on his neck.

'Definitely not,' John huffed. 'If I do, I won't be breaking the skin.'

Sherlock sighed. 'Fair enough. I s'pose I can live without that particular kink.'

'Hey now. I never said I wouldn't do it again,' John smirked. 'I just want us to be better prepared next time.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and made a small 'meow' sound in the back of his throat. 'Looking forward to that.'

'We can indulge your pirate thing later too,' John whispered. 'But when we get home we're going to take a bath and then I'm going to treat you right like the romantic I am.'

'I look even more like a pirate with my beard, which, by the way, is getting rather long.' He scratched his facial hair and smiled. 'And I like the sound of your romantic plans. I like the sound of them a lot.'

'I'm trimming that when we get home. Sorry. While I like the whisker burns, I don't like the beard itself all that much.'

'Oh.' Sherlock stuck out his lower lip. 'Why don't you like it?'

'Don't take it personally, ok? I'm just not a fan of beards. I've only ever been with one man in my entire life and I didn't realise I was bisexual until I'd lived with you for nearly a year. And by then I'd already fallen for you and I didn't want to branch out and experiment, figure out what I did and didn't like. I knew I liked you and I only wanted you. And I'm just saying I'm not a big fan of facial hair on you.'

Sherlock's lips curled into a smile. 'It's alright. I'll live. I am keeping it until we do the pirate role play though.'

'Can I at least trim it down? It looks really dirty from the time you were away.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes out of pure habit. 'Very well. If you must.'

'Oh, shush you,' John smirked. He pecked him on the lips and adjusted him on his lap so he could lean over and hand the driver the fare as they approached home. He opened the door and slid out, adjusting Sherlock in his arms as the cab drove away.

'Now, Mr Holmes, let's take a nice, relaxing bath,' he purred. 'And then I'm going to romanticise the crap outta you.'

Sherlock giggled. 'That's one sentence I never thought I would hear.'

'But you're going to love it,' John grinned. He opened the door and carried Sherlock up the stairs and into their bedroom. 'Wait here while I get everything set up.'

Sherlock grinned and curled up on their bed. 'I'm ready to be romanced,' he breathed out huskily.

'I'm gonna romance the pants off you,' John laughed. 'Literally.'

Sherlock flushed pink and cursed under his breath. Even after all this time John still had the ability to make him blush.

John grinned and pecked Sherlock on the lips before he scuttled from the room. He grabbed some unscented candles and took them into the bathroom, placing them along the sink and on the floor by the bath. He lit them all and smiled to himself for a job well done. He then began filling the tub and added some lightly scented bubbles for added effect. Once the tub was full and at the optimal temperature, John stopped the water and returned to the bedroom to get Sherlock.

'All set, love,' he grinned. 'Ready?'

'As I'll ever be,' Sherlock purred, his whole body practically vibrating with anticipation.

'Good,' John smiled. 'Now, let's get you out of those clothes.' He grabbed the hem of his jumper and peeled it off Sherlock, dropping it to the floor in a heap. He practically tore the TARDIS trousers from him, tossing them across the room and growling hungrily at Sherlock's toned body.

'What now, oh mighty captain?' Sherlock arched his body so his cock was waving in front of John's face.

'You get to undress me now,' John purred, somehow resisting taking Sherlock then and there. Sherlock smirked and began to pull John's clothes off. He did it neither fast nor slow. It was the perfect, seductive pace.

'Captain, you are beautiful,' he gasped giddily as John was finally completely stripped of clothes.

'As are you, my love,' John purred. He pulled Sherlock close and kissed him tenderly. Sherlock kissed John back slowly and firmly, flickering his tongue out and rubbing his whiskers against his lover.

'Mmm. Bath first, love making later,' John moaned into the kiss.

'Or both at the same time.'

'I would much rather make love to you in our bed than the bath,' John pouted.

'Do you mean the bed that is still covered in blood spatters?' Sherlock retorted.

John looked at the sheets and swallowed thickly. 'Oh. Right. Yeah.'

Sherlock sighed loudly. 'You don't blame yourself, do you?'

'Only partially,' he said honestly.

'Please stop with the self blame. How many times must I tell you? Now take me to the bath and forget about everything that has happened.'

'Yeah,' John said simply. He picked Sherlock up and took him to the bathroom, smiling softly at the soft candlelight.

'I count myself as romanced already,' Sherlock growled seductively.

'Mmm,' John hummed softly. He lowered Sherlock into the water and pushed some bubbles onto his chest and smiled. 'Do you like it? How's the water?'

'Nice and toasty. It's missing something though. Oh yes. It's missing a certain John Watson. Any idea of how I can rectify that?'

'Mmm. Give me a moment and I shall correct that,' John smirked.

Sherlock sank into the warm water. 'I'm waiting,' he beamed happily.

John hummed and disappeared for a moment. He stripped the bed of the bloody sheets and tossed them into the hall. He then proceeded to put clean sheets on the bed with military precision and smiled to himself. He then returned to the bath to find Sherlock stretched out completely beneath the water, his eyes closed. John slid in and straddled Sherlock's lap, kissing him softly.

'I'm back. Did you miss me?'

Sherlock blinked and rose upwards through the water. 'Were you gone? I could have sworn we were having a whole underwater conversation.'

'I never truly leave you, do I?' John smirked. 'But yes, I was gone. Set up another surprise for you.'

'Why would I ever let you leave?' Sherlock retorted before grinning. 'Another surprise? Really? Do I get a clue as to what it is?'

'No. That would ruin it,' John smirked. He kissed Sherlock again and hummed.

'You know, I forget that we can be like this sometimes.'

'Happy?'

'Yes, happy. I'd forgotten what it even felt like.'

'Me too. Sort of,' John agreed. 'I've been sick with worry for so long, I don't even know what it feels like to be calm anymore.'

'And we won't till Moriarty, my father, and my rapist have all been demolished.'

'I hope you mean the other guy and not me,' John frowned.

'Of course I meant–' Sherlock almost started yelling before shaking his head. 'Nope. I am not going to start an argument.'

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything,' John sighed.

'I'm just saying right now that I have forgiven you, so shut up you idiot.'

John laughed softly and looked back up at Sherlock. 'I'm sorry,' he said again. 'I'm an idiot.'

'What did I say about shutting up?' Sherlock lunged forward and attacked John's lips. John didn't answer, just moaned loudly and attacked Sherlock's lips and held his face tenderly. Sherlock smiled against John's lips and dipped a hand under the water to gently draw Gallifreyan circles on his lover's thighs.

'Mmm. Love you too,' John hummed.

Sherlock didn't know what came over him, but as he pulled away from John's lips for a brief moment he came to a shocking revelation. He wanted to marry this wonderful man. He wanted to be with him forever. He traced a complicated pattern on John's thigh, a silent promise that one day he was going to marry John, even if it killed him.

'Mmm. Don't know that one. But it feels beautiful.' He kissed the tip of Sherlock's nose and sat back to grab Sherlock's shampoo. 'May I?'

Sherlock nodded and tilted his head so John could wash his hair with ease. All the while he kept on repeating the silent promise to John. John lathered his hands and began to work the shampoo into Sherlock's hair. He hummed and tried to focus on reading Sherlock's writing while also massaging his scalp.

'Are you going to tell me what you're writing?' he asked softly.

'No.' That was the end of the conversation, or so Sherlock hoped.

John pouted but decided to drop it. He could tell by the look on Sherlock's face that he wasn't going to talk about it, so he let it go. He moved to the back of Sherlock's head and began massaging him there, a sound between a purr and a whimper coming from Sherlock as his fingers worked their magic. Sherlock sighed softly and leant into John's touch. Even though the topic had been dropped he continued the symbol of marriage and commitment, throwing in a few terms of endearment just to throw John off the scent.

'Dear, love, darling,' John purred as Sherlock wrote the words on his thighs. 'Oh. I know this one. Johnlock for eternity.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Johnlock for eternity. Hmm. Maybe one day.'

'One day, I promise,' John sighed. He leaned Sherlock's head into the water and began rinsing his hair of the shampoo.

'It's a promise I'm going to hold you to.'

'As you should,' John smiled. He pulled Sherlock up and kissed him again. 'Wanna wash my hair now?'

Sherlock nodded eagerly and fetched the shampoo, squeezing it onto his fingertips. 'You're going to have to soak your hair thoroughly first.'

John leant back and took a deep breath, submerging himself in the water completely. When he rose his hair was completely wet and he fluffed it slightly to spray water droplets across Sherlock.

'Oh, is that the way things are now?' Sherlock smirked in amusement as he plunged his long fingers through John's mop. 'I shall get my revenge later.'

'I look forward to your sure to be intricate revenge plan,' John grinned. He leant into Sherlock's touch and hummed, shifting closer in his lap.

'Feels good, huh?' Sherlock massaged John's scalp rather roughly but by John's little whimpers of pleasure he was obviously enjoying it.

'Mmm. I love it,' John moaned. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and purred, shifting in his lover's lap.

'Stop wiggling,' Sherlock tutted. 'I'm trying to wash your hair.'

'But it feels so good,' John pouted. He managed to stop wriggling though and leant into Sherlock's fingers, purring like a cat lounging in a warm patch of sun.

'Does my little kitty feel good? Does my little kitty want to make love? Purr for me kitty.'

'Feel wonderful,' John purred. 'Want you so bad.'

'Dip your head in the water and I'll wash the suds off, and then you can have me.' John practically fell backward into the water, some of it splashing over the edge and extinguishing a couple candles. Sherlock scrubbed frantically at John's hair and watched in satisfaction as the bubbles washed away.

'Good boy,' he said in a silky smooth voice. John purred again and lunged forward to attack Sherlock's lips hungrily. He sucked his tongue into his mouth and moaned loudly.

'Oooh, maybe I was wrong. You're a very bad boy indeed.'

'Mmm. I'm  _your_  bad boy,' John hummed. He rose out of the water and began to blow out the candles. Once that was done he unplugged the drain and helped Sherlock out of the water.

'Shall we dry each other a little before we move to the bedroom?'

'Why bother? I'm sure what we will be doing next will dry us off.'

'Hmm. Quite true.' John hauled Sherlock into his arms, his lover's legs wrapping around his waist, and carried him to the bed. He plopped him down and crawled over him, stealing another kiss. Sherlock lazily ran a hand down John's chest as he kissed him. He pulled away and bit his lower lip nervously.

'John, I'm scared.' He knew it was stupid, but even after all this time the thought of John making love to him made his skin crawl with fear.

'At least I'm not the only one,' John sighed. He rested his forehead on Sherlock's and looked down at him. 'I don't want to ruin this by hurting you again.'

'I wish to believe you wouldn't hurt me again. But that's the funny thing about wishes.' Sherlock gazed up at John with big, soft eyes. 'They don't always come true.'

'I promise to do my best not to hurt you,' John said softly. 'Tell me if you feel any discomfort at all, ok?' He reached into the side table and pulled out the lube. 'I'll use a liberal amount of this instead of just saliva this time. It should help.'

Sherlock spread his legs cautiously. 'I am sorry if I am bringing up old memories, not that you can probably remember much. But still, I don't truly believe you'd intentionally hurt me.'

'I would never intentionally hurt you,' John frowned. He opened the lube and coated his fingers in the gel, making sure he had plenty before he swirled them gently against Sherlock's entrance.

'Please let me know if anything hurts,' he said softly. 'I'll either stop completely or try to fix it.'

Sherlock swallowed thickly. 'Go ahead, John.' He closed his eyes and prepared his mind for the act that was about to take place. John pushed his middle finger into Sherlock slowly, making it as far as the second knuckle before he stopped to gage Sherlock's reaction.

'You ok?' Sherlock only just heard John's voice as it penetrated his mind palace, but he was able to nod and rock back on the finger. John pushed in the rest of the way and pumped the finger slowly, giving Sherlock time to adjust and stretch around the finger. Sherlock went from being tense to moaning in pleasure within minutes. He worked himself up and down the finger as fast as he could go. John hummed softly and slowly added another finger, pushing in until he was sheathed completely.

'F-fuck.' Sherlock vibrated and rocked faster. John curled his fingers and found Sherlock's prostate. He stroked it gently as he scissored his fingers, leaning over to lick his lover's prick from base to tip.

Sherlock absolutely lost what sanity he had left. He arched and tried bucking his hips so his cock was nearer to the army doctor's mouth. John sucked the head of Sherlock's prick into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it, tasting the precum that had formed. He hummed and added a third finger for good measure, wanting Sherlock to be comfortable when he finally entered him.

'I think – I think I'm ready for you,' Sherlock gasped. 'Just take it slow, ok?'

John hummed and released Sherlock's prick. He removed his fingers and applied more lube, rubbing it on his own member. He aligned himself with Sherlock's entrance and leant over Sherlock, kissing him softly.

'I'll be careful, love,' he mumbled against his lips. He pushed in slowly, gently, gasping at the sensations flowing through his veins. He hadn't had sex in nearly a year, and he was determined to make this last as long as possible.

Sherlock's mouth flew open and he grunted at the sensation of having John inside of him. It wasn't a totally unpleasant feeling but it somehow wasn't all together pleasant either. Bad memories flew to the tip of his mind and he screwed his eyes shut.

'Shhh, love. Shhh,' John said softly. He pushed in a little farther and moaned. 'It's ok, love. Look at me. It's ok.'

Sherlock cracked one eye open, whimpered, and then cracked the other open too. He looked up at John with fear in his eyes but smiled up at him gently to let him know it was ok. John looked at Sherlock with soft, sad eyes. He kissed him gently and sheathed himself fully inside. He stopped, allowing Sherlock to grow used to the feeling. He continued to kiss him and cradled his head gently in his hands. Sherlock wriggled in discomfort but it would seem that John only read that as a sign to continue. His breath hitched in his throat and he bit his lip to stop himself from yelling out.

'It's ok, love. It's ok,' John said again, pumping his hips slowly so he wouldn't rush into anything Sherlock wasn't ready for. He kissed him again before beginning to move a little faster. He moaned softly and flicked his tongue out to meet Sherlock's. Sherlock nervously let his tongue dance with John's for what seemed like eternity. He continued to wriggle in discomfort, wincing every now and then as memories of the past pierced through the veil of the present.

John moved a little faster, his hips slapping against Sherlock's. He whimpered and buried his head in the crook of Sherlock's neck. How was he so close already? He wanted this to last. He was too damn close to the edge to truly care and moved just a little harder, whimpering louder.

Sherlock whimpered himself but it wasn't because he was near his release, in fact it was quite the opposite. John was moving too fast, too hard, his hips were moving too frantically. There was nothing even remotely romantic about the act. It was a quick round of sex after a year without any. All Sherlock could think about were the reasons behind not having sex for so long. Try as he might he just couldn't bring himself to enjoy the present. John cared about one thing and that was getting a release. Sherlock knew that. He accepted it. That didn't mean he had to like it. His prick was going soft and there was no getting it back up now. He grit his teeth and hoped to all things Gallifreyan that John wouldn't notice.

 _You said romantic, John. Not a quick shag!_  John's mind screamed at him as he drove deeper into Sherlock. He was too far gone to listen, to damn close to what he wanted. He cried Sherlock's name as he came, pulsing long and hard. Sherlock tried to mask the startled yelp that escaped his throat with a waning moan that should have followed after a release. But there was no release. His body was trembling out of fear, not pleasure. John collapsed on top of Sherlock and breathed deeply, closing his eyes as the last few waves of pleasure worked their way out of him. Sherlock was shaking so John pet his hair soothingly.

'Sorry,' he mumbled. 'Wanted this t' be romantic. Guess I fucked up.'

'It's ok, really,' Sherlock panted, placing a soft kiss to the top of John's hair.

In truth, what had just happened was so beyond okay that it hurt. He'd just faked an orgasm, as John had only a week prior. Except it was so much worse this time. John hadn't even noticed that he'd failed to bring him to release. Sherlock instantly felt bad for when he'd overreacted when John had faked one. He knew why his lover had done it now. That didn't make things any easier though.

'I'll make it up to you,' John mumbled, pulling out and turning over. He suddenly yawned so wide he felt his jaw pop. 'When I'm not so tired. Gonna sleep, ok? I love you.'

'I love you too.' Sherlock sighed deeply. 'I'm just going to get dressed and sit on the sofa. You're welcome to come. We could cuddle. It's nearly six o' clock. Greg will be here soon. I presume as my brother doesn't have the healthiest relationship with food at the moment that he won't be there. It would be nice if you ate with us, but you do look rather exhausted, so feel free to sleep.'

'I'd love to join you–' He yawned again. '–but I'm too tired. Give Greg my best. And please, for the love of god, be nice. He was worried about you for the past week too.'

Sherlock snorted. 'When am I ever not nice?' He moved from the bed and over to the wardrobe and put on a pair of jeans and his favourite purple hoodie. John merely grunted and made himself comfortable, falling asleep in minutes.

Sherlock walked into the living room and plopped down on the sofa, stretching out like a cat and closing his eyes as he contemplated what had just happened with him and John, and prepared himself for Lestrade's arrival. It was most likely going to be a very awkward visit, considering he hadn't seen him since his suicide attempt, and it was only going to be the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sherlock and Greg get to spend some time together next chapter. It'll be good for Sherlock to spend some time with Greg on a personal level, not just looking for a case or a juicy murder. Just a warning though: it doesn't end with all sunshine and rainbows. There will be angst and drunken escapades. Ye have been warned. That'll be up Friday before I go home for the weekend. This time I'll be sure to actually post it before I go. Whoops. See you then.
> 
> TSA + IB


	47. The Two Detectives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Happy Friday! Told you I'd actually get this posted today ;) Just... please don't hate us for what happens in this chapter, OK? It'll be fixed later. We promise. It just had to happen for plot development. *runs and hides just in case*
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: Greg
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Greg and Sherlock feels, Greg and Mycroft happiness, drunkenness, drunk snogging, drunk sex, infidelity, public sex

As soon as he got out of work, Greg drove to the Chinese takeaway place from where Mycroft had ordered dinner. He had cancelled, said that Greg should go in his place. Greg knew that Myc was having issues with food again, but he wasn't going to bring it up. Not yet.

It was going to be just him, Sherlock, and John tonight. Greg would prefer that John not be there because what he wanted to discuss with Sherlock was something he wanted to remain private, just between the two of them. He shifted as his mobile started digging into his thigh and he heard it clink against the other thing that was stashed away in there.

When he finally arrived at 221B he parked his car and swallowed.

'It doesn't have to be as soon as you walk in the door, Greg. Eat dinner first, see how Sherlock's doing, then bring it up.'

With somewhat of a plan in mind, he grabbed the takeaway bags and made his way to the flat, locking his car behind him. He knocked on the door to 221B and peered inside. Sherlock was sprawled out on the couch in his thinking pose. John was nowhere to be seen. Greg sighed in relief. Maybe they could discuss it privately after all.

'Hey Sherlock,' he said softly. 'It's Greg. I brought takeaway. Where's John?'

Sherlock opened his eyes and slowly moved his head to lock eyes with the D.I. He simply blinked at him for a long time before mustering the strength to feign a smile.

'He's currently sleeping like a baby. Do feel free to come in. You can take my seat.' He gestured to his usual seat. His smile was quick to disappear as Lestrade began to move towards said seat, and he turned his head back to his thinking position.

Greg set the takeaway on the floor and sat in Sherlock's chair. He drummed his fingers on the arms as an awkward silence set in. Sherlock was thinking again and Greg didn't want to disturb him. He decided to open one of the food containers and set it on the table by the sofa so Sherlock would be able to eat it when he was ready. He opened one for himself and dug in, the chicken and broccoli absolutely delicious.

Sherlock sighed loudly after a long while of thinking and finally moved into a sitting position. He picked up the food that had been laid out for him and began to reluctantly eat it. He wasn't particularly hungry.

'About the last time I saw you–' Sherlock swallowed thickly and glanced away from Lestrade's eyes and the questions brewing in them. 'I'm really sorry about throwing the jam.'

'It's alright,' Greg said through a mouthful of vegetables. 'I needed to buy a new pot anyway. Why'd you toss it, anyway? If you don't mind my asking that is.'

'It reminded me of John.' Sherlock toyed with his food and sighed sadly.

'Same brand he buys?'

'Yeah. It was kind of the tipping point for me.'

'I've been there before too,' Greg said, swallowing his food. 'So... What made you disappear for a week?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'I'm a grown man Lestrade. Surely it's not a crime to be gone from home for a week?'

'Sure. But next time at least let us know that you're going to be gone for a prolonged period of time. Being gone while on a case is one thing, but being gone for no reason whatsoever is cause for concern.'

'I wasn't aware of my surroundings or the amount of time that had passed. Too busy... thinking. Besides, there was no need to be concerned. I'm a big boy. I can look after myself. And John knew perfectly why I walked out of the flat. I had my reasons.'

'Ah. Ok. You don't have to tell me.' He swallowed his bite of food and looked over at Sherlock. 'Look, I... Uh... I have something to ask you.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in amusement and curiosity. Lestrade looked awkward and Sherlock could feel the nerves radiating off of him.

'Is that so?' he smirked.

'Yeah. It's rather important.' He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and set it aside, swirling his fingers around the other object that remained in his pocket.

'I assume this concerns my brother. Is it his binge eating? I've noticed he's gone downhill. No, can't be that. You've never come to me about it before so you wouldn't now. There's something in your pocket – ah. I see.' A broad grin ripped through his features. 'Go ahead and ask the question.'

'I know about the binge eating. Well, I've had my suspicions, but now I know for certain.' He took a deep breath and pulled the ring out. 'I'd like your permission to marry your brother. I've already talked with your mother and she was over the moon. Now I'd just like your blessing or permission or whatever.'

Sherlock stared at Lestrade intensely for a long while, watching as he became more and more agitated. A small snigger couldn't help but escape his lips however and soon he was laughing openly.

'Sherlock, please,' Greg pleaded. 'This is serious. Don't laugh. I sincerely want to marry your brother. And I need an answer. Please.'

'I'm sorry.' Sherlock wiped at his eyes and tried to calm his laughter. He managed to bring it down to light bouts of giggling. 'It's just, well, there's no need to ask me. You're practically family to me Lestrade. You're like another brother to me, albeit a slightly less annoying one, but brother all the same. Of course you can marry Mycroft. You have my blessing.'

'Oh. Thank you.' Greg collapsed against the chair and sighed in relief. 'At least you didn't squeeze the stuffing out of me like your mum did. I couldn't breathe. The woman's stronger than she looks.'

'Save that for when I'm pissed, eh?' Sherlock chortled. 'You really are too precious for this world. Wanting my permission, dear me.'

Greg blushed and looked at the ring. A simple gold band with their birthstones, blue topaz and ruby, in the center. 'Do you want to see it?' he asked softly.

Sherlock nodded and smiled at Lestrade. 'I would simply love to.'

Greg smiled and stood to sit by Sherlock on the sofa. He passed Sherlock the ring and smiled as he looked at it again. He would never tire of seeing it. And he couldn't wait to see it on Myc's finger.

Sherlock gazed at the ring, admiring its simple but majestic design. 'It suits my brother's personality brilliantly. You chose well.'

'Thanks,' Greg smiled. 'I can't wait to see it on him. If he says yes, that is.'

'Are you an actual idiot or are you just having an off day? Of course he'll say yes.'

'I'm just worried he'll make up some excuse about it not being the right time. Especially since he's relapsed again and he's been worried about you.'

Sherlock clapped Lestrade on the back playfully. 'It'll be ok. He'll say yes. I can promise you he will. And I'm always right.'

Greg huffed a laugh and took the ring back, examining it before putting it back in his pocket.

'Yeah. O'course he'll say yes. I'm just nervous is all. I still don't know when or how I'm gonna propose.'

'I wouldn't worry. You're not the only one in that boat.'

'Oh? You planning on proposing to John then?'

'I want to, yes.' Sherlock sighed and glanced at his and John's bedroom. 'But things are still... difficult.' He sighed again. 'And I really don't know how to make things better.'

'Oh? What sort of things? Have you guys still not... You know?'

'Oh no, we have. That's the problem.' Sherlock took a deep breath. 'I'm just not all that happy about it when we do. And I don't think he even noticed that... he didn't pleasure me at all. And then, before I went away for a week, John faked his own pleasure. Only I realised it and was incredibly pissed off because I wasn't all too comfortable with it as it was.'

Sherlock dropped his head to his hands and, unable to hold in his emotions any longer, began to cry. 'S-orry. Perhaps you should just leave. I'm just being ridiculous.'

'So it's been a bit tense then, eh? And I'm not leaving you. You should talk about this, don't hold it in. And with John asleep, now's the perfect opportunity. So, you've both faked orgasms within the last week. Why?'

'I don't know,' Sherlock sniffled. 'Perhaps I'm just shit at sex.'

'Somehow I sincerely doubt that,' Greg smirked. 'Based on our talks, he thinks you're a god in bed.'

'A god? Really?' Sherlock asked, his eyebrows bunching together.

'Yep,' Greg smirked. 'Hey, do you maybe want to get out of here? We can go to a pub and have a couple pints.'

'Do you remember the last time I drank?' Sherlock snorted.

'Don't worry. I'm not gonna let you get pissed. A couple pints isn't gonna hurt ya. And it might be good to get out of the flat.'

Sherlock glanced back at the bedroom before nodding. 'It would be a relief to get out of here for a while.'

'Ok. I'll put the food in the fridge and then we can go.' Greg stood and put the food back in the takeaway bag and set it in the fridge. 'No body parts?' he asked jokingly.

'What?' Sherlock frowned. 'No. I don't suppose there would be. Things have been rather hectic lately.'

'I'm sure that girl at the morgue could get you some. What's her name? Molly?' Greg shrugged and headed for the door. 'Ready?'

'Yeah. Not sure John would be too appreciative of body parts in the fridge now that we're a couple.' Sherlock got to his feet and nodded. 'Let's go.'

'Yeah. Maybe.' Greg held the door open and followed Sherlock outside. 'Let's walk. It's a nice enough night.'

'Yeah, alright,' Sherlock sighed, following Lestrade like a sulking puppy.

'Hey. It'll be ok, mate,' Greg said, clapping him on the back. 'We'll have some time to talk over a couple drinks. Ok?'

Sherlock sighed. 'I hope it'll be ok, yeah.'

'You'll have to talk to him at some point, ya know? You can't just let this continue. You'll both suffer, and so will your relationship.'

'Yeah, I know. I'm not an idiot. I just want to sort out my head first.'

'Do you just want to talk it out over a couple pints then?' Greg stopped outside the pub for Sherlock's confirmation.

'That would be great. You're a great friend. I hope you know that.'

'Thanks, Sherlock,' Greg grinned. He held the door open and followed Sherlock inside. 'Find us a spot. I'll get the first round.'

Sherlock nodded and made his way over to a table. He sat down and impatiently tapped his fingers against his left leg as he waited for Lestrade to bring over the first pint.

Greg paid for the first round and brought it over to Sherlock. 'Here ya go, mate. On me.'

Sherlock picked up the pint and smiled. 'Thank you. What shall we toast to? How about long and happy relationships with the men we love?'

'And may we live happily ever after,' Greg smiled. He clinked his pint against Sherlock's and took a large gulp of his beer.

Sherlock sipped at his pint gingerly and frowned. 'Does your pint taste a little... off?'

'Mmm. No. But you're not a big drinker, Sherlock. Alcohol will probably taste off to you.' He took another sip just to be sure. 'Mmm. Nope. Tastes fine to me.'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Yes, perhaps that's it.' He brought his glass back up to his lips and took a larger gulp.

'Alright.' Greg set his pint down and leaned back in his chair. 'Go ahead and sort your mind out. I'll just listen, yeah?'

'I think that this whole faking orgasms thing is my fault. John did it because I was being overly gentle. And I did it because, well, sex scares me now.'

'Of course it would scare you. After such a traumatic experience, it's only normal. It'll take some time to get back to normal, but eventually it won't be as scary anymore.'

'John knows I'm scared, but I don't think he quite understands how much sex... disgusts me now.'

'Oh?' Greg quirked an eyebrow and sipped at his drink.

'I just feel like sometimes I'm just a pretty body for John to bed. And I hate being used like that. It makes me feel disgusting. It makes the act disgusting. I feel used and violated. Even though I feel like that, it doesn't stop me from saying yes, or encouraging John. And I just–' Sherlock exhaled loudly and shrugged.

'Well, you can't have him believing you still want it when you obviously don't. From your description, you're practically a sex slave. And I could technically arrest John for that.'

Sherlock shook his head, slurping up the rest of his pint. 'It's all fully consented. I really don't think John knows that I'm still so drastically affected by what happened. And I suppose since it's been a whole year since we've had sex, I wanted to make it up to him. And I had no problem last night when he was biting me. I just think I don't like sex much anymore.'

'You should still let him know how you feel about the act,' Greg said, finishing his pint as well. 'If he finds out that you aren't gaining pleasure from it, that you haven't for quite some time, imagine how he'll feel. Like he's used and abused you. Again.'

'It's not like that at all,' Sherlock protested. 'But I know I have to tell him.'

'It might not be like that, but trust me when I say that's how John will see it.' He looked at his empty glass and frowned. 'Shall I get us another round?'

'Yeah, sure. There's no harm in another round.'

'We'll stop after this round, ok? Don't want us getting pissed.'

'Alright,' Sherlock nodded in agreement. 'John might get worried if he wakes up and I'm gone. So best be off after this.'

'Sounds like a plan.' Greg stood and stumbled slightly. 'Whoa. Drank a tad too fast.' He ambled back over to the bar and ordered two more pints, fumbling for some notes in his wallet. He slapped them on the table and grabbed the two pints, walking carefully to their table so as not to spill anything.

'Here. Drink slowly so you don't get too tipsy on the way home.'

'Mmm.' Sherlock hummed and began to drink his second pint slowly. This pint tasted odd too but Sherlock thought nothing of it. They drank in a comfortable silence and as he neared the end of his second pint Sherlock laughed.

'Fancy some shots? They're on me.'

'Really?' Greg smirked, polishing off his second pint. 'Taking shots with Sherlock Holmes? Sure. Why the hell not?' Sherlock tottered over to the bar and ordered three shots for each of them. They were brightly coloured and looked practically toxic, but the detective didn't care.

'Here ya are,' he said, walking back over to Greg and placing the shots before him.

'Oh! Fun colours!' Greg smiled. He grabbed a blue one and held it up to toast with Sherlock.

Sherlock laughed back and picked up his own little blue drink. 'To forgetting our worries.'

'To forgetting our worries,' Greg repeated. He clinked his glass with Sherlock's and downed the drink. He let out a loud 'ah' as he swallowed it, the drink burning but fantastic all at once. Sherlock downed his drink and spluttered a bit.

'That's got quite a kick to it.' He picked up his green shot and held it to his lips. 'Wonder what this one is like.'

'Mmm. 'Nother toast,' Greg slurred. 'To... To... Wha shoo we toas to?'

'We shoo toast to... feelin goo.' Sherlock giggled. 'We soun funny.'

'Got a bit of a lisp there, mate,' Greg giggled. 'T'... T' feelin' gud.' He clinked his green shot against Sherlock's and let it slide down his throat. That one was stronger than the last. He gasped and shook his head.

'Whoa! Thaz got quite a kick!'

Sherlock swallowed his second shot. 'Gah!' he coughed. 'Ya wern kiddin. Gonna have dis shot n then one more rounss. Yer?'

'I fink we shoo getcha back home, mate,' Greg slurred. 'Finish dis one, den we go. K?'

'Two more shots eash,' Sherlock slurred back. 'Is a bit o fun.'

'K. Fine. But jus two.' He picked up the final shot, a purplish blue colour, and clinked it against Sherlock's. 'T' livin' happly evr aftr.'

'T' livin happly evr aftr.' Sherlock sniggered and drank his shot. This shot was stronger than both the shots he'd already had put together. His eyes bugged slightly and he hummed as he was enveloped by a strange warmth.

'Gah!' Greg cried when he finished his shot. 'Fuck! Daz strong!' He shook his head and took off his jacket. He was suddenly very warm. 'K. Jus two more. Den we get ya home. Dun wan Jawn t' worry.'

'Or Croft cuz he tis a silly bastard,' Sherlock retorted. He got up and almost tripped several times on his way to the bar. He ordered four more of the purplish blue shots and stumbled back to Greg. 'Gotta admit tis is fun. You ain't t' bad a drinkin partna.'

'You ain't so bad yaself,' Greg grinned. 'Glad ya gunna be my brova, Sh'lock.' He raised one of the shots. 'T' famly.'

'I woo join ya on tha wun, but na all ma family id dat nice.' Sherlock swallowed one of his shots whole. 'Not dat I am not glad ya gonna be ma brova, bu ma fafer 'urt me.'

'I know 'e did. And I'm gunna do m' best to no' le' no one 'urt ya 'gain.' He swallowed his shot and grabbed the final one. 'Ya cn do th' las one den, yeh? Las toas.'

'T' bein brovers foreda and eda,' Sherlock hicupped, holding the last shot up.

'T' bein brovas,' Greg grinned. He clinked his glass against Sherlock's, his arm shaking slightly, and brought the final shot to his lips. He threw his head back and allowed the drink to slide down his throat, moaning almost obscenely as it travelled down into his stomach.

Sherlock chugged his last shot and groaned. 'Ya the best brover a guy coo ask for.'

'Aww. Fanks, 'Lock,' Greg grinned. He stood on wobbly legs and stretched slightly. 'Les ge' ya home.'

'Do ya think Jawn is gonna be angry?' Sherlock asked, following Greg on legs that felt like jelly. 'Mmm pissed.'

'If e's still seepin' den you'll be fine,' Greg said, opening the pub door and letting Sherlock step out. 'Jus go t' bed an' sleep it off. He won even know.'

'Aw wite. Mmm sleepy now anyways.' Sherlock stumbled out of the pub and into the cool night air.

'M' too,' Greg yawned. He stumbled after Sherlock and giggled slightly. 'Pretty moon,' he smiled up at the sky.

Sherlock gazed up at the moon and waved at it. 'Ello Mr Moon.' Greg waved too and smiled, tripping slightly but managing to right himself.

'Whoops,' he giggled. ''Ad a bit too much then.'

'Dink we bof 'av.' Sherlock laughed and found himself tripping too, but unlike Greg he hadn't had enough time to react, and he landed flat on his face.

'Whoa dere, mate.' Greg scooped Sherlock up off the ground and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling one of Sherlock's over his shoulders. 'You ok?'

Sherlock blinked and looked at the D.I sheepishly. 'Yer. Mmm ok.'

'Ya seem a tad shaky. 'Ere.' He propped Sherlock against a brick wall and steadied him. 'Bettah?'

'Moo betta.' Sherlock looked directly into Greg's eyes. 'I neva fanked ya. All dose years ago. Ya 'elpd me get clean n wen I wa strugglin wid food ya 'elpd me den.'

'Ss no problem,' Greg smiled softly. 'Dere wuz som'fin bout ya. Som'fin special. Wanned t' hep.'

Sherlock tilted his head and leant in closer to Greg. 'Som'fin special bout me?'

'Very special,' Greg grinned, his gaze travelling down to Sherlock's lips. He licked his own and swallowed. 'Can I fess som'fin? Som'fin bout you? Dat I fot of wen I firs saw ya?'

'Fess away ma Greggy. Fess away.' Sherlock hicupped and giggled loudly.

'I... I liked you. Fot ya was... pretty.' He blushed and swallowed again, gazing down at the ground.

'Dat so?' Sherlock smirked in amusement. 'Ya cud hav said sumfin.' He leant closer to inspect Greg and hummed softly.

'I wuz still married bac den,' he said softly, swallowing loudly. 'An' I din know I wuz bi bac den. Bu' you wur da one t' make me wondur. So, 'fter th' d'vorce, I 'sperimented. Wif blokes. An' I liked it. Bu' ya never no'iced me afta dat. Too buzy wif cases. An' I wuzn't sure ya wuz gay or bi or not. So I din't do 'nyfin.'

'Mmm demisexual. Ish means I am tracted t' peple I am closh to. Ya cud haf asked. I mighta said yeh. Waz closh t' ya. Still am.'

'So, if idda asked, you wudda said yes?' He looked up at Sherlock and blushed. 'Now I feel like a idiot.'

'I mighta. Gesh we'll neva know,' Sherlock mumbled drunkenly, staring at Greg's lips.

Greg blushed under Sherlock's gaze and wet his lips. Before he even knew what was happening, he had pressed his lips to Sherlock's and was holding his face in his hands. In his drunken haze Sherlock kissed Greg back roughly, forcing his tongue down his throat. He rubbed his body frantically against the D.I and groaned when he realised both of them were hard as fucking rocks.

'Oh,' he murmured against Greg's lips. 'Ya feel big.'

'A feckin' beast,' Greg growled, kissing Sherlock again and roughly pulling him close. Sherlock growled and flipped their positions. He didn't like being the submissive one. He was now working Greg into a trembling mess. His hand shot out to the other man's erection and he squeezed it hard.

'Oh god!' Greg cried, rocking into Sherlock's hand. His hands scrabbled against the brick wall, searching for purchase but finding none. He slid down the wall as his knees gave out, pulling Sherlock down with him.

'Wanna see you,' he whispered. 'Please.'

Sherlock chuckled and reached for the zip on his jeans. He wiggled his eyebrows. 'No pants,' he said huskily as he fished out his rock hard member. Greg whimpered at the sight and reached out a hand to grasp Sherlock. God, he was gorgeous. He pumped slowly, pulled Sherlock onto his lap, and kissed him again.

'Ya gots a pretty cock,' he giggled. 'I like it. Bettah den ya brovah's.'

Sherlock groaned and rut into Greg's gentle touch. 'Gah! Feels goo! Fetch ya cock out. Wanna see you too.' Greg undid his zip and fished out his own rock hard prick. He pumped Sherlock a little faster when the younger man whimpered at the sight of his cock.

'Ya like it?' he asked softly, squeezing Sherlock tightly.

'So mush bigga den Jawn,' Sherlock replied, gingerly taking Greg into his hand, wrapping his slender fingers around the erection. He pumped Greg slowly but surely. 'Ya more genel than 'im too.' He leant his head against Greg's and began to pant.

'Ya much more forceful den Myc,' Greg groaned, rutting into Sherlock's hand. 'I like bossin' 'im round, bu' I like dat you dun wanna be bossed.' He pumped Sherlock faster, sensing that he was close. He wanted to see Sherlock come undone, and by his hand no less. He wanted to feel him pulse, watch his walls come down, wanted to know what he tasted like.

'Cum for me, Sh'lock,' he moaned in Sherlock's ear.

'God yesh!' Sherlock arched into Greg's touch and moaned obscenely as he came in thick strips all over the D.I. He trembled with the force of his orgasm and whimpered. Greg whimpered and worked Sherlock through his orgasm. When he finished he brought his cum covered hand to his mouth and licked it clean, moaning at how delicious Sherlock tasted.

'Mmm, you tase so gud!'

'Fanks,' Sherlock purred. 'Now tis time t' find out 'ow you taste.' He began to pump Greg frantically, driving him to the edge.

'Ah, ah, ah!' Greg panted loudly. 'Oh, god! Wan ya mouf! Please!' he begged. 'No' yet! Mouf! Please!'

Sherlock grinned and slid down Greg's body. He stuck his head between his thighs and began rubbing his whiskers against him frantically, turning Greg into a pliant mess.

'Gah! Fuck! Shit!' Greg swore repeatedly, thrusting into Sherlock's mouth. 'Oh god. Gunna–' He came with a slurred shout of Sherlock's name, fisting a hand in his hair as he pulsed down Sherlock's throat.

Sherlock drank all Greg gave before pulling back. He hummed loudly. 'You taste nom nom,' he giggled.

He cupped Greg's member and raised an eyebrow. 'Ya gettin 'ard alredee,' he noted. 'Ow's that even posshible?'

'Myc 'n I 'aven't in a while,' Greg said honestly.

'Oh,' Sherlock said in understanding before launching himself at Greg for a long snog. Greg moaned and thrust his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, tasting himself on his tongue.

'Myc ne'er does dis,' he mumbled against Sherlock's plump lips. 'Ne'er swallows m' load. A'ways spits i' out. Bu' damn I tase gud!' He buried his fingers in Sherlock's curls and pulled him closer, moaning and whimpering and groaning into his partner's mouth.

'Shame,' Sherlock mumbled. 'My brover dunno wha he's missin.'

'I... I... I want you, Sh'lock,' Greg mumbled sheepishly. 'In me.'

'Greg... n-o.' Sherlock shook his head. 'Dis hash gone t' far.'

'Please, Lock? Please?' He kissed Sherlock again and pulled him closer, placing Sherlock's hand on his rock hard member again. 'I won't tell no one. Dis'll be our lil' secret. Promise.'

'Greg, ya cheatin' on Croft!' Sherlock snapped, suddenly a whole lot more coherent than he had been before.

'I... I am?' Greg blinked and shook his head. Bad idea. Now his vision was swimming. 'Wha 'm I doin?'

'Ya gettin me off! Ya wan me t' shag ya! I gav ya a blow job!'

'Bu' twas a good blow job!' Greg pouted. 'Ya tasted me! Swallowed m' load! Myc ne'er does that! S'far ya a bettah lo'er dan 'im! An' a bettah kissa!'

''Av ya 'erd yaself? Ya betrayin Croft! And mmm betrayin Jawn.'

'Wuz still good,' Greg pouted. He pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, managing to steal a quick one before the younger man pulled away in disgust.

'Greg,' Sherlock breathed softly. 'I am ushin ya. I needed a release is all. 'N I need anofa one. But dis dun change da fact I tink dis id a bad idea.'

'K. One more releash. Den we go 'ome and sleep off da ackahol.'

'K,' Sherlock agreed. 'D' ya really want me t' shag ya?'

'Yesh,' Greg nodded eagerly. 'Pleash. Sh'lock, I have wanted ya since I firs met ya. Pleash. We dun haffa talk bout it 'gain. Jus fuck me. Pleash.'

Sherlock hummed and sucked on his fingers for a long while before moving them to hover over Greg's entrance.

'Ready?'

Greg shucked off his jeans and spread his legs wide. 'God yesh,' he panted. Sherlock prodded a reluctant finger into Greg and moaned softly, pushing it in all the way.

'Oh god!' Greg cried, rocking back on the finger. It was so long and slender and could reach so many more places than Myc's. It felt bloody fantastic. 'More. Pleash. Gah! Fuck!'

Sherlock curled the first finger and added another, finding Greg's prostate and stimulating it. Greg gasped and lurched into the air slightly, landing with his back to the ground instead of awkwardly propped against the brick wall.

'Do zat again!' he panted. Sherlock prodded Greg's prostate frantically and added a third finger, stretching him. Greg spread his legs wider and bent his knees, planting his feet on the ground and rocking against Sherlock's fingers.

'Mmm ready. Fuck me, please,' he begged. Sherlock didn't need much convincing. He was inside Greg before he could blink.

Greg cried out and pushed himself down on Sherlock's cock. It was so much longer and thicker than Mycroft's. John had been right. Sherlock was huge! He pulled Sherlock down for another snog, panting in anticipation as Sherlock began to move.

Sherlock wasn't afraid to make love with Greg. He felt safer than he did with John. He didn't hold back at all. He moved hard and fast and began to chant the other man's name.

'Lock, Lock, Lock!' Greg cried as Sherlock fucked him hard and fast. He screamed when Sherlock located his prostate, his entire body shaking from the sensation. He heard his mobile go off but switched it off, moaning Sherlock's name as he fucked him like the god John had said he was.

'Greggy,' Sherlock groaned, slamming into him harder. 'Cum for me. Ma Greggy gonna cum?'

'Touch me, Lock,' Greg moaned, gripping Sherlock tight. 'Canna cum wifou' it.'

Sherlock grabbed Greg's erection and pumped it teasingly slow whilst thrusting into him nice and fast. Greg's body didn't know which one to respond to and Sherlock laughed loudly.

'Sh'lock!' he cried, trying to make his hand move to the rhythm of his thrusts. 'Please! Wanna cum! Please!'

'Err. Fine.' Sherlock pumped Greg harder.

'Ah! God! Fuck!' Greg cried, moving to the beat of Sherlock's fist. He pulled him down for another deep snog, thrusting his tongue down his throat. He could feel his release coming. Could feel his bollocks tightening against him. He didn't want to cum yet. Sherlock was a fantastic lover, a great kisser, and he tasted divine. The moment he came was the moment this all ended and he had to go back to Myc. And he didn't want to go yet.

'Slow down,' he said softly. 'Dun wan dis t' end yet.'

'Too closh,' Sherlock mumbled against Greg's lips, pounding and pumping harder as he neared the edge. 'S'rry.'

'Ah, ah, ah!' Greg panted as Sherlock moved harder and faster. 'Iz k. Prolly wonna lasted 'nyway.'

He rocked harder against Sherlock's prick and in his fist, driving himself towards the blissful edge and falling over it with a loud cry of Sherlock's name, distorted on his tongue. He shot his load across his abdomen and splashed some on his shirt as well as Sherlock's hoodie. He arched his back and continued to shout a garbled version of Sherlock's name as he continued to cum hard, grasping Sherlock's hips tight.

'Greg! God dammit inshpector!' Sherlock screamed as he came inside of Greg. His orgasm was the most earth shattering one he'd experienced since... well, since a long, long time.

'God! Fuck! Shit! Sherlock!' Greg finally managed not to totally butcher his partner's name. He was shaking with aftershocks of his orgasm and was clutching onto Sherlock so tight he knew bruises would be there by morning. He reluctantly released him and sighed, laughing slightly.

'Wow. 'Aven't been fucked like that since... since... well, since a'for your suicide attempt. Jus a lil' bit a'for that.'

'Haven't been fucked like tha in almost ova' a year,' Sherlock panted, hugging Greg tight to him. 'Tho I dun see wha id so funny. You fucking betrayed Croft.'

'An you betrayed Jawn,' Greg countered. 'Bu' it felt so fuckin' good. I dun care right now. Jus kiss me.'

Sherlock sighed and kissed Greg softly.

'I do luv ya, bu like a brover. Do ya undashtand?'

'Mmm. Da bes brova,' Greg hummed softly. He kissed Sherlock slowly, dipping his tongue inside his partner's mouth again and moaning softly as his tongue came out to play too.

'Mmm,' Sherlock groaned. 'We shoo be goin. My place, yeh?'

'Yeh. Dun wan Myc t' see me like dis.' Greg groaned and kissed Sherlock again for good measure. He then sat up, Sherlock sliding out of him, and pulled his jeans back on. He pocketed his mobile and stood up on shaky legs, propping himself against the brick wall as he held a hand out for Sherlock. Sherlock pulled his own trousers up and stood to his feet, shakily wrapping an arm around Greg.

'Come on, Greggy.'

'Mmm. Ya warm, Sh'lock,' Greg murmured, burrowing closer to Sherlock. He linked their fingers and cautiously held his hand, giving Sherlock the option to pull away should he want to.

Sherlock squeezed Greg's hand. 'Ya warm too.'

'If I wazn't gunna marry Myc, I'd dump 'im for you.'

'Dun ya dare fuckin say that.' Sherlock tugged his hand back. 'Ya luv Croft.'

'I do, but... I dunno. Mm jus really, really well fucked.'

Sherlock snorted and grinned. 'Les get ya to ma place.' He tugged Greg behind him and began his stumbling journey back to 221B.

'I dun regret it,' Greg stated honestly. 'Ya th' bes shag I've 'ad in a while.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand tight as he ambled along behind him. 'Iz Baker Street much farther? I have t' piss.'

'Na. We're here.' Sherlock managed to fit the key in the door and tumble into it. 'Ah, deez stairs shoo be intrestin. Dunno if I can climb 'em.'

'I can hep,' Greg smirked. 'Like dis.' He claimed Sherlock's lips again and held his face in his hands. They tumbled drunkenly up the stairs and ended up on the sofa, Greg's legs spread wide to accommodate Sherlock's laying atop him.

Sherlock grunted as his head flopped onto Greg's chest. 'N'night Greggy.'

'Mmm. Night Lock,' Greg mumbled. He managed to steal a sleepy kiss from Sherlock before they both passed out, safe and sound at Baker Street.

But what Greg didn't know was that he hadn't shut off his mobile. He hadn't even let it go to voicemail. He had accidentally taken the call, and the person on the other line had heard everything. And that person just happened to be the one person he didn't want to know what had happened.

Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said earlier... Please don't hate us for this. It had to happen for plot purposes. Things will get worse before they get better though. And we're nearing the end as well, so prepare yourselves for that as well. There's going to be a ton of feels and angst and tears all around. You're going to need more than one shock blanket for the final chapter probably. Try to find something fun and cute to do over the weekend after reading this. You're going to need it to handle the feels in the next chapter. Please don't hate us *runs and hides again*
> 
> TSA + IB


	48. The Worst Morning After Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Happy Red Pants Monday. Just a heads up: this chapter is very short (only 8 typed pages), and it might be the only update you get this week. There's been a death in the family and I'm not really in the mood for writing or editing right now. But if I do ever get in the mood before Friday, I'll see about posting chapter 49. Otherwise I'll see you next Monday.
> 
> ~TSA
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: Greg, John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: a bit more infidelity, broken hearts, angst, emotions all over the place

_Sherlock was running through the Holmes mansion, ducking and diving into the vast array of passageways. He was ten years old again. His father's booming voice was echoing out through the whole house._

_'Come back here you son of a bitch! I'm going to beat the shit out of you!'_

_Suddenly arms were wrapped around Sherlock. He panicked and screamed out for help._

_'Shh. It's ok, Sherlock. I've got you.'_

_Sherlock whipped around and grinned at the man holding him._

_'Greg?'_

_'Yeah, it's me.'_

_Before Sherlock could even think straight he was suddenly in bed naked with Greg straddling him. He wasn't ten years old anymore. He was safe and happy. He was in Greg's arms and Greg was making love to him. Greg was gentle and loving. He whispered sweet nothings down Sherlock's ear. He was a brilliant lover, as guilty as Sherlock felt by thinking that. Soon both he and Greg were cumming. Their bodies molded into each other as they rode through their orgasms. Sherlock sighed softly and kissed Greg goodnight, falling asleep wrapped in his arms._

**…::-::…**

_Greg was back at Mycroft's, completely sober and wearing a tux. He was down on one knee, proposing, but Myc was just giving him a blank look._

_'No,' was all he said. And Greg broke, falling to the floor in an emotional heap. But then Sherlock was there, holding him, kissing his tears away. And suddenly they were in Mycroft's bed, Greg fucking Sherlock that time, and Sherlock crying his name as he came hard, nearly crying in relief as Greg caused him to cum so hard for so long._

_He somehow had the stamina of a racehorse. He was making Sherlock cum screaming repeatedly. Three, four, five times when he had yet to find his own release himself. He thrust faster and harder into Sherlock, causing him to scream and scream as he was dragged through yet another orgasm. Greg could feel his building but he didn't want it to end. He wanted Sherlock to cum one more time before he allowed himself his release._

_Once Sherlock came again, shaking from the exertion, Greg allowed himself to follow his lover over the edge. He cried Sherlock's name and spilled himself inside, cumming long and hard from his prolonged wait. When he finished he collapsed against Sherlock and kissed him softly, telling him that he loved him and he would never let anyone hurt him again. Greg fell asleep still inside Sherlock, but decided it would be better for them as he'd probably wake up hard again anyway. He kissed his lover goodnight and fell asleep on his chest, listening to his heartbeat._

**…::-::…**

When Sherlock awoke his mind felt like it had been put through a food processor, run over by a truck, and dipped in acid for good measure.

'Jesus,' he mumbled. His face was buried in something solid yet warm. A strong, muscular chest. 'Mmm, John? What happened?'

Greg snored loudly and shifted his legs. They didn't go far, just dug into an ample bum and pulled a warm body closer. He hummed and smiled, falling back into his dream and fucked Sherlock hard into the mattress.

'John,' Sherlock groaned and lifted his head slowly. He instantly paled. He wasn't lying on John. He was lying on Greg. And a very real erection was pushing into his own raging hard on. No... it had all been a dream, hadn't it?

He slipped off the silver haired detective, a hand clamped over his mouth as he began to feel physically sick. He tumbled into the bathroom and threw up the bitter tasting contents of his stomach.

Greg groaned when the warm body disappeared, but that didn't stop his dreams. Sherlock was riding him now, his cock bouncing happily with every impalement. He moaned and rut against the fabric of his jeans, wanting to cum so very badly.

John began to stir and rolled over, drawing the sheets closer around him and snuggling into Sherlock's pillow. He cracked an eye open when he heard Sherlock mumble his name and sat up completely when he heard retching in the bathroom. Was Sherlock ill? He dressed in lounge clothes and padded out to the sitting room.

Greg was sprawled out on the sofa, having a very erotic dream going by the sounds he was making and the motion of his hips. He blinked and turned back into the kitchen to start some tea. The two would be needing it, especially with such killer hangovers. What on earth had they gotten up to last night? How much had they drank?

Sherlock groaned and wiped his hand across his lips. He stood on shaking legs and walked out of the bathroom. His eyes bugged as he saw John in the kitchen making tea. He pressed his legs together in an attempt to quell his raging hard on. But the sight of Greg erotically thrusting his hips upwards on the sofa only increased its size and intensity. The broken memories of the night prior to the morning didn't help it at all either.

John turned around and smiled softly as Sherlock quietly padded into the kitchen, sitting gingerly in one of the chairs and holding his head in his hands.

'Hey,' he whispered. 'Got a bad hangover then? Here.' He put a mug on tea in front of him. 'Sip at that for a bit.'

Greg gave out a long moan and thrust his hips faster, the Sherlock in his dream close to cumming and so was he. John raised an eyebrow and looked at Sherlock questioningly.

'Is he gonna be alright?'

Sherlock shrugged and picked up the cup of tea John had handed him. He sipped it slowly with his head turned away from John in shame. Sherlock flinched as Greg suddenly screamed his name. His face burned bright red and he didn't dare glance at John.

John froze, a fresh mug of tea clenched in his hands. His cheeks burned and his eyes swam with tears. No. They couldn't have. Didn't. Wouldn't. But they did. The evidence was plain as day.

Greg was still whimpering Sherlock's name as he came down from his peak, relaxing against the sofa with a soft smile. He began to stir after that and rose slowly off the couch, his back protesting horribly so. He stretched and cracked his back, sighing in relief as the kink in it worked itself out. He blinked awake and looked for Sherlock. He found him sitting in the kitchen, a hand pressed between clenched thighs and a deep flush spreading down his neck and what was exposed of his chest.

Then he saw John standing by the kettle and the events of what happened last night came crashing down on him, the consequences of which crushed him and he dashed from the flat. He needed to see Mycroft. Needed to prove to himself that he still loved the man and that he hadn't just cheated on him with his lover's little brother and his own future brother-in-law.

Sherlock swallowed thickly and finally risked a glance up at John. The man seemed beside himself, and absolutely fuming. The young brunette looked away from the hurt filled eyes of his lover and pushed the heel of his hand harder against his erection.

'You didn't?' John asked, his voice breaking. 'Please tell me you didn't just cheat on me with Greg.'

'I can't lie to you. We were extremely drunk. That may have occurred. I really can't remember,' Sherlock whispered in a barely audible voice.

'What may have occurred? A drunken grope and a snog? Because that sounded like a lot more.' John pointed at the sofa Greg had vacated and glared at Sherlock, his eyes swimming with tears and his chest heaving with emotion.

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'I... I don't know. I really don't. We were beyond pissed. But from what I can remember...' He ran a hand down his face. 'There was more than a kiss and a grope.'

'Like what?' John asked, his voice breaking. A lone tear slid down his cheek but he quickly wiped it away. No time for weakness now, Watson.

'I think...' Sherlock bit his lip to stop it from shaking. 'I gave him a blow job.'

'Oh. A blow job,' John sighed in exasperation. 'Is that all? Well then, let me just get the "I'm sorry for giving my brother's lover a blow job" card and we'll be all set then!'

'I was drunk!' Sherlock protested. 'Have you forgotten what you did when you got drunk? Or have we forgotten that completely?'

'I didn't cheat on you!' John shouted. 'This is completely different! Yes, I raped you when I was drunk, I hurt you, I caused you pain. But this, Sherlock, this–' He took a sharp inhale of breath as his emotions threatened to spill forth. 'This is a different pain entirely. This is you performing sexual acts on another man, a man we  _know and work with_ , and it's broken my heart. And for fuck's sake! I'm not blind ya know! I see that erection you're trying to hide! So, what? You fancy Greg over me now? Does Greg treat you like a precious fucking gem and now you're gonna leave me for him? Is he better than me? Bigger? What?'

Sherlock groaned and clutched his head tightly. 'Are you really saying that this is worse than what you did to me? Have you any idea of the emotional trauma I am constantly in because of that night? Of how sex with you now is so terrifying that I didn't get a release with you yesterday? Do you know how used I sometimes feel? Do you know that I sometimes feel like a pretty body and nothing more? I am sorry about last night. Greg got me pissed. Hey, maybe he wanted to get his hands on my pretty body too? It would seem I'm only good for sex nowadays. Greg said I'm a sex slave. I'm starting to think he's right. I'm your slave and I was his slave last night.' Sherlock took a deep breath as his voice began getting smaller and smaller. He didn't have the strength to shout.

'And yes, I have an erection. Maybe it's because I feel safe with Greg and therefore my body performs as it should, instead of battling to keep it up.'

'I disgust you now, do I?' John choked out. 'You find me so utterly repulsive that you'd rather shag Greg than me? You feel safe with him, is that it? Are you frightened of me?'

'I, er, no. You don't disgust me.' Tears welled up in Sherlock's eyes.

'I think that's a load of shit!' John yelled, some tears escaping. 'You said yourself that you didn't get off when we made love last night! But then you go out with Greg and... and you fucking shagged him! I bet you weren't gentle with him at all, were you? Were you?!'

Sherlock shook his head, tears of his own lazily dripping down his cheekbones.

'I didn't say I shagged him. I didn't – oh god.' More tears fell as some more memories were revealed to Sherlock. 'I shagged Greg,' he admitted in shock. 'How could I do that?'

'Why? Sherlock, why?' John cried softly. 'Why would you do that? How could you do this to us? To  _me?_  How could you betray me like that? And with  _Greg_  of all people?'

'I was drunk. We were celebrating.' Sherlock paused and licked his lips. 'He's planning on marrying Mycroft. We only wanted to celebrate becoming brother-in-laws. I never wanted to betray you. I s'pose my body betrayed me. I just wanted an orgasm that wasn't attached to fear. I grabbed the nearest warm body.'

'Wait, wait, wait. Back the fuck up,' John said, pulling back himself. 'Greg is planning on  _proposing_  to Mycroft and you shagged him anyway? What the fuck, Sherlock?!'

'Don't shout, John,' Sherlock croaked, rubbing at his sore head. 'I don't know why I did what I did. It was like I wasn't in control of my body or mind.'

'I'll fucking yell if I fucking want to!' John spat. 'And it's called alcohol, Sherlock. It impairs people's judgment. Even yours.'

'No,' Sherlock mumbled. 'There's more to it than that. Please, you have to believe me. I would never willingly cheat on you. Even if we were going through another rough patch I wouldn't have. Something must have happened to me and Greg to act out in such a way.'

'I want to believe you, Sherlock. I do. But I just can't. I can't do this right now.' He stalked off to the bedroom and pulled out a suitcase, throwing a random assortment of clothes into it.

'Where are you going?' Sherlock asked, his voice a broken whisper. 'Are you just going to leave me? Can't we talk this through first?'

'There's nothing to talk about, Sherlock,' John stated. 'You cheated on me and I'm leaving to clear my head. I'm going to Harry's for a while and I don't know when I'll be back.'

Sherlock swallowed heavily. 'Will I ever see you again?'

'Someday, maybe,' John shrugged. 'I don't even know if I'm leaving for good right now. I just need to get away.' He zipped the suitcase shut and sighed, hanging his head and shuddering.

'I don't want you to go. Please, John. We've been through too much for it to end this way.'

'I don't want to go either,' John admitted. 'I want to stay, I do.' He looked at Sherlock sharply. 'Convince me to stay.'

'I can't do that. I don't have anything to convince you with. I just want you by my side, because we're stronger when we are together. We'll work through this.'

'Is that all you've got? Really? "We're stronger when we're together?" Look at all that's happened since we've gotten back together. Look at what we've done to each other! I went to rehab because of you!'

'I was in a coma when you said your problems started. That was way out of my control. And then you can't even comprehend how caught up I was over the fact I'd hurt you in the dream world I created for myself. I saw myself as a monster.'

'But then you wouldn't touch me!' John yelled. 'What was I supposed to do? I thought I was a vile, disgusting creature that you didn't want! That nobody wanted! You always make me feel so horrible, Sherlock! And I hate myself because of how utterly gorgeous you are compared to me! Look at me! I'm a fucking fluffy hedgehog! And you're a goddamn Greek god! Why do you even want me?'

'You are not vile nor are you disgusting. You are handsome and charming. And I am sorry if I have led you to believe any less.' Sherlock frowned deeply. 'I wish you wouldn't state that I am a Greek god. Or that I am gorgeous. That is exactly what I was on about when I said I feel like I'm just a pretty body.'

'I'm sorry you feel that way, but you are gorgeous. More so than most male models. Or the female ones at that. I love you, I do, but I can't stay here right now. I just can't.'

Sherlock nodded sadly. 'Do I at least get a kiss goodbye? I don't want this to be the last memory I have of you if you don't return.'

John sighed and nodded. He set the suitcase in the hall and wrinkled his nose when he stepped close to Sherlock.

'You smell like him,' he mumbled. 'I don't want you to smell like him. Clean yourself up first.'

Sherlock sighed and walked into their – or he supposed now it was just his – bedroom. He shucked off his clothes and put a pair of pyjamas on, spraying himself with deodorant for good measure.

Tottering out of the room and towards John on unsteady legs, he smiled weakly.

'Better. I guess,' John sighed. 'I just... If you guys snogged, I don't want to taste him in your mouth. Could you brush your teeth or something?'

Sherlock suppressed a whimper that wanted to make its way out of his throat and did as John instructed. He went to the bathroom and spent a long time just brushing his teeth vigorously, using mouthwash for good measure.

'Thanks,' John smiled weakly. He just stood there awkwardly, not knowing how to proceed. 'So... How should we go about this then?'

Sherlock moved forwards and cautiously took John's head in his hands. 'I never meant to hurt you,' he whispered, pulling John into a tentative kiss. John was about to retort with a, 'Well, ya did,' but his lips were connected to Sherlock's now. He reached up tentatively and held his face softly, barely touching him with his fingertips.

The kiss was short and to the point. It was an apology, and a pathetic one at that. 'I guess this is goodbye.'

'Just... Hold on.' John attacked Sherlock's lips again, his love for Sherlock winning out over reason. 'I'm not done yet.'

Silent tears cascaded down Sherlock's face. He didn't want this to last. The longer this lasted the more hurtful the goodbye was going to be. It was like slowly removing a plaster. It was better done fast. But he allowed John to attack his lips. At the current moment in time he would have allowed John to do anything. He wasn't quite sure what else he could do to show John he was sorry.

'I don't want him on you,' John growled. He pushed Sherlock onto the bed and crawled over him, mashing their lips together again. 'Only me.'

'You're prolonging the goodbye, John,' Sherlock whispered hoarsely, glancing up at the blonde haired man.

'Precisely,' John grinned. He kissed Sherlock again, but softer. 'Convince me to stay.'

'John, we could continue, I could allow you to make love to me, but that is precisely what led me to the drink. I accepted that you needed releases to be happier. But I am fucking terrified when we're having sex. Or at least when I'm the one who... has been penetrated. Our relationship has been falling apart, piece by piece for a while now. What I said earlier used to be true. We used to better together, but maybe some time apart wouldn't hurt. Because this–' Sherlock gestured to John lying on top of him. '–doesn't feel right. I cheated on you, John. I slept with another man. I do not deserve your forgiveness. I may not have been in control of my body and mind at the time but that doesn't make it any better, does it? Because I chose to drink. Or at least Lestrade convinced me to. I did not mean to get pissed. I'm not sure how it happened, but it happened.'

John pulled back and stood up, staring down at Sherlock as his lover's logic penetrated his mind.

'Stay there,' John said as Sherlock attempted to sit up. 'Just... Stay there. I don't want to look back and see you standing at the top of the stairs. Because that would break me.' He swallowed thickly and moved to the door.

'Do me a favour though, yeah?' he asked softly. 'If you feel like you truly had no control over your actions, get a drug test. Maybe you were roofied or something. And, not that I don't trust Greg, but get yourself tested for other things as well. Can't hurt to be thorough.'

He turned to the door, his back facing Sherlock, and some stray tears falling down his face. 'Take care of yourself, yeah? I don't want to come back to a drunk druggie who can't remember the last time he ate.'

Sherlock simply nodded and flipped himself over so he was face down on the mattress, nose buried in a blanket that smelt of John. He couldn't bring himself to speak, he could barely bring himself to stop the sobs breaking free from his throat.

 _Goodbye my love. Goodbye. I'm sorry._  
  
John wanted to tell Sherlock he loved him, that he was going to miss him so much, and that he was going to come back. But he couldn't speak past the lump that had formed in his throat. He listened to Sherlock's sobs for a moment before he couldn't take it anymore. He opened the door and shut it behind him, picked up his suitcase, and thumped down the stairs. He hailed a cab and managed to give the driver his sister's address. He stared out the window wordlessly, watching the London scenery pass him by, blinking back tears the entire way.

Sherlock fell into an uneasy sleep. He was both physically and emotionally exhausted. John had gone, and he was fairly certain that this was the tipping point of their relationship. This was the end of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

Sherlock was wracked with guilt. He'd betrayed John. He'd betrayed his brother... oh god, his brother. How was he ever going to face his brother again? Would Greg tell Mycroft about what had happened? Of course he wouldn't. Greg wasn't an idiot. But neither was his brother. The truth would come out eventually.

In which case, not only had he ripped apart his own relationship, he'd ripped apart his brother's relationship too.

Why the hell did he always have to ruin everything?

**…::-::…**

'John? What are you doing here?' Harry asked when she opened the door to find her little brother standing on the step.

'Sherlock,' was all he had managed to choke out before the sobs took him. Harry sat down on the steps and held him, surprisingly caring all of a sudden. But her baby brother was brokenhearted, and right now he needed his big sister to make everything alright.

'You can stay here as long as you need,' she said softly, petting his hair. 'Take all the time you need, Ham.' John laughed softly at the stupid nickname and nodded.

'Thanks, sis.'

'No problem. Now, clean yourself up and look presentable. Clara and I were just about to have lunch. You're more than welcome to join us.' John nodded but declined, instead moving into the spare room and curling up on the bed, sobbing himself to a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise this is probably a shitty way to end a chapter, but the angst is needed for reasons. If you want some fluff, you can read my new story Surprises, which is part 5 of my Jumpers and Scarves series. It's a bit more fluffy than this. And just overall ridiculous because Sherlock's naked bum makes an appearance ;)
> 
> I'm making no promises of updating Friday, so if I don't then I'll see you next Monday. Until next time.
> 
> TSA + IB


	49. From Bad to Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Happy Red Pants Monday! And welcome back. It's good to be back as well. I missed this angsty, smutty universe InvisibleBlade and I have created.
> 
> Here is the resolution to the massive cliffhanger we left you with last week. Many apologies for that, as it was a horrible place to stop, but with family stuff going on I didn't have the time nor the mentality to edit and write. But I'm back now and have even started working on my Sherlock Mini Bang piece. It feels good to be writing again. I'll have to post some smut soon to fill the gap, so look forward to that ;)
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Moriarty  
> Me: John, Mycroft, Greg
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: drug use and abuse, alcoholism, attempted suicide, cutting, near OD, Moriarty makes a comeback, Holmes family feels, more angst between Sherlock and John, angst and pain all around

Quiet.

It was too quiet.

John had been gone for exactly one whole week and the silence was unbearable.

Sherlock was sat in the kitchen surrounded by empty food packaging and an array of experiments. He'd started binging again by the second day of John's absence. He was too lost in his emotions to care. But now there was no food left and no John to buy any more. He couldn't be bothered to go out himself. He didn't want to face the outside world.

His brother hadn't been in contact with him, nor had Greg. Sherlock had taken that as an incredibly bad sign. And although John's lack of contacting him wasn't all to surprising, it still hurt.

Sherlock was completely alone and he was falling further and further into one of his dark and brooding moods.

He'd taken John's advice, gotten himself tested to see if he and Greg had been drugged. He'd been told the results would take up to two months. The wait was going to kill him. He was starting to lose belief in himself already, starting to think that he'd cheated on John out of a stupid drunken act.

**…::-::…**

It had only been a week but John had already fallen so far. He'd started smoking again, and the drinking had started again simply because Harry was an alcoholic so why the fuck not? He felt like he hadn't been sober in days, but he didn't care. He just wanted his Sherlock back.

But his Sherlock had betrayed him. Broken him. He didn't want him back. He wanted the Sherlock he'd fallen in love with back. But he was lost, gone. Possibly forever.

They had once been great together, an unstoppable duo. Now they were practically an explosion waiting to happen. But they were self-destructive when they were apart. And John would rather be in the middle of an explosion than be away from Sherlock.

He had nearly drunk dialled him several times but his sister had always taken away his phone. He had messages saved to be sent later, but he never sent them. They just stayed in his inbox, unsent, forgotten.

**…::-::..**

Without John, Sherlock slipped further and further into the fire line of his own self destruction.

When his stomach growled, demanding food, Sherlock ignored it. There was no food in, so what was the point?

Whenever memories of all the things he'd ever done wrong by John popped into his mind, Sherlock found as many inventive ways as possible to occupy his mind. There were no cases and Sherlock didn't want to face Lestrade to ask him for some. So he had resorted to making homemade chemicals again. The more toxic the chemicals, the higher he got, the less he thought of John, the more he slipped into destruction.

He kept on telling himself that he didn't have a problem. That he was perfectly fine. Well, not fine as such. He was coping though. That was until his homemade drugs weren't enough and he went wandering the streets for cocaine to slice into his veins. He was high more often than not and his highs were becoming less and less pleasant. He would see terrible, horrific things. Things that made him want to end his life there and then.

And sometimes his mind listened to those thoughts and he'd pick up a razor and cut into his wrists. The image of John coming home one day would always ring through his head in those moments. Because if John ever did decide to come back then he would be sad and so, so disappointed in Sherlock. It was enough to stop him from nipping a main artery and ending it all.

But now it was Christmas, or at least that's what the outside world was screaming. It was snowing, there were children outside playing, laughing, and the general Christmassy feel clung to the air like poison. This was another Christmas spent without John. He was so hopelessly alone. No one cared about him anymore. No one wanted to reach out to him.

By this point the results of the drug test still hadn't gotten back to Sherlock. John was still gone. He'd literally been isolated, like an island stuck out in the middle of a deep vast sea. Occasionally Mrs Hudson would come up and pester him into eating. She would give him worried glances and sometimes she looked like she pitied him.

Sherlock didn't need pity. Sherlock needed this to end.

He had done an awful lot of thinking over the past couple of months, despite his best efforts not to. And he had come to a conclusion. No matter what he'd been told before by various people, he was not strong. He was very, very weak. He was losing a war with life in general. He had caused so much misery. Every time he fucked up it always affected someone he cared about. It was like his brother with his binge eating, and John's rehab trip. As long as he was still alive he would still continue to fuck up.

Which was why he found himself standing upon the roof of St. Bart's, high on cocaine, rake thin, unwashed, unloved, uncaring, and prepared to die.

He held his phone in shaking hands. He deserved to let the people he cared about have one last goodbye. Even if it was more for his sake than theirs.

To Mycroft:

_Firstly, I just want to apologise. I want to apologise for everything. I am certain that you will have heard about the events that occurred between myself and Lestrade. I am assuming this since I haven't heard a peep out of you in two months. I can assure you that it was not Lestrade's fault. It was all mine. I am a hateful person who destroys everyone and everything in his wake. I wish I hadn't been born. I wish that you could have lived a happy, carefree life without me. That you didn't have to worry about me so much. Well, maybe I can make that wish true. I am about to do something extremely selfish but you must understand that these past two months have literally been hell for me. I can't live any longer. I am totally alone. Goodbye Mycroft. I shall see you on the other side. Here's hoping I will have earned your forgiveness by then. –SH_

To Greg:

 _I am sorry. I have ruined your chance of happiness with my brother. Why I did that is a mystery to me. You are like family to me. And it seems I have treated you like shit. I have destroyed your life. I am making this short because, well, I know this will be extremely awkward and maybe even a little irritating to you. Please can you do me one favour? Go back to him. Before it's too late.  
_  
 _Goodbye Greg.  
_  
 _Thank you for trying to help me be a good man. –SH_  
  
To John:

_My dearest Watson,_

_How many times have I apologised to you over the time span of knowing you? Far too many, yes? And I will never be able to apologise enough. Because I will always find a way to hurt you, to destroy you in new ways, and I will never be able to truly show you how much I love you. No. Because why would you believe me? I took your heart and I broke it repeatedly. I wish you to know that I love you. I have always loved you despite everything. I am a terrible person. If only you could see me now. I don't look like a Greek god. I look like death. But not as much as I will in a brief moment. I wish you to not blame yourself for what I am about to do._

_I cannot express my love for you via text so I guess I shall just simply bid you goodbye. –SH_

Three mobiles chimed. One was ignored completely. One was checked out of habit. The other was checked so damn fast the owner's hands shook.

Of the two that read their messages, one paled and rushed out the door. The other hung his head in his hands and sobbed.

Which was why Mycroft was ignoring his phone completely as he continued working on something of national importance, Greg was sobbing at his desk at the Yard, and John was stood at the base of Saint Bart's, sober for the first time in weeks, crying Sherlock's name at the top of his lungs.

Sherlock heard someone calling his name. John?

'Stay there!' he screamed. 'You're too late!'

'No!' John screamed. He dialled Sherlock's mobile for the first time in months and nearly cried when he heard how broken and defeated he sounded. 'Don't do this, Sherlock. Please. Not like this. Please!'

'I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. I've fucked everything up. I'm only trying to fix things.'

'How is killing yourself going to fix anything?' John sobbed. 'You can't leave me like this! Please!'

'What? Like you left me? Like everyone who has left me? I have been so alone. And I can't do it anymore.'

'I was going to come back!' John cried. 'I was! I wasn't going to leave you forever! Not like you're planning to! Please! Let's talk about this!'

Mycroft of all people showed up then, gasping and wheezing, his suit jacket missing as well as his tie. Had he run all that way?

'Give me the phone. Go to him,' he wheezed. John nodded and raced to Bart's entrance and headed for the roof. Mycroft held the phone to his ear and began to distract Sherlock so John could save him.

'You listen to me Sherlock Timothy Carlton Holmes,' he growled rather weakly into the receiver. 'You are not going to kill yourself. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever! And do you know why?'

'Why?'

'Because you are my family, Sherlock. I was so angry at you and Gregory for what you two did. It ate me up inside. I nearly killed myself that night. Because I heard you. I'd called Gregory and he picked up, and I heard you two over the phone. I thought it was his twisted way of breaking up with me. And for you no less. I binged and drank until I vomited and then did it all over again. I kicked Gregory out of the house and focused solely on my work. And I was so dead inside, Sherlock. I thought I hated you, hated Gregory. For a while I'm sure I did, but I could never hate my little brother, no matter how annoying his obsessions with pirates and bees are. I love you, Sherlock. I always have and I always will. And nothing will ever change that.'

'Love me do you, Mycroft? Let me tell you how close I have come to killing myself. Because it's been pretty damn close over these two months. I have become self destructive in ways I don't think you can even quite comprehend. I was waiting for someone to reach out to me. I expected that you might have been that someone. But no. I have been on my own for two whole months now. No John. No cases. No annoying brother to pester me. I have binged, cut my wrists till I almost bled to death, pumped myself full of cocaine as well as inventing my own drugs to keep me a high as a fucking kite. The one thing I learnt from all this? I am not worth loving. What happened between me and Gregory was a mistake. A god honest mistake. I don't know how it happened. But do you believe I could hurt you like that on purpose? I shall leave it at that. Goodbye, brother. Thanks a fucking lot. See you in hell.'

Sherlock tossed his phone down to the ground and took another step towards the edge. He was so close now. So blissfully close.

John's lungs were burning as he raced up the stairs. He was so close to the roof, he had to press on. But his lungs ached so badly. When he finally burst through the doors that opened to the roof he was gasping for breath. He needed to quit smoking again.

He searched frantically for Sherlock and found him just as he tossed his phone behind him. He was edging closer to the edge, spreading his arms wide. John raced forward, determined to catch him. He grabbed him around the waist just as Sherlock took the first step off the ledge, wrenching him back and toppling them both to the ground.

'Sherlock!' Mycroft cried when he saw his brother disappear. He could only hope John was the one to rescue him. Sherlock lay shaking in John's arms. He whimpered and buried his thin frame against him. His drugged pupils stared up at him unblinking.

'It's gonna be OK now, love. I've got you,' John said softly, smoothing Sherlock's hair away from his face. He kissed his temple and pulled him close, burying his nose in Sherlock's coat.

Sherlock shook his head. 'Not okay. Never okay. Alone. So alone.'

'You won't be alone anymore,' John promised. 'I'm never going to leave you again.'

'Everyone leaves me in the end,' Sherlock sobbed. 'No matter how hard I try I can never not be alone.'

'Shhh. It's going to be ok. Look at me, love.' He tilted Sherlock's chin up and looked at him properly, taking in his hollowed cheeks, blown pupils, and his beardless chin.

'You're high as a fucking kite... and yet you shaved?' he asked softly.

'You wanted me to get rid of it. Thought you might have come back.'

'Oh.' John frowned slightly. He sat up and pulled Sherlock into his lap, holding him close and rocking him like a small child. 'I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. I deserved to be isolated. I deserved to be completely alone. I fucking cheated on you.'

'That wasn't your fault,' John murmured. 'You got tested, right?'

'Results are still pending,' Sherlock sniffled. 'Either way, it doesn't put what I did in the right.'

'I know, but I forgive you for what happened. To an extent. I'm still upset that it happened, incredibly so, but I can't stay away from you any longer. I was going to come home today. A Christmas present for you. My return into your life. You realise we haven't celebrated a proper Christmas as a couple yet?'

'Why do you think I'm on the fucking roof? I was not going to go another one without you.'

'I'm here now, love,' John said softly, pulling Sherlock close in a gentle embrace. 'Please don't kill yourself over me. Please. We can go home now and have a small Christmas. I actually got you a present.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'I don't need you. I don't need my brother. I don't need Lestrade. I don't need anyone. I know what I deserve. You've all shown me that over these two months. You know, not one of you even bothered texting me. I cannot go back to normal with a snap of your fingers. I can't.'

'I wanted to call you, Sherlock. I really did. But Harry wouldn't let me. I have texts saved to my phone that I wanted to send but never did. I was too scared you'd tell me to piss off.'

'I'd tell you to piss off? Bullshit! You were the one to leave me!' Sherlock tried to wriggle from John's arms. 'And now what? I try to kill myself and it's suddenly "I was going to come back to you eventually." No! No! I can't! How the fuck did you know I was here anyway?'

'Where else would you kill yourself? You said it yourself, Sherlock. Genius needs an audience. You wouldn't kill yourself in the flat all alone for Mrs Hudson to discover. No, you would want it to be somewhere public. Somewhere familiar. Hence, Bart's.

'And yes, I may have been the one to leave you, but I was always going to come back. You're seared into my heart, Sherlock. I could never leave you. I love you too damn much to just up and leave you like that. I just needed to get away for a while and think, like you did when I faked my orgasm.'

'Two months without a fucking text? I wouldn't have cared if that text had said you hated me. It would have allowed me to see you were still fucking alive and well. And naturally I would want everyone to see my death.'

'Can we at least go home and talk about this? It's freezing up here.' John shivered as a gust of cold wind ripped past them, rippling his coat about.

'Yes. I'll go home.' Sherlock shoved John, finally managing to struggle out of his grasp. He stood on shaky legs. 'Stay there. Don't follow me,' he begged as he began to run away from John.

'Like fuck I'm staying here! Get back here!' he shouted, running after Sherlock. He caught up easily and tackled him back to the ground, sitting on his hips and holding his hands by his head.

'Tell me what's going on. Do you want to punish me or something? Because I'll let you hit me. Go on. Hit me.'

'Piss off! I want you to leave me the hell alone! I wish I hadn't met you!'

'You don't mean that!' John cried, a few lone tears falling down his face. 'You're high. You don't mean that. Let's just get back to the flat and get some caffeine in you. Ok? And then we can sit and talk about this like civilised adults. Please!'

'No! I do mean it! I fucking do! Now please can you get off of me?! You're frightening the fuck out of me!'

'I don't want to leave you alone!' John sobbed. 'I can't do this anymore, Sherlock. I can't keep leaving you! I want to stay! Please let me stay!' He released Sherlock and rolled of the younger man, sobbing into the snow.

'I want to stay,' he repeated. 'Please. But... If I'm scaring you, if I disgust you now, I'll understand. Just go.'

'You don't disgust me, but I just – I've got to go.' Sherlock shook his head, scrambling to his feet again. 'It's too late. I don't know whether we can repair our relationship now. Just let me go.'

Sherlock fled. He ran through the hospital and shot out of it. He ran past his startled brother and he kept on running. John sobbed for a good, long while, ignoring the cold. Mycroft came and found him and sat next to him, handing him his mobile back.

'What happened?' he asked the shorter man softly.

'I think we just broke up,' John choked out. 'For good this time.'

'Oh,' was all Mycroft got out before John stood up and ran from the building. He wasn't going to leave Sherlock alone. Sherlock needed him whether he realised it or not. And John was determined to show him that they could still work, even if they weren't a couple.

He ran back to the flat and stopped outside it, gasping and wheezing for breath. Definitely no more smoking after this. Unlike Sherlock, he didn't find breathing boring. He was quitting today. No matter what.

He fished his key out of his pocket and unlocked the flat door. He was almost surprised Sherlock hadn't changed the locks, but then he had been anticipating John to come home. He swallowed down his guilt and walked upstairs, pausing when he saw the sitting room door was shut. Sherlock never shut the door. Only unless the two of them were being intimate. Oh no. Had Sherlock moved on already? Had he found a fellow crackhead to bed and share stashes with? He tried the handle and found it unlocked and started crying again at the scene before him.

Sherlock was shooting up again, the needle already penetrating his pale skin, and he was just pushing down on the plunger when John walked in. He really was too late. Sherlock was going to OD and John knew there was no way Sherlock would ever allow him to help. He was as good as dead now.

Sherlock let the empty needle fall to the ground and sat back in his seat, letting the drug rage through his veins. It took him so very far away from the world. It was the ultimate escape. And hopefully it would be his last escape.

'No. No, Sherlock. Why?' John sobbed. He fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands, his sobs echoing around the room. Sherlock closed his eyes, muttered a final goodbye under his breath, and prepared himself for what was probably going to be a rather painful death.

Then the screams started. Screams that belonged to him.

'Sherlock?' John's head shot up, doctor mode activated. He ran over to his screaming love and tried to calm him down. 'What is it? What's wrong? What's going on? Tell me, love. Please! Let me help you!'

'Are you fucking kidding me? I'm dying, you bloody idiot!' Sherlock managed to grit out before his screams started up again. His heart was raging, his entire body being engulfed in fire, and his world was slowing down.

'I'm not letting you kill yourself!' John cried. He raced downstairs and grabbed Mrs Hudson's phone. Thankfully she was at her sister's for Christmas, as per tradition, and was away from all this chaos and heartbreak. He dialled 999 and ordered an ambulance to 221 Baker Street for an overdose. He rushed back upstairs and held onto Sherlock's hand out of habit.

'I'm not letting you die,' he repeated.

'Let me go. It'll be easier for everyone. Just let me go.'

'No.' John shook his head stubbornly. 'No. Because I really was going to come back today. I know you don't believe me, and you probably won't believe me ever again, but just believe this. I was going to come back to you. I'll always come back to you. I promise you that. And I sure as shit am not going to let you go. I can't. It's physically impossible. You are mine and I am yours. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, together forever in life and in death. Because if you die today, I'll be right behind you.'

'That's fucking childish! Do you think I want that?! Stop making piss weak threats! Just stop that!'

'It's not a weak threat! I came prepared!' He fished the razor from his pocket and held it up. 'Together or not at all, Sherlock. And yes, I just compared us to the Ponds and yes, you're definitely Amy. Shut up, you are. I'm the soldier, Rory the Roman. You're the stubborn one who never listens and, while you're smart, you're always getting into trouble.'

Sherlock smirked in his drug riddled state. He pushed his sleeves up further up and revealed the deep cutting scars there.

'Do it. Let the last thing I ever see be you die. Do you think that changes anything? Do you think I'll be waiting with open arms on the other side? Idiot!'

John steeled his gaze and slid his own sleeve up, revealing not horizontal cuts but vertical, each one closer and closer to his major artery.

'You think I'm bluffing? Look at what I've done to myself because of you. I started smoking again, which you probably already deduced given by how I smell like a chimney. And the drinking got worse while living with my alcoholic sister.'

He dug the blade into his skin, blood pumping from the wound, slicing quickly and deeply.

'Is that what you wanted, Sherlock? To watch me die? Because I'll gladly die for you. I've risked my life for you hundreds of times before. Why should this be any different?'

'No!' Sherlock screamed. 'Why are you fucking listening to me? I'm high! I love you! I – stop this! Stop this now! Why must you make me feel so damn guilty all the time?! Why must everyone use me as the scapegoat for their problems?!'

'Oh? So now you want me to live and you love me again?' John cocked his head to the side and held a hand out to stop the paramedics that had just arrived. 'Why would you lie? Do you want to fix this or not?'

Sherlock didn't answer. He simply screamed and clutched his chest as his heart threatened to explode. He sobbed and closed his eyes.

John motioned the paramedics forward and stepped back, eerily calm. Must be the euphoria from the cut. The paramedics sedated Sherlock and hauled him onto a stretcher, John following along behind. While they tried to regulate Sherlock's body temperature with strategically placed ice bags, another paramedic stitched up John's fresh cut and bandaged it. They made it to the hospital in record time and John was pushed out to the waiting room. He didn't care. He was only worried about Sherlock's life, and if he lived what would he say about him calling his bluff?

**…::-::…**

Three hours.

That's how long it took the doctors to get Sherlock stabilised. But even now he was in critical condition. All sorts of wires were jabbing into his thin body. All of them were doing their job by keeping Sherlock alive. But the doctors were finding it extremely hard to save someone who didn't want to be saved. The detective was heavily sleeping, filled with sedatives. He was practically comatose. Whether he'd recover or simply deteriorate was yet to be seen.

John was sat in the chair by Sherlock's bedside, clutching his hand gently and swirling his thumb over Sherlock's translucent skin. It had been several hours, some of which John had managed to sleep through. But Sherlock was still in danger, wasn't out of the woods yet, and John was determined to help him find his way out. So he stayed by his side, both Mycroft and Greg joining him near hour eight. They were talking again at least. That was a start. Now it was his and Sherlock's turn.

'What are you doing here? After calling my bluff I don't appreciate you being here. I really, really don't. Just leave.' Sherlock awoke for a brief moment before slipping back into his comatose state.

'Bluff? What bluff?' Greg asked. John simply held up his bandaged arm and Greg gave an 'ah' of understanding.

'A life for a life,' John said. 'I didn't want him to die alone, so I told him I'd go with him. Together or not at all. So I slit my wrist and he caved. I called his bluff, but I'm still alive. And now he probably hates me for doing so.'

'You should go eat something, John,' Mycroft said. 'We'll stay here with him. If he wakes, I'll text you.'

John nodded and stood, no one moving to take his chair. It would be awkward no matter who Sherlock saw first. The brother he betrayed, the man he cheated with, and the man whose heart he broke. What a wonderful reunion to have them all under one roof. John stalked off to the kitchen and got coffee and an apple, taking two bites before tossing it. He sipped at his coffee, forcing himself to stay away for a little while. Sherlock didn't want him there. Understandable. But did he want him gone for good?

Moriarty strolled through the hospital, a sly grin spreading across his features. To an outsider he would look like a sweetie pie whom had come to visit a loved one.

Did it count if he was here to see a hated one?

A Starbucks coffee in hand, he finally reached his destination. He chuckled darkly as he entered the room containing Sherlock.

'Well, well. What do we have here?' he tutted under his breath, strolling into the room without a care. Mycroft shot up at once, striding over until he was in Moriarty's face.

'What did you do this time?' he growled.

'Calm down. Why would I hurt Sherlock? He's like a brother to me.'

'He is no brother of yours,' Mycroft growled. He slapped the coffee out of Moriarty's hand, the hot liquid spilling across the floor and splashing both men's trousers and shoes.

'I'm sorry, who is this?' Greg asked, standing to take his place at Mycroft's side.

'Ah, Gregory,' Moriarty purred, completely unfazed by Mycroft. 'What a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Hmm. I see I did right by Sherlock when I drugged you both. You're beautifully handsome. I bet you're a far better shag than Johnny Boy.'

Greg paled and swallowed audibly.

'You did that?' Mycroft demanded. 'You drugged them both and had them shag each other?'

'Well of course I did! It was so much fun whispering instructions down both their ears. Do you really think your innocent little brother would ever truly betray you on such a level?' Moriarty smirked. 'Save that for me, Croft.'

Moriarty strode over to Sherlock's bed. 'I didn't do this.' He pointed at the lifeless detective. 'You did. His brother, his friend, and his lover turned their backs. You all drove him to this.'

'You... You were there?' Greg asked. 'Telling us what to do? I don't remember you at all. Who the hell are you anyway?'

'That's not important, Gregory,' Mycroft said, pulling him behind him in a weak semblance of protection. 'And Sherlock put himself here. We weren't there for him when we should have been, but he put himself here because of his own choices. Stop trying to make me feel guilty. It's not going to work.'

Moriarty laughed like a demented mad man and waved at the D.I. 'Moriarty, hi. Sorry to have made such a fleeting impression. I can show you the video tape if you'd like.' He licked his lips. 'Sherlock has a pretty cock doesn't he? And good lord does he give good blow jobs.

'You might be right about Sherlock making those decisions. But in all honesty, did he really have any other choice? He was alone in the world, unloved, uncared for. Face it deary, you abandoned one of your brothers.' He snorted. 'I can relate to that.'

'There's a tape?' Greg squeaked.

'What do you mean "one of my brothers?"' Mycroft questioned, ignoring Gregory's question. 'I've only got Sherlock. My mother never had another child after him.'

'Oh, honey. It's on YouTube.' Moriarty winked at Greg before turning to Mycroft and staring directly at him. 'Your mother may not have had another child. Your father however... well, that's another story. Can you see the resemblance? I've been told it's remarkable how much I look like him.'

'It's on the Internet?!' Greg screeched.

'Gregory! Shut up!' Mycroft yelled. He turned back to Moriarty and studied him, comparing him to the images he had of his father. His face revealed nothing as he realised Moriarty was right. He resembled the Holmes father so much it was almost uncanny. But that meant... No. It couldn't be.

Moriarty wriggled his eyebrows at Greg. 'I put it up there as soon as all the hard copies had been sold. A lot of people were interested in you two. Made quite a killing.'

Turning to Mycroft he asked, 'What's wrong bro? Cat got your tongue?'

'There are DVDs too?' Greg felt his knees to weak. 'I think I'm gonna be sick.' He sat down in a chair and held his head in his hands. Who all had seen it? Let alone bought it?

'You can't be... No,' Mycroft stammered.

'Oh, but I am. I'm your little brother. What are you going to do Croft?'

'But...' He looked at Sherlock, sleeping fitfully, then back at Moriarty. 'When?'

'I believe the affair took place whilst you were around five years old.'

'When I was–? Yes. I do seem to remember him being absent with increasing frequency that year.' Mycroft ran a hand down his face. 'And you were the product of my father's coupling with your mother. Which one was she? Because my father had a lot of affairs when I was young.'

'What does it matter?! My mother was a bitch!' Moriarty scoffed before strolling up to Sherlock. He ran a hand through the young detective's hair and smiled up at Mycroft.

'Don't you touch him!' Mycroft roared. He grabbed Moriarty by his upper arms and pulled him away, slamming him against the wall and pinning them there.

'You are not family you worthless sack of shit,' he spat. 'You're barely even a brother by blood. You do not get to waltz in here like everything is perfect and happy simply because you happen to share some genetics with us. It doesn't work that way. I want you out! Now!'

Moriarty's face creased and he took on the expression of a kicked puppy. His lower lip gave a brief tremble and tears filled his eyes. Not even he could decide whether this was an act because, for a brief moment, he'd felt a stab to his metal heart.

'I understand that.'

'That's not going to work on me,' Mycroft growled. He shoved Moriarty toward the door harshly. 'Get out. Now.'

'I was just showing concern. It's more than you've done for Sherlock over these past few months. I was the one who visited him. Gathered he thought I was an illusion, but at least I was there for him.'

'You son of a bitch. You don't get to do that. Do you realise how much pain and fear you've put him through the past few years? The hospital visits, the coma, making him shag Gregory? You don't get to apologise for that simply because you found out you share blood. You don't get to visit him and play with him while he's still so vulnerable and broken.'

He glared down at the criminal mastermind.  _Family? Certainly not. But a brother. No! Don't give in! That's what he wants!_

'Get out of here, now, before he wakes up.'

'Oh, but that's what I'm counting on.' Moriarty ducked underneath Mycroft's arm and moved to sit in the seat beside Sherlock's sleeping form.

'What?! No! Get out!' he roared. 'Gregory! Help me!'

'But there's DVDs!'

'I'll find them all and burn them! Now help me!'

Greg stood reluctantly, but one side glance from Moriarty made him fall back in his seat.

'There's more, isn't there?' he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

'Oh honey,' Moriarty tutted. 'I could ruin your reputation at the Yard with the amount of DVDs I still have left.'

Greg paled and stayed rooted to his seat. Mycroft simply growled at the both of them, turning to Sherlock when he began to stir.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, Locky, it's me,' he said softly, trying to coax him into looking at him and not Moriarty. 'I'm here, Sherlock. I'm here.'

Sherlock frowned and winced his eyes open. When he saw his brother his frown deepened. However, when he tilted his head to the side and saw Moriarty, a grin split through his features.

'Hello Jim.'

'Well if it isn't the man of the hour,' Moriarty cooed softly. 'Gave me quite the scare.'

'I did?'

Moriarty nodded and brushed a hand through Sherlock's curls once more.

'Yes. Promise me you won't do it again.'

'I... promise?'

'Good boy, Lock. Good boy.'

'What the fuck is this?' Mycroft demanded. 'Sherlock! That's Moriarty! Your worst enemy! And you're letting him pet you?!'

'Wrong,' Moriarty chuckled. 'I'm the only one who was there for him.'

'You'll turn your back on me eventually. Everyone else has,' Sherlock said, sounding defeated.

'Not me Lock. I'll never turn my back on you.'

'I was angry and betrayed!' Mycroft shouted. 'And he was the one who made you shag my Gregory! He's got it on DVD! And the Internet!'

'But I was the one who held him as he cried. I was his friend in his time of isolation. I didn't judge him or try to pin guilt on him.'

Sherlock smirked. 'Remember when we played pirates?'

'Yes!' Moriarty exclaimed in glee. 'You made me walk the plank!'

'Arrr!'

'Who's playing pirates?' John asked from the doorway. He froze when he saw Sherlock and Moriarty, smiling and rough housing like brothers. 'What the fuck?!'

Sherlock's eyes stayed fixed on Moriarty's. 'Can we play pirates when I get home?'

'Sure thing, kiddo. Sure thing.' Moriarty ruffled Sherlock's locks of curly hair playfully.

'What the fuck is going on?!' John demanded. 'What is he doing here?'

'It seems to be some sort of Stockholm Syndrome,' Mycroft mused. 'Moriarty's used Sherlock's vulnerability over the last couple months against him.'

'They're... They're almost like brothers,' John swallowed thickly.

'I'm not under Moriarty's spell, Mycroft,' Sherlock stated, briefly glancing at his brother. 'And Moriarty is more of a brother to me than you've ever been.'

'Are you even listening to yourself?' Mycroft growled. 'Look at yourself! You're cuddling with James Moriarty! The man who tried to kill you by switching your blood type! Who destroyed your memories and put you in a coma! And who broke our father out of prison! He is no brother of yours!'

'At least we have a mutual understanding,' Sherlock stated bitterly. 'And at least he was there for me when everyone else deserted me.'

'It's because of him we deserted you! He made you shag Gregory! Him! He drugged you and told you what to do! I don't trust him! He's planning something. I just know it.'

'I made a mistake and instead of confronting me you abandoned me! In my eyes that doesn't make you the bigger man! That made me feel like fucking shit! I thought you weren't going to let me enter your life again!'

'Shhh now. This isn't your fault.' Moriarty tugged the trembling detective into his arms. 'I've got you.'

'Let him go!' John shouted, lunging forward. 'Don't touch him! You don't get to touch him!'

Moriarty smirked and let go of Sherlock. The detective instantly began to scream and whimper. Moriarty shrugged and pulled him back into his arms.

'Go to sleep Lock,' he hushed. 'It'll be ok. Just go to sleep.'

'What have you done to him?' John demanded, tears rapt with worry falling down his cheeks. 'He isn't Sherlock anymore. What have you done?'

'I haven't done this to him. You have. All three of you.' Moriarty held Sherlock till he went slack and fell asleep once more. 'You left him weak and vulnerable. You abandoned him and traumatised him because he didn't think any of you cared about him.'

'He's an idiot if he believes we would ever leave him,' Mycroft scoffed. 'Is his self esteem really so low that–'

'Yes,' John answered, interrupting him. 'Yes, he actually believes that. And our distancing ourselves from him just confirmed that.'

'Well, I hate to love and leave you, but I have a country to slowly destroy.' Moriarty leant forwards and kissed Sherlock's forehead.

'See ya later kiddo.'

Both Mycroft and John lunged forward at that, tearing Moriarty from Sherlock and throwing him unceremoniously out the door.

'You don't get to touch him!' Mycroft roared.

'He's mine!' John added.

Moriarty snorted and wiped down his suit. 'Then perhaps you should show him that, Johnny Boy. And as for you Mycroft, you better start paying attention to Sherlock. Or you will regret it.'

'Oh, I've got plans to show him just how much I love him,' John growled. 'You aren't taking him from me.'

'I always watch out for my brother,' Mycroft growled. 'Now leave.'

Moriarty simply nodded and walked away. 'Till next time!'

Mycroft slammed the door shut and began pacing around the room. John collapsed in the seat by Sherlock's bedside.

**…::-::…**

Another three hours passed by before Sherlock awoke again. He bolted upright with an almighty scream and thrashed in his covers. John jolted awake and instantly went to Sherlock's side, speaking softly.

'Shhh. It's ok, Sherlock. You're in a hospital. You're safe. Shhh. It's ok.'

Sherlock nuzzled at John. 'Missed you,' he whispered.

'You aren't gonna yell at me anymore?' John asked softly, smoothing his thumb over Sherlock's cheek.

'What? No. Why would I do that?' Sherlock asked, voice cracking.

'Well, you told me to go away the first time you were awake,' John whispered. 'And the time after that you were...' He trailed off, not sure he should tell Sherlock if he didn't remember.

'Were what, John?' Sherlock questioned, blinking at John innocently.

'Well, I don't know if it was just a bad dream, but you were cuddling up to Moriarty.'

'Oh.' Sherlock paused to think about it. 'I don't think it was a dream.'

'You mean... Moriarty was actually here... And you were cuddling him?'

'I thought it was an illusion. Something my drug riddled mind made up. I was obviously wrong.'

'But we were talking back to him. Or did you think that was imagined too?'

'I see a lot of things when I'm high. It isn't the first time I've seen Moriarty either. Which means... he must have really been there those times too.'

'He was talking about playing pirates when I walked in. Did you play pirates without me?' he pouted. 'Was... Was there sex involved?'

'Of course there wasn't!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'Do you really think I'm out to simply cheat on you? We simply fought each other with swords. I remember that much.'

'I'm sorry. I just... If you thought I wasn't gonna come back then what was stopping you from finding another partner?'

'Why would I want another partner?' Sherlock countered.

'Because... I don't know,' John shrugged. 'Guess I'm just being an idiot again.'

'Yes. Yes you are. So what? Just because I shagged Greg in the back of some dirty alleyway I'm automatically a cheating bastard?!'

Of course his brother and Greg chose that moment to enter the room, looking a lot like they'd been doing some making up with each other. Well shit.

'Erhhh! You know what I'm just going back to sleep! I can't deal with this bloody mess!' Sherlock turned his face into his pillow and closed his eyes.

'That's not what I meant,' John sighed. He ushered Myc and Greg to leave and they closed the door behind them, possibly to make up some more.

'Sherlock, that wasn't your fault,' John said softly. He sat on the bed and faced Sherlock's back. 'Moriarty drugged your drinks, said so himself. And then he made you two do what you did. It wasn't your fault, and I forgive you.'

'It doesn't forgive the fact that I woke up with a morning hard on because of Greg.'

'Your body was just reacting to his close proximity. It's perfectly natural, especially after what happened. I'm not going to get mad at your body for doing what's natural. I did then because it hurt, but now that I know the truth I'm not so mad anymore. I'm mad that Moriarty made you do that, and I'm mad that it happened, but I'm not mad at either of you anymore.'

Sherlock cracked his eyes open and turned his head to look at John. 'Well, I can tell you one thing. That's the last time I let Greg take me drinking at the pub,' he smiled weakly.

'Next time it'll be you and me, at New Year's,' John smiled softly. 'We can celebrate as a proper couple, yeah?'

'You're coming back to the flat? Back to me?' Sherlock's entire face lit up.

'Yes. I was going to come back for Christmas. But then you sent that text and I rushed to save you. I even had a present prepared for you. Oh. By the way...' He smiled warmly. 'Happy Christmas, Sherlock.'

Sherlock swallowed. 'Happy Christmas. I'm afraid I didn't get you a present. I wasn't planning on being here.'

'It's ok. You're present enough,' John smiled softly. 'Can... Can I kiss you?'

'Please,' Sherlock begged. 'Please kiss me.'

'Sit up a bit,' John said, scootching closer. Sherlock pushed himself up a little with weak arms and waited in anticipation for a kiss from John. John brushed Sherlock's hair out of his eyes and tucked it behind his ear, stroking his jaw softly. He leaned in closer and tipped Sherlock's face up slightly so he could reach his lips. He brushed his thumb over them and they parted automatically, his tongue poking out to lick the digit. John groaned and moved in, finally pressing his lips against Sherlock's.

Sherlock moved his lips desperately against John's and groaned. He reached out and clutched at the blonde mop of hair on his lover's head. When he tasted cigarettes he paused, thought of pulling away, but continued to snog John breathless. John held Sherlock's face in his hands tenderly, dipping his tongue between his lips and tasting him, moaning loudly.

Sherlock pulled away and spluttered slightly. 'How many cigarettes have you been going through?'

'Pack a day,' John admitted, looking down at the floor. 'I taste terrible, don't I?'

Sherlock's eyes bugged from his skull. 'Have you any idea how unhealthy that is?'

'I'm a doctor, Sherlock,' John sighed. 'Of course I know how unhealthy that is.'

'I can hardly talk. I'm not exactly in prime health. Lord knows the last time I ate, or how many times I shoot up a day.'

John blew air out his nose forcefully in a huffed sigh. 'Didn't I say I didn't want to come home to you in that state? I'm so sorry I put you in the mindset that you felt that was the only option. I should have come home sooner. Or called you at the very least. I'm so sorry, love.'

Sherlock wrinkled up his nose in frustration. 'You left me. Why should I have bothered listening to anything you had to say? I was completely alone. Hell, it would seem Moriarty cared more about me than anyone else in my life did. And I'm fairly sure Mrs Hudson is scarred for life. After all, she's the one who always found me collapsed on our kitchen floor in a puddle of my own vomit.'

John's eyes filled with tears at Sherlock's words, quite a few escaping and falling down his cheeks. He swallowed down a sob and somehow managed to speak.

'Would you prefer it was Moriarty here instead of me?'

'Don't be daft,' Sherlock snorted. 'The whole problem was that you weren't here with me. Because if you had been with me for these two months Moriarty wouldn't have been. I would not have starved myself, most certainly wouldn't have gone back to drugs again, and I definitely wouldn't have been seconds away from jumping off Bart's.'

'I should have never left,' John choked out, more tears falling down his cheeks. 'I'm never leaving you again. I swear. I won't let this happen again. Hell, it shouldn't have happened in the first place. I should have just stayed with you and we could have worked through the whole Lestrade debacle. But I ran like a bloody coward. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'

Sherlock swallowed audibly and fought to contain his own tears. 'Do you know what the worst thing about all this?' he questioned John. 'The worst thing is that I told you I could never possibly cheat on you out of choice, even when pissed. I asked you to believe me and you didn't. You doubted me.'

'I was angry and hurt and betrayed!' John cried. 'I wouldn't have believed you even if you told me the Earth went round the sun!'

'Then you're not the man I fell in love with. Get out. Now.'

John didn't even answer. The wall broke and he sobbed hard, gasping for breath as his cried racked his body.

'You... You aren't... the... the Sherlock I... I fell for... either,' he gasped out between sobs. 'Want... Want him... back.'

'Oh? And who is this great and almighty Sherlock that you fell for? Because let me tell you I'm the exact same man as I've always been. Now can you please get out? I don't want to deal with this right now.'

'No drugs,' John said, his sobbing quieting as he realised what Sherlock was saying. He didn't want him anymore. 'Eats, cases, body parts, loves me. Where is he? I haven't seen him in quite some time. But I'll never get him back, will I? Why should I after how I've treated him? He felt he had to change to appease me. Oh how wrong he was. I will always love him no matter what, through all the ups and downs and extreme lows. Always. I just wish he knew that.'

He stood to leave, feeling defeated and unwanted, his eyes cast to the floor.

'Goodbye, John,' Sherlock said, turning his back to the older man. 'Do take care.'

'I... I... Forget it.' John walked from the room and collapsed in a chair in the hall, sobbing into his hands. Was that it then? Were they over? Sherlock's tears came slow and steady and he barely registered them, just the wet sensation they left behind on his cheekbones.

'Have they abandoned you again? Oh my poor Sherly.' The voice was feathery soft and a welcome change to the constant yelling that seemed to always take place nowadays.

'Are you real?' Sherlock whispered gently, slowly turning to face the owner of the voice.

'It's me, in the flesh. Gotcha.'

Sherlock eyed the consulting criminal with tired eyes. 'How did you get in here?'

'I walked.'

Sherlock snorted. 'You sarcastic bastard.'

'Oh, but you love my sarcasm.'

'I wouldn't say love,' Sherlock sighed but smiled anyway. In his hands Moriarty held a book,  _Treasure Island_.

'Shall I start from the very beginning?'

A small, breathless sound escaped Sherlock's lips. 'Yes, ok, why the hell not?'

Moriarty grinned and took his place beside Sherlock's bedside. He opened the book with nimble fingers and began to tell a tale of pirates and adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe it was InvisibleBlade's idea to make Jim a Holmes, so you can thank her for that wonderful piece of evil and majesty ;)
> 
> Since this was a longer chapter, I'll go back to the traditional posting schedule. Next chapter will be up Friday. And new rule: I'll post three times a week if the chapter on Monday was short (like less than 15 typed pages). With the way things are going, this will be completed by or before Christmas. And there will be a sequel! Yes, you heard it here first! There will be a sequel to this angst-fest. It won't be posted until after Series 3 airs here in America (January 19), so it will maybe be up around February or maybe I'll post it the same day this one was posted way back in March. Who knows? But just be happy there's a sequel, because the way things end in this fic... a sequel was needed.
> 
> Happy Red Pants Monday! We'll see you Friday.
> 
> TSA + IB


	50. From Worse to Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Happy Friday! It feels good to be writing again. I missed it. I'm writing another angsty Return fic for the Sherlock Mini Bang challenge. We signed up back in October and were assigned a partner to create a collaborative piece about Sherlock's return, focusing on someone's reaction to his return. I was paired up with an artist and she's Canadian! I love her already ;) We're doing a Johnlock piece that'll be angsty and fluffy, at least for the first part. The second will be angst with smut. That'll be up by December, and before Series 3 airs. My partner will be making some art pieces to go with the fic, so I have to complete it first so she can pick the scene(s) she wants to draw. She's already chosen one just from the plot outline I sent her, and she might do one or two more to go with it once the fic is complete. I am very much looking forward to this project :)
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Moriarty  
> Me: John, brief Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: John doing drugs (yes, shocking, I know), Moriarty is a manipulative bastard, John smoking, John is high as fuck, Sherlock has a panic attack, THERE'S FINALLY FLUFF, drug search of the flat (with a real sniffer dog this time, not Anderson), mentions of an abusive Harriet Watson. I guess these are more tags than warnings, but whatever. It gets the point across.

John returned to the flat, Mycroft promising to look after Sherlock. That way the two of them could cool off and face each other when they weren't so emotionally drained or tired. Plus, maybe Sherlock wouldn't be high anymore and he'd be able to think coherently.

The flat was empty and dead, much how John felt. The kitchen was littered with chemicals, a joint mixed in among the chaos. He briefly wondered if Sherlock had gotten into Mrs Hudson's herbal soothers again before he plucked it up and inspected it. It was between his lips and lit before he realised what he was doing and he took a long drag, expelling the smoke in little puffs.

He flopped down in his chair and dragged in another hit, holding it as long as he could before he had to let it out. It was different than cigarettes, and he'd forgotten how mellow he got after getting high. A different kind of high than Sherlock's highs. Very different indeed.

He finished the joint and stretched out on his chair, holding what was left of the joint between his fingers. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the 'soother,' mellowing out even more. He fell asleep like that, bathed in the remnants of the joint, mellow and floating on air.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock was laughing freely, his tears were quickly drying.

Moriarty never failed to cheer him up. That thought should have been scary, worrying even, but to Sherlock it simply felt good to feel elated with happiness.

The words of the book he was reading were already imprinted on his mind. They were part of perhaps the only really good memory he had of his childhood. He snuggled under his covers, feeling very much like the child Mycroft had once read to. Except it wasn't Mycroft's voice that was lulling him to sleep, it was the most dangerous man in the world's voice. Somehow that didn't really bother him.

As his eyes slipped shut he was vaguely aware of the sound of a book snapping shut, and then a slight dip in the bed as Moriarty clambered up onto it.

'You and I are so alike, Sherlock. Abandoned, outcasts, dangerous. Sleep well little brother, sleep well. I'll be here when you wake.'

Sherlock frowned at those words but sighed softly as he felt a hand tenderly running through his brown curls.

**…::-::…**

When John woke, everything hurt. His back, his neck, his eyes, his throat, even his lungs. But what hurt the most was the headache pounding in his temples. He almost threw up from the pain but managed to crawl to the bathroom to rest by the toilet, just in case.

Was it morning yet? He wasn't sure. The blinds were all closed but he didn't remember doing that. Mrs Hudson? No. She was still at her sister's. Moriarty? Perhaps. He fell asleep perched above the toilet, his head resting on the cool porcelain to ease the throbbing in his skull.

**…::-::…**

When Sherlock awoke he found himself wrapped in the safety of two arms and staring into eyes as black as night.

'Why are you still here?' Sherlock asked curiously. 'They'll catch you, surely.'

Moriarty chuckled under his breath and dragged him closer in the embrace. 'Maybe I want to be caught. I need a word with your brother.'

'Oh.' Sherlock frowned and crawled into his mind palace quicker than lightening, trying to solve the puzzle of Jim Moriarty, trying to understand why he felt so happy whilst with him.

John's mobile went off, pulling him from his dream. It wasn't a very nice one, so he was grateful for the distraction. He pulled it out of his pocket and blinked at the screen. It was from Mycroft.

 _Moriarty came back. I apprehended him. My men have already taken him away. You need to come back and be with Sherlock. Gregory is at work. –MH_  
  
John typed back a reply slowly as his hands were shaking. He really needed another cigarette. Or five.

 __ **Can't. Sherlock said he didn't want me there. Didn't want me. –JW**  
  
Mycroft's reply came back barely a second later.

 _Please. –MH_  
  
John groaned and stood up, the room spinning slightly as he did. Maybe he was still high. Oh, that would be just utterly fantastic to watch over his junkie ex-lover whilst he was currently high himself. He groaned again and pulled a box of cigarettes out of his back pocket. They were all smushed. Damn. He needed more.

He ambled his way out of the flat and remembered to lock it at the very least. He made it to a little shop that sold a wide assortment of things. But all he really needed was a box of cigarettes. He put a note in the machine and entered the number of the brand he wanted. The box fell to the slot at the bottom and John pulled it out, nearly lighting up right there in the shop. He managed to wait before he was outside and then quickly tore into the box, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, savouring it.

He had six before he made it back to Bart's, smelling strongly of cigarettes instead of an herbal soother. He made it back to Sherlock's room and sat down in the far corner, knowing Sherlock would be able to smell him from that distance but wanting to give him space all the same. And it didn't help that he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday either as they now smelled of fresh and stale smoke. But at least his headache was gone.

Sherlock sniffed the air. It suddenly reeked of cigarette smoke. No. Wrong. It reeked of John. That was John's new scent.

'Six, if I'm not mistaken. And a soother beforehand. I presume you're feeling quite shitty as you haven't even said hello. Though perhaps that has something to do with the way I told you to get out yesterday. I am sorry. I was just a little overwhelmed.' He opened up his eyes and turned to face John, the man was sitting in the corner of the room and he was eerily quiet. 'You know, they say for every cigarette you smoke you take away exactly seven minutes of your life. It really is a terrible habit. And the soother? I'm unbelievably shocked at you.'

'It was in the flat on your work table. Better than taking any of the other drugs strewn about.' John shrugged. 'And it was to help me calm down. I was a bit of an emotional wreck yesterday. Thought you didn't want me anymore.'

'Oh, right, I see. Once again this is all my fault. It's just like you slicing your wrists open. I s'pose I get the blade and hold it to your wrists myself? Just like I force you to smoke your life away. And I pushed you to use drugs and get high. It's always my fault, isn't it? Oh, silly me. Let me apologise for being a general dickhead who has completely ruined your life. Of course I am. I sent you to rehab, caused you to have an eating disorder, practically turned you insane. And I might as well have brought you all those bottles of alcohol. Well, as long as you're nice and calm, let's celebrate!'

'That's not what I meant.' John frowned. 'You're blowing this out of proportion. We aren't good for each other anymore. Look at what we've done to ourselves. Maybe we  _should_  break up. We don't exactly have a healthy relationship.'

'Blowing this out of proportion?' Sherlock began to breathe hard and fast. 'I am not blowing this out of proportion! Do you want to know why we don't work anymore? It's because you're blaming me for everything and I – I–' He couldn't breathe, he was shaking and he couldn't breathe. Oh shit.

'I only blame you for things that are your fault. Everything else is a coping mechanism.' He looked up at Sherlock and noted he was turning red. What? He ambled over and stood over Sherlock, the soother still affecting his reaction time. Once he realised Sherlock was struggling to breathe, the man was starting to turn purple. He bent down and plugged Sherlock's nose and blew a harsh breath into his lungs, the younger man spluttering at the taste.

John tasted foul and Sherlock pushed him away, still struggling to breathe. John wasn't perturbed. He moved back to Sherlock and continued to give him CPR. Even though they were probably going to break up, he still didn't want to see him die. Sherlock sputtered, whimpered, and struggled to wriggle away from the smell and taste of cigarettes. He had once loved the smell of them, but not on John. He was going to fight John all the way.

'G-et proper help!' he yelped. By this point he was a red as a tomato. John shrugged and pushed the call button, a nurse coming in almost immediately. She instantly rushed to Sherlock's side and started giving him CPR. John just watched and sat back in his chair. He was obviously still high, otherwise he would be a lot more frantic and a lot less mellow about the whole thing.

By the time the nurses had gotten his breathing back to normal Sherlock was mentally and physically drained. He gazed on at John and sighed. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Obviously still high. And totally oblivious that Sherlock had almost died of a panic attack. A nurse handed John a cup of coffee and told him to sober up. He took the cup and sipped at the hot liquid, watching Sherlock with hazy eyes. He was ok now, not that John had been particularly worried at the time. Sherlock would always be ok in the end. It always seemed to work out somehow. Maybe he was invincible? He giggled at the thought and sipped at his coffee again.

Sherlock turned away from John and began to sob loudly, not really caring if John heard him or not. John cocked his head as Sherlock sobbed. He would have moved to hold him but he smelt strongly of cigarettes and he could tell Sherlock didn't like it.

'That was a bit not good, wasn't it?' he asked instead. 'I'm still high, aren't I?'

'That was more than a bit not good,' Sherlock sobbed. 'And yes, you're completely and utterly baked. I could have died and you were grinning at me from the corner.'

'I wasn't smiling.' He held a hand to his face and noticed that he was indeed smiling. He pushed against his cheeks until they fell into a neutral smile-frown thing. 'I'm sorry. I... I'd hug you but... you know.'

'At this point I'm far past caring. Please hug me,' Sherlock sniffed. 'That is if you don't detest me too much.'

'I don't detesht you,' John frowned. 'What gave you that idea?'

'Well, hmm, let me see. Where was I? You blame me for everything. I don't care what you say. You bloody do.'

'I don't blame you for my sister's drinking. Or my parents' homophobia. Thank god they're dead. I'd hate for you to meet them.' He set his coffee down and moved over to Sherlock. He toed off his shoes and crawled onto the bed, laying down on his back and pulling Sherlock onto his chest.

'I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel so bad. I'm sorry.'

Sherlock turned over, wrapping his arms around John in a death hug. He looked at the blonde and smiled gently.

'I want to go home today, with you. I want to forget all the hurtful things we've done and said to each other. I want us to start fresh. Learn to know and love each other again.'

'I like that plan,' John smiled gently. He sat back and held out a hand. 'John Watson, nice to meet you.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and ignored the hand. 'Afghanistan or Iraq?'

'Afghanistan,' John grinned, raising an eyebrow. 'How'd you know about that?'

Sherlock grinned. 'Shut up you clot.' He grabbed hold of John and kissed him soundly before breaking apart, his face screwed up in slight disgust from the taste.

'Sorry bout the taste,' John said softly. 'Bu' I didn't brush m' teeth.'

'Hmm. I can tell that. As I was saying, you bloody clot.'

John hummed and nuzzled against Sherlock's hair. 'Wanna nap,' he said. It wasn't quite a question, nor was it a statement. It was an invitation.

'Sleep,' Sherlock hushed, 'Sleep off your high.' He kissed the tip of John's nose.

'Love you,' John mumbled.

'Love you too. Now go to sleep.'

John was asleep in seconds, his mouth open wide and snoring loudly.

**…::-::…**

Home.

They were home and they hadn't argued once. Sherlock was still holding his breath to see how long it took for them to fight, to shout, to disagree with each other, or to simply hurt each other whether it be emotional or physical.

Because there were bound to be challenges ahead, surely? After all they had been through how could there not?

The first challenge: facing the mess of clearing the flat of all drugs.

No matter where someone looked there were drugs stored. His homemade ones were piled high on the kitchen table. The other drugs were hidden in more inventive places. Cocaine was the main one but there were others too and he knew John would be most upset as he found them. There was heroin, marijuana, ketamine, mescaline, etc. in fact. If you named a type of drug Sherlock probably had it stashed somewhere.

John was busy clearing out the kitchen while Sherlock was cleaning out his more inventive spots in the sitting room. The eyes of the bison skull, fake books in the bookcase, shoved between cushions in the sofa and their chairs.

Then he came across the meth stashed in a cupboard. In one of his mugs no less. His heart broke. It wasn't just cocaine, it was so much worse than he imagined. He pushed on and searched through the fridge and found syringes full and prepared for the next hit. He whimpered and threw them all out. What else was Sherlock using?

Sherlock padded into the kitchen and over to the table. With a sigh he let the drugs he'd kept hidden till now drop to the table. There were a countless amount of drugs, and there were so many different types. The guilt was practically swallowing the detective whole.

'I...' He bit his lip and glanced away from John's sad and pity-filled eyes. 'I'm sorry.'

'We're fixing it, aren't we?' John said softly. 'It's going to be fine.'

'The cravings shall kill me,' Sherlock sighed, his brow pinching in worry. 'I might get violent. You may have to tie me down.'

'I'll get some sedatives from work too,' John sighed. 'How much more is there?'

'There's more meth in our bedroom, and a considerable amount of cocaine too, and... some marijuana. You'll find a number of pills for depression also. Not that they did much good.'

John sighed and trudged into the bedroom. He began rifling through the wardrobes and dressers, finding more bags of drugs and some more needles.

Sherlock walked over to the bedroom and stood in the doorway. 'I stashed some away in the mattress too. And there are more needles under the loose floorboard.'

'There's a loose floorboard?' John asked, moving to flip the mattress over and dig around in the holes Sherlock had dug in it. 'We'll be getting a new mattress now,' he said.

'Yes.' Sherlock nodded and moved to the corner of the room, lifting up the said loose floorboard. 'Ah,' he mumbled. 'I'd forgotten that I had more meth down here too.' He pulled out a box of clean needles and then a good few hundred pounds worth of meth.

'Is that all? Or should I check the bathroom too?' He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans. 'Oh. And if those needles are clean, keep them. I may need them to sedate you once your cravings become severe.'

Sherlock sighed and walked into the bathroom himself. He came out with bags of ecstasy. 'That's all... I think.'

'Check your mind palace. I don't want you to come across drugs you forgot about while you're recovering.' He took the ecstasy and put it in the pile on the table. He'd already called Greg and he was sending a team over in a few minutes to clear everything out.

Sherlock blew air through his nose heavily as he tried to recall any other places he'd put drugs. His mind drew a blank. But something was telling him that he'd missed something, that there was still a hefty amount of drugs somewhere within the flat. Oh well. Lestrade and his hounds would be able to sniff them out in no time.

'Think, Sherlock.' John sat him down in his chair. 'Close your eyes and search. What else are we missing?'

Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to shift through the days gone by. But in those memories he was either high, or coming down from a particularly severe high.

'I can't.' He shook his head. 'I can't remember much. It's all so fuzzy. I'm sorry.'

John sighed and kissed Sherlock's forehead. 'It's ok, love. The sniffer dogs will probably find it.'

Just then there was a knock at the door and John bounded down the stairs to let the drugs just officers inside.

'We think we found most of it, but Sherlock says there's something we're missing. Hope you brought the dogs.'

'Yes, sir. They're right here,' the lead officer replied. The dogs bounded in, their handlers right on their heels. They started sniffing Sherlock first before moving on to search the rest of the flat. The remaining officers bagged and tagged the drugs the boys had already found.

Sherlock watched his surroundings carefully, all the while trying to avoid eye contact with the officers that had arrived to take the drugs away. They all hated him. They were laughing at him internally. God, he could see it. He could see their smirks as they recovered more and more drugs. He could hear their whispers and laughter.

Oh, the great Sherlock Holmes is nothing but a junkie. Was that all he was now? A suicidal junkie?

It was his time to smirk however as one of the officers let out a startled shriek. They'd found the human toes then. Brilliant. John smirked and settled down on the arm of Sherlock's chair. He wrapped an arm around Sherlock's shoulders and tousled his hair.

'Love you,' he whispered down Sherlock's ear.

The corners of Sherlock's eyes creased in faint amusement as he gazed fondly up at John through his curls. 'I know,' he whispered back, beaming broadly.

John kissed the top of Sherlock's head and held him close. The dogs weren't finding any drugs downstairs so they decided to check John's old room. At the very least there hadn't been any drugs in the skull. Billy hadn't been violated. Good.

'Aren't you angry at me?' Sherlock asked. 'I've become nothing but a junkie, John.'

'A little disappointed, but no, I'm not angry,' John said honestly. 'I'm also disappointed in myself for smoking the soother and the cigarettes.'

'You're going to have breathing difficulties when you're older.' Sherlock sighed and bit his lip. 'You'll be lucky if breathing complications are all you get. Of course I'm not one to talk. I used to smoke severely too.'

'I think I'll be fine. You too. But if I notice any difficulties breathing or the like I'll be sure to get myself looked at. You too if it happens to you.'

The dogs barked from upstairs and John frowned. 'You hid drugs in my old room?'

Sherlock shrugged and looked exasperated. 'I must have.'

John frowned and pouted. 'It's ok. Or, it will be once they're gone.'

'Say that again when you're forced to sedate me so I don't attack you.'

'We'll work through this, love. I won't let your words get to me. It'll be ok.' He kissed the top of Sherlock's head again. 'Want to go outside while they complete the search? You look like you're about to take all those drugs at once. Come on. Up. Let's go for a walk.'

Sherlock exhaled softly and got to his feet. 'Yes. Where do you want to go?'

'We can shop for a new mattress,' John suggested.

'Yes. Probably a good idea. I destroyed our current one.'

'Alright. Get your coat.' John moved to pull his on and grabbed the keys.

Sherlock snatched his coat from the hanger and pulled it on. 'Let's go.'

'We'll be back, lads,' John said to the officers. He took Sherlock's hand and laced their fingers as they walked downstairs. Once outside, John pulled himself closer to Sherlock, enveloping himself in his warmth. He hummed in content and grinned.

'I know it's a bit late, but I'll give you your Christmas present after the idiots and hounds have left. I got Mycroft to buy what I wanted for you. Had to shut him up about Moriarty somehow.' Sherlock tugged John closer against him and kissed him on the head lightly.

'You got me a present?' John asked, grinning brightly up at Sherlock.

'I most certainly did!' Sherlock exclaimed with a loud chuckle.

John laughed and wriggled excitedly against Sherlock. 'A present! I get a present!' he laughed joyfully. He pulled Sherlock down for a brief kiss and laughed again.

'Shhh. You haven't seen it yet,' Sherlock smirked, amused at how happy John seemed to be.

'I know, but still! It'll be our first Christmas gift exchange as a couple.' He frowned slightly at the thought but perked up again. 'I'll give you your present when you give me mine.'

Sherlock brightened and squeezed John gently. 'I can't believe you went out and got me a present. Or that you even considered buying me anything at the time.'

'Of course I did, love. I always planned on coming back. I could never leave you. I love you too much.'

'I just wish I had known you were returning.'

'I wanted it to be a surprise,' John said softly. 'I had no idea you had fallen so far, otherwise I would have told you. Or come home sooner.'

'I fell pretty far, didn't I?' Sherlock mused.

'Yes, you did. And I fell too. I started smoking and cutting again. And I was close to losing my job too. And being around Harry didn't help with my drinking. But I managed to get that under control.'

Sherlock nodded in understanding. 'I took drugs, gorged myself for the first week, starved myself for the rest, and began to slit various parts of my body open.'

'Oh, honey.' John stopped walking and turned Sherlock to face him, holding his face tenderly in his hands. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left. You did all that because I left you and doubted you. I'm sorry.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'I did it because I was completely alone. For the first time in my life, I was truly alone. I had no one. Everyone turned their backs on me. Instead of confronting me you all ran away.'

'I'm sorry, love. I'm so, so sorry.' John pulled Sherlock in for a hug, burying his face in the fabric of Sherlock's Belstaff. 'I wish I could take it all back. I wish I would have stayed so we could have talked things through. I wish I had never abandoned you.'

'A text John. A bloody text. Would have taken a few seconds to type out and send. It would have given me hope.'

John clutched tightly to Sherlock's coat and started crying. He should have texted him. Shouldn't have let Harry get to him. Should have called.

'Don't cry.' Sherlock rocked John in his arms. 'Please don't cry.'

'I shouldn't have let Harry get to me,' John choked out. 'She took my mobile away every time I tried to text you. She hit me a couple times. I don't like being hit.'

'She what?' Sherlock asked coldly. 'That is it!' He pulled away from John. 'No one hits you and gets away with it. I'll be back soon.'

Sherlock was flagging a cab and clambering inside before John could so much as protest. He left his very confused lover staring after the cab in bewilderment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we get to see some badass Sherlock next chapter. Hnng. I love Sherlock when he gets all defensive and protective of John. Hnng.
> 
> Also, things are looking up for the boys. John's bought a ring, Sherlock's going to kick Harry's ass, and there'll be fucking next chapter as well ;) So Monday will be pretty awesome.
> 
> I can't believe we only have 15 chapters to go. Holy shit. There will be fluff, angst, and drama, but there will also be porn and birthdays will be celebrated. So there are happy times ahead for our boys. And on that note, I bid you all adieu. See you Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	51. Back to Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for the late update. I had a long day of uni plus I had a test today. But I'm all done now and am having a cup of coffee to warm myself. It actually snowed today... I don't think I'm ready for this yet.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Harry Watson  
> Me: John, Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: physical violence, blood, blow jobs, semi-public rutting, the homemade Viagra pills make a comeback, needles, gratuitous smut, fingering, anal sex, prolongued orgasm, shower sex, accident in shower due to sex, yet another hospital trip.

John stood on the kerb, utterly lost and confused. They'd been having a moment and Sherlock just left. What the hell? He pulled out his mobile and sent a quick text.

 _What are you going to do? –JW_  
  
Sherlock didn't reply. He knew if he did John would follow him.

 _How long will you be gone? Because I want to test the mattresses with you. –JW_  
  
Sherlock sighed heavily.

 _ **I don't know. Test them without me for now. –SH  
**_  
 _They won't be properly tested till you get there. I'd hate to purchase the wrong one. –JW  
_  
 __ **Preferably one which is nice and firm so I can fuck you against it. –SH  
**  
John groaned and licked his lips.

 _Quite looking forward to that. Hurry back. –JW  
_  
 _ **Once I've shut your sister up a little, yes, I shall hurry. –SH  
**_  
 _Yell at her for a good long while for me. I love you. –JW  
_  
 _ **Oh, I plan to do more than yell. –SH  
**_  
 _ **I love you too. –SH  
**_  
 _Then smack her up a bit for me. –JW_  
  
He walked into the mattress store and laid down on the first mattress he saw.

_This mattress is too soft. Not conducive to fucking at all. –JW  
_   
__**I am really going to fuck her up. –SH**

_**No. We don't need a soft one. Nice and firm, remember. –SH  
**_  
 _I'll find one. Promise. Nice and firm. Much like yourself ;) –JW_  
  
An attendant came to help him then, and he told him what he was looking for, more or less. They shopped around for a little while before John settled on a mattress.

**…::-::…**

When Sherlock finally arrived at John's sister's house he knocked loudly. 'Open up!' he bellowed in a voice that held more bite than bark.

The door opened up with caution and a petite woman opened up the door. Ah, Harry. The woman's appearance was so uncanny to John's that Sherlock almost forgot that he was supposed to be angry at her.

'You must be Sherlock.' Her voice was bitter, and her words slurred. She'd been drinking then, and pretty recently too.

'Correct.' He barged into the open doorway, a smirk written across his features.

'What – what are you doing?' Harry stammered.

'I've come to show you why you don't hit John.'

Harry almost instantly paled.

**…::-::…**

John had the mattress shipped to the flat but decided to stay out a little longer. It wasn't too bad a day, so he window shopped for a little while until he came to a jewellery store.

 _Should I?_  He paused and looked at the rings in the window. He'd returned the last one, but would they even be together long enough this time? Yes. Yes they would. John was determined that they would. He entered the shop and began looking at the engagement rings. The one he settled on was simple yet effective. A plain gold band with tiny black diamonds. It was perfect. Now, when to pop the question?

**…::-::…**

Harry was curled up in a ball of fear. 'You can't do this, you bastard!' she screamed.

Sherlock loomed over her, his teeth bared, his hands fisting her hoodie. 'I can do what I like,' he replied coldly. 'You hurt John and you deserve to pay.'

'I wasn't the one who broke his heart!' she hollered back.

'Shut up!' he spat and shook her violently. 'You physically hurt your brother!'

'I didn't mean to,' she sobbed. 'I was drunk.'

'That is a piss weak excuse,' he snarled.

'Fuck you, idiot!' Harry lunged her fist at his nose, forcing him to stumble backwards. He raised a hand to his nose. It was now bleeding and quite heavily too.

'That was a big mistake.' He grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. 'You don't think you're getting away with this, do you?'

He pulled her right arm as hard as possible until he heard a satisfying scream escape her lips. He'd dislocated her shoulder. It wasn't lethal but it was excruciating. He tossed her back down to the floor like a ragdoll and wiped at his profusely bleeding nose.

'I think my message is loud and clear, Miss Watson.'

**…::-::…**

When John returned home the drug squad was gone and the mattress had been replaced with the new one. He hid the ring in his wardrobe in the toe of one of his shoes. Sherlock shouldn't notice. He hoped.

He put clean sheets on the bed and smiled in satisfaction. There was just one thing missing. He dashed off to find some more candles and placed some on the dresser, wardrobes, and the bedside table. He wouldn't light them until he heard from Sherlock. Or until he heard the front door open.

 _I'm home. You missed out on trying mattresses together. But that's ok. You get to test the strength of the new one with me ;) –JW  
_  
 _ **I am quite looking forward to that. –SH  
**_  
 _ **John, what do you do to cause nosebleeds to stop? –SH  
**_  
 _ **And how can you tell whether you've got a broken nose or not? –SH  
**_  
 _Oh god. What did Harry do to you? –JW  
_  
 _Don't tilt your head back, tilt it forward, and pinch the bridge of your nose. That will suffice until I can look at it. –JW  
_  
 _ **She punched me in the face. –SH  
**_  
 _ **So I dislocated her shoulder. Only seemed fair. –SH  
**_  
 _ **I'll be home soon. Hopefully I won't have bled to death by then. –SH  
**_  
 _You won't bleed to death by nose. Your blood will have clotted by then. –JW  
_  
 _And a dislocated shoulder? Really? –JW  
_  
 _I'll show you how much I appreciate that once you get back to the flat. –JW  
_  
 _ **[delayed reply] I'm back. Open up the door. –SH  
**_  
 __ **It's not a pretty sight. God, I hope it's not broken. –SH  
**  
John raced downstairs and wrenched open the door.

'Oh good lord,' he breathed out. Sherlock's front was nearly covered completely in blood. The flow seemed to have slowed but it hadn't stopped completely. He dragged Sherlock inside and up to their bathroom. He sat him on the toilet and took off his coat, jacket, and shirt.

'No! Not the purple shirt!' John cried in dismay.

'We'll never get the blood out,' Sherlock grumbled miserably. 'I'll never find a shirt like her. Never. Your sister is an utter bitch.'

'Bill her for it,' John grumbled. 'We'll give her a proper goodbye too.' He ripped the shirt off Sherlock's torso and used it to dab at the blood still spilling from his nose. 'She'll help you like she's always done. And I'm sorry, but if your nose is still bleeding after all this time then it's probably broken.'

'Fucking hurts.' He chuckled. 'Another hospital trip then? We only just got back.'

'Well, at least we aren't close to death like the last times.' John smirked softly. 'Here.' He handed Sherlock some gauze pads and pressed them to the underside of his nose. 'I'll hail a cab. Try to put your coat back on.' He dashed downstairs and out the door, waving his hands madly as he tried to get a cab to stop for him.

Sherlock sighed and struggled to put his coat on whilst trying to stop the bleeding too before following John out of the flat. Finally a cab stopped just as Sherlock ambled out of the flat. John helped him inside and sat next to him.

'Bart's,' he told the driver. He pressed the gauze a little harder to Sherlock's nose, his other hand moving to squeeze Sherlock's. Sherlock groaned and cuddled closer to John, closing his eyes.

'Hey. Eyes open. Don't pass out on me,' John instructed.

Sherlock shook his head and mumbled. 'Dun feel good.'

'It's blood loss. Just open your eyes, love. Ok? Can you do that? Please? Just open your eyes.'

Sherlock winced his eyes open but immediately closed them again. 'Not a good idea,' he croaked, his head flopping sideways onto John.

'Can you hurry, please?' he asked the cabbie.

'If he gets blood on my seat–'

'I'll pay for the damages. Just get us to Bart's. Please.'

The driver nodded and sped off. John kissed Sherlock's curls and hummed softly. Sherlock was shaking now. His head felt as though it was filled with stones and his entire body was becoming heavier and heavier.

'Shhh. Shhh,' John said softly, tugging Sherlock close. 'It's gonna be OK. I promise.'

'Hurts,' he grunted. 'Hurts like fuck.'

'I should have put some ice on it. Sorry.' They pulled up outside Bart's then and John tossed some bills at the cabbie. He helped Sherlock out of the car and hauled him into his arms.

'We're gonna fix this, love,' John said softly. 'Keep the gauze by your nose, that's it.' He carried him into the urgent care center and Sherlock was tended to immediately. Sherlock sat quietly as the nurses tended to his nose, biting back deductions and bitter words. John sat in the corner of the room, watching Sherlock have his nose iced and then forcibly cracked back into place. John winced whereas Sherlock gave a harsh cry and started spewing deductions as his nose started bleeding again. He was hooked up to a bag of blood to compensate for the loss and the nurses all rushed out, John rushing to his side.

'It's alright now, love. It's ok. Shhh. All the idiotic nurses are gone. It's just you and me,' he said soothingly. He brushed Sherlock's curls off his sweaty forehead and pressed another ice pack to Sherlock's nose.

'I'm going to kill her with my bare hands,' Sherlock growled. 'If I ever see her again she'll be getting much more than a dislocated shoulder and a fright.'

'Shush. I don't want you arrested for assault.' He dabbed at Sherlock's nose with some gauze, soaking up the fresh blood.

'They can bloody well try and arrest me,' Sherlock huffed.

'I wouldn't let her press charges anyway.' He dipped a piece of gauze in water and wiped away the blood on Sherlock's chest and chin. 'Feeling any better?'

'Yes,' Sherlock breathed out in relief. 'For a moment there I was sure I was going to pass out on you.'

'I was too, but you're hooked up to some more blood now. Let me see your nose.' He pulled the ice pack away and studied Sherlock's nose.

'A tad swollen, but otherwise ok. You'll make a full recovery. Now let's clean off this blood.' He dipped a cloth in water and gingerly cleaned around Sherlock's nose and mouth.

Sherlock sighed. 'How many hospital visits is it now? Nine?'

John shrugged. 'I've lost track.'

'Why is it that trouble always seems to follow us around like a bad smell?' Sherlock joked lightly.

'Maybe we should take a bath to get rid of the smell,' John smirked. 'Your face is all clean at least.'

'Hey!' Sherlock growled. 'I wasn't talking about a literal smell. But a bath does sound good.'

'I was only joking you clot,' John smiled. He pressed the ice pack against Sherlock's nose again. 'Bath or shower when we get home? I've got the bed all set up for later as well.' He purred and wiggled his eyebrows.

Sherlock purred softly in reply. 'A shower would suffice.'

'Quick and fast, then nice and slow,' John hummed. 'Looking forward to that bit.'

Sherlock smiled shyly. 'Aren't you nervous?' he asked.

'A little,' John admitted. He grabbed Sherlock's hand with his free one and twined their fingers together. 'I don't want to fuck this time up again. No faking orgasms this time either.'

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock sighed. 'At the end of the day, it's mainly my fault our sex life became such a mission.'

'Because of your trauma? That I started?' John asked softly. He took the ice pack away to look into Sherlock's eyes properly.

Sherlock nodded silently. 'Yeah, I suppose so. But even then I'm still sorry.'

'I'm sorry too. Do you think... I don't know. Will you ever enjoy sex with me again?' John looked at Sherlock with soft, sad eyes. 'It was easy to deduce after the last time we made love. You were distressed, uncomfortable, and scared. I didn't see it at the time because I wanted a release. I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner.'

'It's OK.' Sherlock bit his lip. 'I knew you needed a release so I allowed you to continue. Do I think I'll ever truly enjoy it?' He shrugged. 'Only time will tell.'

'So until that happens, if it does, you'll fuck me and I don't get to fuck you,' John stated for clarification. 'I can still give you blow jobs though, right?'

'That is correct.' He smiled slightly. 'And if you're a very good boy and do as you're told you get to give me a blow job.'

John purred and wriggled happily in his seat. 'I'll let my stubble grow out just for the occasion. I've already started. See?' He took Sherlock's hand and placed it on his cheek, his whiskers rubbing against his palm.

'Perfect,' Sherlock hummed. 'Now all we need is my sword.'

'I thought Mycroft was going to ship it to the flat?'

'He must have gotten distracted,' Sherlock frowned. 'Should I get him to drop it round now?'

'Mmm. Please. Let's play pirates,' John grinned.

Sherlock grinned and fished out his mobile phone from his coat pocket, sending a text out to his brother.

 _ **Still awaiting that sword of mine, Mycroft. I'm starting to think you don't want me to make John scream from my excellent pirate skills. –SH  
**_  
 _Oh for fuck's sake! Fine! I'll send it over! –MH  
_  
 _ **Are you quite alright Mycroft? You don't usually reply so harshly, or with so many exclamations for that matter. –SH  
**_  
 __ **I didn't mean to upset you. –SH  
**  
Sherlock's brow creased. Mycroft had been acting strangely since the whole Moriarty debacle.

 _I'm a bit busy is all. I'll have someone drop it off in a few minutes. Gotta go. Big meeting. –MH  
_  
 _ **Thank you. –SH  
**_  
 _ **You would tell me if something was wrong though, wouldn't you? –SH  
**_  
 _Of course I would. But this is a matter of national security. It doesn't concern you. Go be with Jonathan. –MH  
_  
 _ **I am with him. Remind me never to go and see his sister again. She has a mean swing. Bitch. –SH  
**_  
 __ **Good luck with your... national security. Try not to start a war. –SH  
**  
'Everything ok?' John asked, drawing Sherlock out of his phone.

'Hmmm?' Sherlock blinked up at John. 'Oh, yes, quite ok. At least I think things are. Mycroft just seems a little tense. He says that it's because of a matter of national security that has cropped up. I somehow doubt that it is the full story.'

'You know how Mycroft gets during things like this. Leave him be. We'll be going home in a few minutes anyway. Bag's almost empty.' He pointed to the bag of blood and smiled softly.

'Yes, I know. I'm just being silly. If Mycroft was in real trouble I would hope he'd seek help.' Sherlock smiled up at the almost empty bag of blood. 'I'll be glad when we can go home.'

'Mmm. Me too,' John purred. 'How's the nose?'

'Sore but tolerable.'

John poked at it softly and pressed the ice pack to it again.

Sherlock licked his lips hungrily. 'I really can't wait for later,' he said in a low, bumbling voice. 'You know, we are alone right now. It would be an awful shame to waste such an opportunity.'

'Have I been a good enough boy to give you a blow job?' John grinned, licking his lips.

'You've been a very good boy indeed.'

John purred and crawled onto the bed, straddling Sherlock's waist. He pulled the ice pack away and kissed Sherlock's nose gently before moving down to his lips. Sherlock kissed John softly and smiled against the soft lips of his lover.

'Missed you,' John mumbled against Sherlock's lips.

'Missed you too.' Sherlock ran a thumb across John's lips. 'I hate to rush you, but I estimate we have ten minutes before a nurse comes into this room.'

'It won't take me ten minutes to get you off,' John smirked. He sucked Sherlock's thumb into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.

Sherlock held back a groan. 'You're so full of yourself, do you know that?'

'Because I'm damn good at sucking you off,' John grinned smugly. 'Lie back. I'm gonna take your trousers off now.' He slid down Sherlock's body and undid his trouser button.

Sherlock sighed in content and smiled giddily down at his lover. 'Keep the coat on. I know you secretly find it quite kinky.'

'There's just something about seeing you in it and  _just_  it–' John moaned and took of Sherlock's trousers, panting when he realised he'd forgone pants. 'Well, well. You were rather keen.'

'Shut up and suck,' Sherlock grumbled, pouting.

'With pleasure,' John hummed. He licked Sherlock's prick from base to tip before sucking in most of his length, swirling his tongue around the head. Sherlock's body purred in response and he pushed himself deeper into John's mouth. It felt spectacular, especially after thinking that it would never happen again. John sucked more of Sherlock down, one hand grasping the base of his lover's cock to keep it steady and the other tracing along his bollocks.

Dear lord. John was right. He was beautifully close already. It hadn't taken long at all. Damn John and that wonderful mouth of his. John hummed along Sherlock's cock and sucked him deeper until he hit the back of his throat. He massaged his bollocks roughly and hollowed his cheeks, pulling him closer and closer to the blissful edge of release.

 _Cum for me. Cum down my throat_ , he begged silently.

Sherlock rocked steadily in and out of John's mouth. His cock began to twitch violently and all too soon it was over. He was shooting his seed down his lover's throat. John slurped obscenely as Sherlock came down his throat, sucking his seed down and leaving some on his tongue. He released Sherlock with a wet slap and moved up to seal their mouths together again, shoving his tongue between Sherlock's lips so he could taste himself. Sherlock poked his tongue in and lapped up the cum John had left him in his mouth.

'That is my favourite part,' he said in a low whisper.

'I'm partially fond of you cumming down my throat,' John moaned. He slid his tongue along Sherlock's and sucked it into his mouth. Sherlock nibbled at John's lower lip and flicked his tongue against John's.

John's breath hitched and he sighed happily. 'I love you,' he whispered.

'I love you too. Now I suggest that you pull my trousers up. I think I can hear someone coming.'

John quickly pulled Sherlock's trousers up and zipped them, kissing Sherlock again and sliding off the bed just as a nurse walked in.

'Hello boys,' she smiled warmly. 'How are you feeling, Mr Holmes? Any nausea or dizziness? And how's the nose?'

'I feel slightly giddy but I can assure you that isn't because of any medical problems.' Sherlock gave John a knowing smirk. 'The nose is a little sore, but I shall survive.'

'We can give you some pain killers for the nose. As for the giddiness, stay away from caffeine and drink some water.' She unhooked Sherlock from the blood IV and bandaged his arm. 'Take care you two,' she smiled as she left.

Sherlock winked at John. 'I think she missed what I was trying to imply completely.'

'Idiot.' John grinned. 'But at least it saved us the embarrassment. Come on. Let's go home.'

Sherlock jumped off the hospital bed he'd been on and grabbed John's hand.

'Yes, let's go home now.'

John followed Sherlock out of the hospital and into the backseat of a cab. Once they were on their way he pulled Sherlock's face back toward his and snogged him breathless. It felt strange, to say the least, to be snogging John so happily in the backseat of a London cab. Things almost felt... normal. Well, as normal as life was in their terms anyway.

The cabbie coughed uncomfortably. John reached into his pocket, pulled out a ten pound note, and passed it to the man. He accepted it and didn't gripe. John hummed and pulled Sherlock closer, one hand tangled in his hair and the other gripping the fabric of his coat. Sherlock growled and pulled himself up onto John's lap. He began to rock against him, turned on properly for the first time in months.

'Here,' he grunted, chucking the cab driver another twenty pounds.

John was trembling with excitement and arousal. He rocked against Sherlock, his hands sliding down and under his coat to aggressively grope his lover's plump arse. Sherlock rubbed himself as hard as he could against John's clothed erection, grunting and moaning. John arched and looked like he was going to cum.

'Sher–Gah!' John gasped out. His entire body went tense as a rather intense orgasm ripped through him. He gripped Sherlock's arse tight and continued to gasp loudly. He finally relaxed and rested his head against the seat, panting, a goofy smile plastered on his face. He'd just cum in his pants in the backseat of a London cab. Holy shit. But it was amazing. Sherlock whimpered and kissed John lightly on the head before continuing his frantic rubbing, determined to make himself cum in the same way.

'Come on, Sherlock,' John encouraged, kneading his arse tightly. 'That's it, love. Good. You're close, I can tell. You gonna cum in your trousers for me? Is my beautiful, gorgeous lover gonna cum for me?'

Sherlock arched up in the air, a startled groan escaping his lips as his whole body shook with a devastating orgasm. John drank in the sight and purred, nuzzling against Sherlock's chest.

'That was so beautiful,' he whispered appreciatively. 'I wish you could have seen yourself.'

Sherlock flushed and groaned, leaning in for a kiss. John sealed their lips together and hummed softly, kissing him slowly to calm both their hearts. Sherlock hummed and savored the taste of John's lips before pulling away.

'We're home.' John gave the driver the fare plus a little extra. He deserved it after all he'd heard. John slid out after Sherlock and adjusted himself in his sticky pants.

'I definitely need a shower after that,' he grunted, making his way to the door to unlock it. 'My pants are disgustingly sticky. How do your trousers feel?' He glanced back and saw a large wet patch on Sherlock's crotch and smirked.

Sherlock smirked. 'I kind of find it erotic.' He followed after John. 'Is there any point in having a shower now? We're only going to get dirty again.'

'Then we can shower after. Because I'd love to share one with you after all this time. I could trim your hair again if you want.' He opened the door and entered, climbing the stairs ahead of Sherlock. 'Just wait in the sitting room a moment. There's something I need to do in the bedroom first.'

Sherlock nodded in understanding. There was something he needed to do too. Something that would hopefully make things perfect.

John dashed into the bedroom and began lighting the candles. He briefly thought about proposing then and there, but the time wasn't right. Save it for a better date. He put the lighter away and walked back into the sitting room and hung up his coat, toeing off his shoes to rest under it.

'I'm ready Sherlock!' he called out. 'Where'd you get off to?'

'Just having a glass of water!' Sherlock called back from the kitchen. He didn't mention the two homemade Viagra pills he'd dissolved into the water.

Over the past two months he'd had more than enough time to perfect the tablet version of the homemade drug that had brought John and himself together. It was now easier to administer and it worked far faster. He could already feel its effects. Either his cock was too big or his trousers too tight. Hmm. Perhaps he shouldn't have taken two. He just wanted a little encouragement for his body to find a release, and he thought it might be a nice reminder of their first night together though, so he paid it no mind. God forbid how much larger he'd get once out of the confines of his trousers.

John jumped slightly and spun around. Sherlock was indeed in the kitchen. He looked a tad flushed, and his trousers looked incredibly tight already. Excited, was he? John couldn't wait.

'Let me hang up your coat and then we can relocate to the bedroom,' he purred softly.

Sherlock hummed and walked painfully and slowly over to John, his growing erection making it almost impossible to stand, let alone walk. He shrugged his coat off and handed it to John.

'Here,' he said, his voice deep and heavy with lust.

'Jesus,' John breathed out, staring at Sherlock's crotch. 'You're hard as a fucking rock already. How the hell is that possible?'

'I guess you just affect me like that,' Sherlock grinned, cupping himself and groaning.

John hastily took the coat and hung it over his own. He dropped to his knees in front of Sherlock and mouthed at his erection through the wet patch. He hummed and suckled against the clothed head of Sherlock's very hard and throbbing prick.

Jesus. Fuck. His drugged erection was responding frantically to the wet heat of John's mouth. He was still bloody growing and as fantastic as that sounded it was becoming excruciatingly painful. He whimpered.

'Bedroom now.'

'God yes,' John groaned. 'Take me.' He stood up on shaky legs and led Sherlock to the bedroom, the candlelight casting a warm glow about the room. He flopped down on the new mattress and spread his legs wide, beckoning Sherlock to stand between them.

Sherlock gazed at the candles and shook his head. 'You old romantic bastard.' He pulled down his trousers and stepped out of them. His erection bobbed free. It was severely red and sore, and was massive in size. He quickly clambered onto John and kissed him heavily before he could notice. John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist and kissed him heavily, dipping his tongue into his mouth and moaning when Sherlock's caressed his.

'Undress me,' he whispered huskily.

Sherlock undressed John in a flash and, before he could stop himself, was slicking his fingers and pressing them to John's entrance.

'Yes! Yes!' John cried, pushing back on Sherlock's fingers. 'Please, love. Please.'

Sherlock grinned and began to prepare John as best he could, adding the fingers one by one slowly, and stretching him nice and wide, occasionally brushing past his prostate. Though looking down at his cock briefly showed him that nothing would prepare John for him.

John groaned loudly and rocked against the mattress, pushing Sherlock's fingers deeper inside. 'I'm ready! Please! God, please!'

Sherlock swallowed thickly as he replaced his fingers with his cock and pushed himself into John, wincing as he got stuck when he was halfway in. John winced and gasped, realising what Sherlock had done.

'The Viagra drug? Really?' he grit out, holding himself still so as not to cause either of them pain. 'How much did you take? You feel huge. And in the painful way.'

Sherlock turned a deep purple. 'I took two tablet versions of the drug,' he mumbled. 'And I'm bloody humungous, so bare with me.' He began to rock into John slowly, trying to get himself to enter John fully.

'Two? And you made tablets now? Gah! Slow! Slow!' He held a hand to Sherlock's chest to steady him. 'Gotta give me time to adjust. Jesus Christ you're thick down there. Fuck.'

Sherlock groaned. 'I  _am_  going slowly. And yes, I made tablet versions. Far more efficient. Shouldn't have taken two though. I just hope I don't get thicker.' He worked himself in further. 'Almost there,' he grunted. 'Gah! This is going to take me hours to work off!' He cried out as he sheathed himself in completely.

'Ah! Fuck!' John cried, shaking from taking in such an engorged prick. Sherlock was huge. So huge it was almost painful. 'Gimme a minute to adjust,' he gasped out, his palm splayed across Sherlock's chest. 'Don't move for a while. Fuck! You're huge!'

Sherlock waited patiently for John to try to adjust. 'I don't think you're going to adjust fully. I'm too big for you to take on.'

'No. I – I can do this,' John grunted, shaking from how wide he was stretched. 'Just give me a minute.'

'Are you certain?' Sherlock asked, concerned.

'I'm fine, I'm fine,' John said hurriedly. 'Just... Go slow.'

Sherlock hummed and began to subtly move his hips. 'Slow enough?'

John grit his teeth and screwed his eyes shut, his neck arching back as the pull and stretch increased. 'Good, fine, great,' he grit out.

Sherlock began to move a little faster, working himself out before pushing himself back in again. He kissed John gently as the speed picked up, not wanting to frighten his lover. John whimpered against Sherlock's lips. His cock was huge and engorged and hot. It was uncomfortable and he hoped he would adjust soon. His own cock was still interested at least. Just so long as they didn't compare side by side he'd be fine. He hated feeling inadequate.

Sherlock grabbed John's cock and began wanking him off. 'I love you,' he mumbled against John's lips, beginning to thrust manically. John cried out and began to move with Sherlock. It was still uncomfortable, but that was quickly changing. He felt loved, he felt wanted, but most of all he felt safe. He couldn't speak, otherwise he would have told Sherlock he loved him too. So he grunted and moaned instead, hoping it conveyed the same message. Sherlock chuckled and began pounding himself into John, faster and faster. John came quickly and without warning, spilling himself all over their stomachs with a harsh cry. His body shook as Sherlock continued to pound into him, the aftershocks of his orgasm causing him to spasm. Sherlock whimpered as he continued to search for his release.

'I can't–' He sobbed breathily. 'I can't cum. I'm too big. It hurts.'

'Pull out,' John instructed. 'You've got too much blood in your penis. I'm gonna have to drain it.'

Sherlock followed John's instructions, pulling out. His lower lip trembled as he saw how engorged and inflamed his cock had become.

'Definitely shouldn't have taken two.'

'Next time you'll know better. Maybe even half a tablet will do. Now stay here. I'll be right back.' He padded out to the medical cabinet and pulled out the box that had been hidden in the floor. It was full of unused needles, and John figured he was going to be using most of them to drain the blood from Sherlock's penis. He returned to the bedroom to find Sherlock poking at himself, his cock twitching and straining and painfully engorged.

'Jesus. How did that even fit up my arse?' John gasped. 'Stop poking it. You're only making it worse. Now, this is going to be painful, unless you want me to sedate you first. Because I'm going to have to drain the blood from your penis with these.' He pulled a few needles from the box for Sherlock to see. 'And sedation is highly recommended. Because this will hurt. I've done it many times before, and the men who think they can take it end up crying and screaming like newborn babies, so we have to sedate them anyway.'

'Sedate me,' Sherlock grunted. 'Please, just sedate me.'

'Ok.' John filled a needle with a sedative and sighed. He looked down at Sherlock and almost smiled, but didn't. There was no humour about Sherlock's current predicament. He leant down and softly brushed his lips against Sherlock's.

'I love you, you bloody idiot,' he sighed.

'Love you too. Sorry about this. Just wanted things to be perfect. Guess I failed on that account.'

'We can try again after you wake up,' John suggested. 'After all, we still need to christen the new mattress.'

Sherlock grinned. 'Here's hoping I'll be a better fit for your arse.'

John laughed and smiled. He kissed Sherlock again and smiled wider against his lips.

'You'll be out for a few hours at least,' he said as he prepped the needle. 'And you'll probably want food when you wake up. I'll see you when you wake up, ok?'

'I doubt I'll want food,' Sherlock sighed. 'I don't eat much these days, as you can probably tell from my physique.'

'And I can help with that. Just start small. I'll make toast and jam.' He smiled softly and prepped Sherlock's arm for the needle. 'Ready?'

'Not terribly so. Being put under isn't fun at all. Can you just get it over and done with?'

'Alright. Fine. Yes.' John pressed the needle into the vein and pressed the plunger down. Sherlock was out in seconds. John made quick work of draining the blood from his lover's horrendously engorged penis. Ten needles full of blood and his prick was still hard. Another five and it was waning. Two more and it fell limp completely.

'Jesus Christ,' John sighed, running his hands down his face. He put the used needles in a box and labeled them so he could take them to work and dispose of them properly. He tucked Sherlock into bed and blew out the candles. Maybe they could use them again later? He pulled on a dressing gown and padded into the kitchen. He made himself some toast and spread raspberry jam over the slices. It was comforting and helped him relax a great deal.

Now, what to do while Sherlock was still asleep? Shower? No. They wanted to do that together. Read the paper? No. He'd done that already. Surf the Internet? Perhaps. He could read some of the fan's stories and get ideas for later. Oh. He rather liked that idea. He sat at the desk in the sitting room and turned on his laptop. He logged in to the tumblr site and began looking through the Johnlock tag. He had never imagined Sherlock with tattoos, or as a hipster, but he didn't look too bad in the drawings. Hmmm... Tattoos. Matching tattoos? Or symbolic tattoos? Was that a bee tattoo? He could see Sherlock getting that one. Why was he always wearing red pants? Was that position even possible?

He spent hours looking at photo manipulations, drawings, and reading highly erotic stories about him and Sherlock. He was so engrossed in what was on his screen that he didn't realise not only had he become fully hard but that Sherlock had just stumbled out of their bedroom wearing nothing but a sheet.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock tottered out of the bedroom and towards John, eyes still sleepy, and with a thin sheet wrapped around his tall and lanky frame. He grinned at the sight of his lover, creeping up right behind him. He almost wolf whistled at the sight of the erection he was displaying, but instead he dropped to his knees and crawled around to the other side of John. His lover was too busy reading highly erotic fan fiction to notice. Sherlock had a little making up to do.

He pushed his lover's dressing gown apart and clamped his plump lips around John's erection. John jerked his hips instantly, finally taking notice of him, and almost came into his mouth there and then. John gasped and nearly thrust deeply down Sherlock's throat. He clutched the edge of the chair and threw his head back and moaned loudly. He rocked into Sherlock's mouth and looked down at him, watched his cock slowly disappear into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock sucked in John fully, rolling his tongue around the beautiful member. Both his hands reached for John's bollocks and he squeezed them hard. John gasped loudly and thrust into Sherlock's throat. He was so close already. Once Sherlock squeezed his bollocks he was screaming as he came hard, shooting down Sherlock's throat. Sherlock continued to squeeze John's bollocks even after he'd stopped cumming. He sucked his lover's limp cock, trying to get it to say hello again.

'Sherlock – fuck! – Sherlock! Stop. Stop,' John said softly, tangling a hand in Sherlock's hair and pushing him away. 'I'm fine, just... Just give me a moment.'

Sherlock whined and had to be contented with simply breathing hot and heavy on John's cock. He let his mouth open wide and stuck two fingers in, frantically fucking his own throat with them after a while of waiting for John to calm down. When that proved to not be enough to quell his raging needs he lay on the floor at John's feet and moved his saliva coated fingers underneath his blanket. His long and slender fingers pushed inside of himself and he rocked on them urgently.

'Sherlock? What are you doing?' John asked breathlessly. He looked down at his lover and his breath caught in his throat. 'Are you–? I'm taking you to bed. Now!' He stood and scooped Sherlock into his arms, the younger man continuing to finger himself the entire time. John laid Sherlock on the bed and ripped the sheet from him, his pupils blowing wide at the sight of Sherlock fucking his own fingers. John pulled them out and sucked on them, moaning at the taste. He scrambled over Sherlock and positioned himself over his lover's very erect prick. It was back to a normal size now and slid in easily. John groaned and rocked over Sherlock, impaling himself with every move he made. Sherlock thrust into John urgently, not stopping, not even faltering. He was a flushed mess beneath John and he was so close, so helplessly close. He arched upwards and with a startled moan began to cum thick and steady up John's arse. He hadn't lasted long at all.

'That's it Sherlock, yes!' John cried, bouncing on Sherlock's prick. 'Cum for me! Yes! God yes!'

Sherlock was turning into a bumbling mess beneath John as he continued to cum, a stupid grin wrapped around his features. John grinned with Sherlock and bent down to seal their lips together in a searing kiss. He continued to rock on Sherlock's prick as he continued to cum and sucked his tongue into his mouth.

'Still some Viagra in your system, yeah?' he said softly. 'Plus you didn't cum the last time. Bet you'll be cumming in me for a good long while. Isn't that right love?'

'Y-es. A good long time.' He continued to rock upwards as he came and kissed John heatedly.

'Turn over so you can fuck me properly,' John growled against Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock groaned and flipped their positions. 'Like this?' He began pounding himself into the older man.

'Yes! God yes! Fuck me!' John cried. His cock had finally perked back up and was now thick and full, achingly hard against his abdomen. 'Little John is back,' he panted into Sherlock's mouth.

'Didn't take him long,' Sherlock chuckled, wrapping a hand around Little John. He increased his speed, and made all sorts of spectacular sounds against John's lips.

John whined and whimpered and rocked against Sherlock's still cumming yet hard prick. He twisted one hand in Sherlock's curls and the other clutched everywhere along Sherlock's body. His shoulders, his waist, his thigh, and settled on his bum, pulling him deeper inside.

'Gorgeous. Beautiful. Mine,' Sherlock growled. 'All mine.' He jolted his hips harshly and cried out as he continued to cum.

'Gah! Fuck! Fuck me! Harder!' John cried. 'Please! Please! Harder!'

Sherlock increased his speed till he could hardly see straight, wanking John all the while, still bloody cumming intensely into his lover. John screamed Sherlock's name as he came yet again. He came in thick, hard spurts across his abdomen and Sherlock's fist. He looked down at Sherlock's hand and groaned. He reached for it and pushed it between their lips. His tongue poked out and licked a dollop of his cum from Sherlock's hand, moaning at the pure taste of himself. Sherlock moaned loudly at the taste and pulled himself out of John with a contented sigh.

'Love you.'

'Love you too,' John sighed. He pulled Sherlock in for a soft kiss and hummed in content. 'You all finished then? Cumming, that is.'

Sherlock hummed. 'Took me long enough. Thought I was never going to stop.'

'Mmm. You should eat something after that. Get some fluids and maybe some protein in you.'

'A shower and sleep take priority I'm afraid. Sod food.'

'Yes. Shower.' John yawned widely. 'And maybe a nap wouldn't go amiss. But I want you to eat something. I can make tea.'

'I'm not hungry,' Sherlock grumbled. 'As I was saying, sod food.'

John grumbled and pouted. 'What if I let you eat it off me?'

Sherlock hummed and licked his lips before frowning. 'As erotic a thought that is, it would still involve consuming food.'

John frowned and pouted. 'I don't want you to starve yourself anymore. I'll get you to eat something. But I'm not going to force you right now. Help me up and we can take a shower.'

'You shall not force me to eat,' Sherlock stated firmly, pulling John up.

'I said I wouldn't,' John frowned. 'I just don't want you to starve yourself anymore. I'm back and we just christened the new mattress. How was it, by the way?'

'The mattress or the sex?'

'Both, I suppose.'

'Fucking fantastic and utterly hot.'

John hummed and pulled Sherlock in for another kiss. 'Can we do it again later?'

'Depends on a number of things,' Sherlock mumbled. 'We'll just go with the flow, OK?'

'OK,' John replied softly. He kissed Sherlock chastely and grabbed his hand, leading him to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and let the water warm.

'So... I know we probably won't be going out for New Year's as your withdrawal symptoms are sure to have started by then. But, do you think it'd be ok if we celebrated here? At home? I could go buy some champagne and we could just sit and watch the fireworks on the telly.'

'I think that would be an excellent idea.' Sherlock nodded his approval, his eyes lighting up.

'After this shower I can give you my present from Christmas and hopefully by then the sword will have been delivered, so I can go all pirate on your ass.'

'Mmm. Looking forward to both.' John tested the water and deemed it hot enough. He pulled Sherlock in and let the water drench them both. 'Shall I wash your hair?'

'I have a far better idea.' He backed up to the wall, pulling John with him. He then proceeded to lift him up and with a smirk he wrapped John's legs around his waist and held onto him tightly. 'I have a few plans for you.'

'Oh? I quite like where this is going,' John purred, wrapping his legs tighter around Sherlock's waist and pulling him in for another kiss.

'Oh you will,' Sherlock ushered in a soft voice, adjusting John slightly, pushing him upwards and against his erection. 'You'll like it a lot.' John moaned and pushed down, the head of Sherlock's cock sliding inside him. He groaned and rose up slightly before pushing back down, whimpering from the sensation and wanting more.

'Please. Please,' he begged. 'Fuck me. Please.'

Sherlock thrust his hips up and groaned. 'I never thought I would like to hear those words again.'

'What? Fuck me? Because I can say it as loud and as often as you like.' He leant in close to Sherlock's ear and whispered the two words huskily, his tongue poking out to lick up the outer shell.

'Yes! Yes!' Sherlock chanted, beginning to move as fast and as hard as he could.

'Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!' John cried, bouncing on Sherlock's prick. 'Oh god! Fuck me!'

Sherlock panted heavily. His lungs were burning with exhaustion. How many times had they shagged since they'd returned from the hospital? A good few times. He was becoming downright exhausted.

'Come on, Sherlock. Fuck me,' John growled, clenching tight to his love. 'Fuck me. Fuck me! Fuck me!'

Sherlock tried to speed up but the more he did the more tired he was getting. He was starting to slip down the wall as the tiles were wet and slippery from the hot water.

Things moved in slow motion after that. His legs buckled beneath him. He fell down onto the floor with a horrible crack that was more than a bit not good. John came thundering down onto him with a startled cry. A searing pain shot through him. Unconsciousness quickly engulfed him whole.

John screamed as Sherlock fell to the floor of the shower, landing on his back with a harsh crack. He landed on Sherlock hard, impaling himself on his cock and he tried not to cry out or cum as he had been deliciously close before Sherlock had slipped.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, are you ok?' John asked, propping himself up and sliding off Sherlock. The younger man had gone limp and a soft cock felt weird up his arse. He prodded Sherlock's cheek and shook him slightly. He wasn't waking up. Shit.

John turned the water off and dashed to the phone. Yet another hospital trip. That was three in one day. Jesus Christ. He called an ambulance and got dressed. He didn't want to move Sherlock from the tub in case his back was sprained or broken, but he grabbed him some clothes for the cab ride home. The paramedics arrived quickly. They probably patrolled the area regularly by now. They gently eased Sherlock onto a stretcher and carried him downstairs and into the ambulance. John tagged along for lack of anything better to do. First his nose and now his back. What else was Sherlock going to break?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, at least they're having sex again ;)
> 
> Told ya there'd be some BAMF Sherlock and smut this chapter. Was it a good enough apology for all the angst and crap? I hope so.
> 
> Fluff next chapter with some Holmes brother feels.
> 
> See you all Friday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	52. In Hospital... Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for not updating yesterday. I was out and about with my mom and grandmother shopping. And then I made a TARDIS necklace box for InvisibleBlade. One of her Christmas presents will be going in it ;)
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, mystery Moriarty henchman,   
> Me: John, Mycroft
> 
> No warnings for this chapter. There's no smut, just some angst and feels and some fluff.

Sherlock was completely oblivious to his surroundings. All he knew was he was in utter agony. His back was throbbing and his muscles were clenching around his spine. At least he was unconscious and away from the full blast of the pain. That was the only true consolation he had.

**…::-::…**

'Wait...  _How_  did this happen?' Mycroft asked when he arrived at the hospital. John groaned and ran his hands over his face.

'For the last fucking time, we were fucking in the shower. Sherlock slipped and fell and landed on his back. I'm not telling you again.'

'Ok. Fine. How bad did the doctor say it was?'

'He cracked one of his vertebrae. They're going in to seal it back up. He'll need physical therapy for a few months but his back will always act up no matter what.'

'But he isn't crippled in any way?'

'No. He'll make a full recovery. Unless someone fucks up while he's in surgery.'

'He's in the most capable hands. I made sure of that.'

'This is my fault.'

'What? How?'

'I told him to fuck me, so he did. He looked exhausted but I asked him to anyway. He said he was going to give me my Christmas present after our shower. And then we were going to play pirates.'

'This isn't your fault, John. Sherlock will be fine. You'll still get your present and you two can "play pirates" after his physical therapy is completed. The sword is already at the flat as well. I'm sure that will brighten Sherlock's spirits.'

John merely sighed and held his face in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. Sherlock had been in surgery for hours. How much longer could this take?

**…::-::…**

Sherlock was minutely aware that he was in hospital. Again. He was also aware that he was being operated on. But the one thing he was most aware of was that John was no longer in his presence.

A voice whispered close by his ear, 'Moriarty says hello, Sherly.' It was almost a hiss.

Sherlock shuddered in his unconscious state, powerless to react to those words, and panicking internally.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock had been out of surgery for a good twenty minutes now. John was lacing the length of his room, muttering to himself. Mycroft was sat by his brother's side and was reading him Treasure Island softly, hoping he could hear him. Greg was stuck at work but said he would stop by after to see how he was doing. Then he and Myc would both go home together. At least they'd settled their squabbles and were living together again.

Sherlock hummed as the sound of Mycroft's voice broke through his unconscious state.

'Do the voices,' he mumbled. 'Like you used to do.'

John stopped pacing and looked at Sherlock. Mycroft merely smiled.

'Shall I start from the beginning, then?' he asked softly.

Sherlock nodded and sighed happily. 'Yes. And the voices Croft. You have a good pirate voice.'

'OK, Locky,' Mycroft smiled. John sat by Sherlock's other side and grabbed his hand, not speaking so he could listen to the story as well. Mycroft began reading again, using different voices for each character. John squeezed Sherlock's hand softly and smiled. Sherlock grinned in his sleep as the story began to reach his favorite part. He flickered his eyes open and gazed upon his brother and John.

'Hello,' he whispered to the two of them. 'Missed me?'

'Yes,' John said softly. 'Very much so.'

'Same here,' Mycroft said. 'How are you feeling?'

'Fucking fantastic considering I've just come out of back surgery.'

'I realise that, Sherlock. Can you hold back the sarcasm for just five minutes? I honestly want to know how you're feeling. The doctor said there weren't any complications although you seemed to be trembling in your sleep.'

'I'm sorry, Mycroft. I'm in hospital for the millionth time and it's likely I'll need physio if my deducing skills are up to scratch. I'll try to hold my sarcasm back so I can blurt out my feelings, shall I?'

Sherlock frowned in deep thought. 'Trembling? I suppose I was. I had a rather strange dream.'

'What sort of dream, love?' John asked. He pet his hair soothingly. 'What did you dream?'

'I don't remember the full details now, but there was a message for Mycroft.'

'A message?' the man in question asked. 'What sort of message?'

Sherlock tilted his head backwards as he recalled the message. 'One day you will have to make a choice, Mycroft Holmes. One of your brothers will fall. Which one is it going to be?'

Mycroft paled and swallowed. 'That's preposterous. I only have one brother. You're my only brother, Sherlock.' No, he's not. And you know it. But does Sherlock know it?

'So, you had another brother in your sedation dream?' John asked. 'And for some reason Mycroft had to choose between the two of you? Like in Harry Potter? Neither can live while the other survives.' He looked at the Holmes brothers' faces of identical confusion. 'What? I like Harry Potter, ok? Shut up.'

Sherlock shrugged. 'There's no reason to look quite so worried. It was a dream, nothing more.'

'Yes. It was just a dream. Sorry. Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to make a call.' Mycroft stood and scuttled from the room before Sherlock could protest.

'Is he alright?' John asked softly. 'He didn't look too good.'

'No. I don't think so,' Sherlock gulped. 'Can you make sure he really is taking a call? I have a feeling he's about to binge.'

'Of course, love.' John kissed his forehead and left the room, following Mycroft. He tailed him until he walked outside and immediately pulled out his mobile. He hit a speed dial number and whomever he called picked up on the first ring. Satisfied, John returned to Sherlock.

'He's actually taking a call, love,' he reported. 'So you can relax. He's not going to binge.'

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. 'Maybe not yet, but I swear if he has when he returns I shall demand an explanation and I shall not be at all polite.'

'I give you permission to yell at him,' John said. 'I'd like to kiss you now. You gave me quite a fright. You owe me at least a kiss.' He smirked playfully.

'Oh, I am sorry dear,' Sherlock smirked back at John. 'But if I remember correctly you were the one who rode me to the floor of the bathtub.'

'Oh? So I owe you a kiss then?' John smiled. 'Or do you want something else?' He licked his lips and waggled his eyebrows.

'I'm exhausted, John. A kiss shall suffice.'

John pouted but nodded. 'Yeah. I'll have to reign that in. You just got out of back surgery. You'll be exhausted for a while.' He stood to Sherlock's side and tilted his face up and towards him. He sealed their lips together in a soft kiss, just mouths, no tongues. Sherlock growled, most upset that John had foregone tongues. He all but forced his tongue down John's throat and moaned. John gave a muffled 'hmph!' but quickly melted into the kiss, his own tongue reaching out to greet Sherlock's. He moaned loudly and carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair, pulling him closer and deepening their kiss. Sherlock continued to kiss John till he was red in the face from lack of oxygen. He grinned at John as he pulled away.

'Fantastic.'

'God I love you,' John breathed out, a very satisfied smile on his face.

'Do you, now?' Sherlock's grin brightened. 'Do you love me enough to grab me some Jammy Dodgers and some Doctor Who DVDs? I presume we'll be here a while longer.'

'Of course I can do that.' He kissed Sherlock's cheek and grabbed his wallet and mobile from the side table. 'Be back soon, love.'

'See ya later,' Sherlock smiled in appreciation.

John blew Sherlock a kiss and left the room. He made his way outside and breathed in the crisp winter air. Mycroft must have gone back inside or he had disappeared in one of his cars. Either way, whatever call he made seemed to be stressing him out.

John made his way to a little shop and bought a couple packs of Jammy Dodgers as well as some bottled water. The water in hospitals was shite, so he decided to spare them both the agony of having to drink rust flavoured water. He then made his way to a video store and looked at their selection of Doctor Who DVDs. He and Sherlock already had Nine and some of Ten's series on DVd, so should he buy the next Ten series or skip to Eleven? He shrugged and bought the next two Ten series and paid.

He was humming the theme song to himself when he passed a small café. Couldn't hurt to get some decent coffee. The line was a tad long due to the cold weather, but he could wait it out. Sherlock wasn't going anywhere, plus he could do with some thawing out before he returned.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock fell into an uneasy sleep, worried for his brother. Still, the idiot surely wouldn't be binging, hopefully not anyway.

He was at least safe in the knowledge that John was looking out for him, Greg too.

With that thought he fell further into the traps of sleep. He really was exhausted now.

**…::-::…**

John blew on his coffee to cool it down, needing the warm liquid as soon as he stepped outside. He let the cup warm his hands and he sipped at the drink slowly. By the time he made it back to Sherlock's room the younger man was fast asleep. John smiled and set his coffee down on the table. He put the water in the little mini fridge provided for private rooms and set the Jammy Dodgers on top of the fridge. The DVDs he put by Sherlock's bedside so he would see them when he woke up. So, while he waited for Sherlock to wake and his coffee to cool, he played a game of solitaire on his mobile, quickly changing to sudoku after the card game began frustrating him.

Sherlock began to dream. He was dreaming about indeed having another brother. Mycroft was being forced to make a choice as to which brother was saved from death. He shoved Sherlock aside and grabbed his other little brother.

John had finished his coffee and the caffeine was beginning to hit him. He needed something to do. Needed to burn his newfound energy. Sherlock was twitching in his sleep and whimpering. Bad dream? John kissed his temple softly, the contact relaxing him slightly. So John walked to the other side of the room and sat on the floor. He started doing push-ups and then moved on to sit ups. He needed to burn the goddamn energy.

'Mycroft, no, please. Save me,' Sherlock mumbled in his sleep. His mumbles soon turned to screams however as his big brother grabbed him and pushed over the edge of a tall building. 'Help! Mycroft please! Why did you choose him?! Why not me?! Croft?!'

John instantly leapt to his feet and rushed to Sherlock's side. He held his face in his hands gingerly, whispering soothing words to him to calm him, prompting him to wake. Sherlock whimpered as he awoke and almost instantly threw his arms around John, sobbing heavily.

'Shhh, love. It's ok,' John hushed, hugging him tightly but not so tight he would hurt his back. 'Shhh. It's ok. I'm here. I'm here.'

'He didn't choose me!' Sherlock wailed.

'Who didn't choose you?' John asked, moving to sit on the bed and pulling Sherlock into his lap.

'Mycroft,' Sherlock sniffled. 'He didn't choose me. He was given a choice and he didn't think twice.'

'Between you and who?' John asked, petting Sherlock's hair.

'Our other brother.'

'But you don't have another brother,' John stated. 'It was just a dream. You're OK now. I've got you. And if Mycroft were to choose anyone else over you, I'd kill him. Because he's an idiot.'

'Oh, I should bloody hope you'd kill him,' Sherlock smiled faintly. 'Am I just being ridiculous?'

'Perhaps. Want some Jammy Dodgers to make you feel better?' John grinned softly. 'And The Doctor is to your right.'

'Really? I thought I was looking straight at him?' Sherlock joked. 'And Jammy Dodgers would be divine.'

'Not that kind of doctor,' John smiled. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead and slid off the bed. He brought a packet of Jammy Dodgers and a bottle of water.

'In case you were thirsty,' he said. 'Which episode do you want to watch?'

'I don't mind, dear. You choose.' John popped a biscuit into his mouth and chewed slowly while looking at the DVDs.

'Let's watch a Donna episode,' he smiled. He put the first disc in the player and grabbed the remote. He selected 'The Fires of Pompeii' and snuggled in beside Sherlock. Sherlock sighed happily and cuddled against John, eating the Jammy Dodgers greedily. Dear god did he love the sweet, sugary biscuits. He allowed them to watch the episode in silence for a good while before speaking up.

'How badly damaged is my back?' John finished chewing his rather large bite of biscuit before answering.

'Well, you cracked one of your vertebrae. Well, they only told me it was one. I'm hoping it was just one. So they had to seal it back up. I've heard of the procedure but I've never seen it practiced. Let's just hope you aren't the first man in Britain to have had it.'

'It wouldn't surprise me if I was,' Sherlock laughed. 'The amount of times I've been in hospital I should think they would be prepared for every eventuality.'

'Oh, shush you,' John smirked. 'You're going to have to go through a few months of physical therapy after this too. But your back will always play up, according to the surgeon. So, no more fucking in the shower.'

'What? It's true. I've worked out that during my life time I have been in hospital over two hundred times.' Sherlock frowned. 'Does that say something about my life?' His frown increased as he remembered something. 'This happened in my dream world, when I was in a coma. I hurt my back whilst we were shagging in a shower.'

'Shhh. I'm not going to let what happened in your dream come true. The bad bits anyway. I still want to marry you one day. Maybe have kids. But I'm not going to make you so upset you push me down a flight of stairs, ok?' He hugged Sherlock close and kissed his forehead.

'As for your many hospital visits, I assume a majority of them happened when you were a child due to your father's abuse, yeah? And the others were from drugs and injuries from cases and now, yeah?'

Sherlock shivered. 'Yeah, I'm just being an idiot.'

He sighed heavily. 'If I'm being honest, most of those hospital visits were suicide attempts.' John hugged him close and peppered his forehead with more kisses.

'If your hospital trips say anything about you it's that you wanted to give up but didn't, so you started helping people instead. Getting injured for the sake of others. Much like I did as a soldier. Our battlefields were just vastly different.'

'I did. I've wanted to give up on so many occasions. And I tried to.' He smiled weakly. 'I could never end it though. I'm a coward I s'pose. The closest I ever came to ending it was on top of Bart's. And then you and my brother came and you stopped me.'

'I'm so glad I did,' John sighed. 'I couldn't bear to lose you. Not like that. If someone killed you that would at least give me the chance to avenge your death. But suicide? No. Please no.'

'I promise things won't get that bad again,' Sherlock hushed, kissing John's blonde mop. 'Not now that you're by my side again.'

'Good. Because I would hate for you to take the coward's way out. Which means your failed attempts at suicide make you stronger, not a coward. And I'm so glad you're still here.' He kissed Sherlock's still tender nose and sighed softly.

'Well this is rather depressing,' Sherlock huffed a laugh.

'Yes, but ultimately you're still here. Now shush and watch the Doctor spray the rock monster with a water pistol.'

Sherlock smirked. 'What an inventive way to defeat the bad guy.'

'Rock of fire, meet water pistol. Bye!' John smiled. 'Yes. Quite a clever boy, the Doctor is.'

Sherlock settled his head on John's shoulder. 'My clever boy.'

'I love you,' John whispered, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

'Mmmf,' Sherlock hummed, closing his eyes and falling into a dreamless sleep.

John stopped the show and turned off the TV. He settled down against Sherlock and closed his eyes, breathing slow and deep until he too fell asleep. Sherlock slept peacefully, rejoicing in the blissful peace that was currently taking place between himself and John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice fluffy chapter for the weekend. Sometimes that's just what we need. I know I needed it.
> 
> Next chapter will be up Monday though I'm not sure when. But it'll be up I can promise you that.
> 
> See you then!
> 
> TSA + IB


	53. Gift Exchange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy (late) Monday! Apologies for the late post. Mondays are always the worst for me.
> 
> HOLY SHIT THE DOCTOR WHO 50TH ANNIVERSARY IS SATURDAY! HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT! I won't be able to watch it though. I don't have cable (college TV sucks), and I'm also making myself wait until Monday when I go see it in theatres. I don't know why it's playing Monday in my area and not Saturday. It's fucking bullshit in my opinion.
> 
> But I digress... Back to the Johnlock.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: some bloodplay, blood, references to drug withdrawals, smut, blow jobs, fucking a sonic vibrator (I am so sorry)

Sherlock was released from hospital a few days later. His physio would begin on Monday, after New Year's. His withdrawal symptoms had already started as well. Thankfully it was just twitching and cravings for now. John wasn't looking forward to when Sherlock became violent.

They were back at the flat now, Sherlock sitting in his chair examining his sword and John was making tea in the kitchen. New Year's was tomorrow and John still needed to go out and buy some champagne. Then a thought occurred to him.

'You know, we still have to exchange Christmas presents.'

Sherlock grinned as he ran his fingers over the well-crafted sword his brother had bought him.

'Oh yes. I completely forgot about that. Can you do me a favour and bring the present I bought for you here? It's underneath our bed. No peeking though.'

'No peeking. Promise.' John went into their bedroom and searched under the bed. There was a box under there wrapped neatly. He pulled it out and set it on the bed. He then moved to his wardrobe and searched for the present he'd gotten Sherlock. He briefly thought about the ring but decided against it. It wasn't the right time. He returned to the sitting room, presents in hand, and smiled at Sherlock.

'May I take away the captain's sword to give him his present?' he asked with a wide smile.

'You may.' Sherlock handed his sword over to John reluctantly. 'Look after her though. She's the love of my life.'

'Hey,' John pouted. 'Do I need to be jealous of a sword?' He handed Sherlock his present, propped the sword by the fireplace, and sat in his chair, his own present on his lap.

'Yes. We're going to run away together into the sunset. Sorry John but I'm marrying my sword and that is that,' Sherlock smirked in amusement.

'Now, open up your present. I hope you like it. I instructed Mycroft to buy it so I hope he didn't fuck up.'

Sherlock had chosen a full leather biker's suit. It included a jacket, trousers, boots, and even some tight leather pants too.

John pouted but smiled. 'Just so long as she makes you happy,' he joked. He ripped into his present and opened the box. He raised an eyebrow at what was inside. A complete leather outfit with purple and red trim.

'A leather outfit? Planning on some BDSM in the bedroom?' He smirked and pulled the jacket out. 'Oh. Not that kind of leather outfit. Is this a biker's outfit?'

Sherlock sighed and ran a hand down his face. 'You don't like it, do you? Dammit. I just thought that since we had a conversation a while back about how you used to love bike riding that maybe you'd like to start up again.'

'What? No! I love it! Really!' He rifled through the box and started laughing when he found the pants. 'Oh my god! Are these leather pants?! I love them, really I do. Shall I model them for you?'

Sherlock sighed again but this time in relief. 'Go on. Put on a show.'

John grinned and scuttled off to the bedroom. He shucked his clothes off and put on the leather outfit. It fit perfectly. He looked at himself in the mirror and grinned. He had missed his leather biker gear. And now that he had it again he desperately wanted another bike. He searched under the bed for the riding crop before heading back to the sitting room, grinning at Sherlock like a predator stalking its prey.

'How do I look?' he asked huskily. He smacked the riding crop against his chair and laughed. 'I love it. Even the leather pants are comfortable.'

Sherlock began panting wildly. 'Sweet mother of–' He groaned. 'You have no idea how gorgeous you look.'

'I'm pretty sure I do.' John grinned. 'Now open your present.' Sherlock grinned and tore at his present.

'Ah, ah,' John said and cracked the crop against his chair again. 'Slow. Savour it.'

Sherlock pouted but went slowly anyway, opening up the present fully. He gasped when he saw what was inside and a brilliant grin flashed across his features.

'Do you like it?' John asked with a smug grin. 'Put it on. Let me see.'

'Would you like to help me into it?' Sherlock practically meowed.

'Aye-aye, Captain,' John purred. He dropped the crop on his chair and moved to Sherlock. He pulled the costume out and prompted Sherlock to stand.

Sherlock stood to his feet, wincing slightly as his back twinged.

'It's beautifully made,' he commented softly. 'It's perfect.'

'You aren't the only one who has connections, love,' John smiled. 'I know a guy who makes high end costumes and he owed me a favour. So I had him make this for you.' He helped Sherlock out of his trousers and put the costume ones on. He then moved to Sherlock's shirt and kissed him quickly.

'Thanks for the leather bike clothes, by the way. I love them.'

'I'll buy you a bike soon too,' Sherlock smiled, kissing John on the lips lovingly. He ran his fingers across the soft material of his pirate costume. 'It really is perfect.'

'A bike really?' John grinned brightly. 'And yeah. I thought you might enjoy being Captain Jack Sparrow, seeing as your cock is named after him.' He set Sherlock down in his chair so he wouldn't strain his back. He then took Sherlock's jacket and shirt off and pulled the costume shirt on as well as the jewellery.

'My guy is very thorough. He even made you boots,' John grinned.

Sherlock laughed. 'I can't believe you bought me a whole pirate outfit. It's perfectly endearing. And yes, a bike. Maybe I'll buy one for your birthday.'

'Can I pick it out?' John asked giddily. A bike! A bike! I'm gonna get a bike! He pulled the coat on Sherlock and stepped back to admire his handiwork. There was something missing. Oh yes. He reached into the box and pulled out the wig and hat, laughing joyfully when Sherlock nearly squealed in glee. He put them on and stepped back.

'I do believe your transformation is complete Captain Sparrow,' he grinned. 'Have a look.' He gestured to the mirror and stepped back so Sherlock could see himself fully.

Sherlock whooped for joy. 'It's fantastic!' he exclaimed as he gazed at his reflection, grinning.

John grinned and laughed along with Sherlock.

'I'm so glad you like it, but I never doubted you wouldn't.' He picked up Sherlock's sword and handed it to him. 'No Captain should be without his sword.'

Sherlock took his sword and laughed. 'Arrrh!'

'What be yer firs' order, Captain?' John asked in his best pirate accent.

'On yer knees.' Sherlock hovered his sword underneath John's jaw playfully.

'Aye,' John smiled, dropping to his knees slowly so the sword wouldn't nick him.

'Closer,' Sherlock drawled in a thick pirate accent, beckoning John closer to him.

John slid closer until his knees touched Sherlock's feet. He looked up at him and licked his lips, patiently waiting for his captain's next order. Sherlock grinned, impressed with the control he had over John. He pulled his trousers down and fished out his cock. He wrapped one hand around his member and used the other to bring his sword to John's face. He slid the cold blade against his lover's skin and made a small, sharp cut, drawing blood. His eyes darkened at the sight of the red stuff. John was staring at him in shock.

'I am yer captain. You'll follow me orders t' the letter. Understood?'

'Aye aye, Cap'n,' John agreed. He had been startled at the cut Sherlock had made in his cheek, but it didn't feel like he'd cut deep. Just a small cut. He might even be able to pass it off as nicking himself shaving. Now he was too absorbed in staring at Sherlock's cock to truly worry.

'Does my cap'n wan' t' sit down?' he asked. 'So he don't 'urt 'is back?'

'Aye. Yer Cap'n shall sit down.' Sherlock plopped down in the chair beside him, his eyes ablaze with fire. He reached out his sword and slashed John's cheek open further. The cuts were beginning to form a Gallifreyan symbol of love. Once satisfied with his work, he lowered his sword, admiring his handiwork beyond the pool of red flowing from the cuts.

'Now yer get to suck yer Cap'n off.'

John was panting in lust and slight pain. The cuts in his cheek burned but he could deal with it. He scuttled forward and placed his hands on Sherlock's knees, pushing them apart so he could reach his cock. He grasped the base and suckled the head before sucking more of him into his mouth.

''Arder lad, 'arder!' Sherlock ordered firmly, grabbing a fistful of John's hair and forcing himself deeper down his lover's throat. John growled and sucked harder, swallowing more of him down his throat. He began bobbing his head furiously, Sherlock's grip tightening in his hair.

'Play with me bollocks, lad,' Sherlock grit out, jerking his hips frantically. John mumbled an 'aye' and snaked a hand underneath his captain to massage his bollocks roughly.

'Gonna cum, lad,' Sherlock gasped out, his hips jolting sharply as he began to spill into John's throat. John hummed and drank all Sherlock gave him, saving a little on his tongue as he knew his captain would want a taste too. Sherlock pushed John's head away and pulled his cock back into his trousers.

'Up, lad.' He patted his knee.

John crawled up Sherlock's lap and sat on his knee, much like he would a mall Santa. He patiently waited for his next order, a hand grasping the back of Sherlock's chair to hold himself up. Sherlock lapped up the remaining blood on John's face, leaving just the scar of his love behind. He groaned and pulled John further onto his lap.

'Kiss yer Cap'n.' John straddled Sherlock's lap and sealed their lips together, parting his so Sherlock's tongue could delve inside and taste. Sherlock kissed John softly, flicking his tongue out to greet him. John hummed and flicked his tongue against Sherlock's, moaning at the contact. Sherlock hummed and pulled away, brushing a thumb along the scar on John's right cheek gently whilst gazing at him lovingly.

'What did you carve there?' John asked, his pirate accent gone. 'Felt like... Gallifreyan.'

'That's because it is. I carved 'love' into your cheek in Gallifreyan.'

'Really?' John asked with a small smile. 'Can I go look at it?'

'Yes. Go ahead.' Sherlock placed a kiss to the scar and smiled.

John kissed Sherlock's own cheek and slid off his lap. He looked in the mirror and examined his cheek. It was indeed the Gallifreyan symbol for love. He grinned but hissed slightly. His cheek was tight, the lines pulling against the grin. He went to the medicine cabinet and pulled out the supplies to clean and dress it. He returned to the mirror and disinfected the cuts first, hissing from the slight burn. He put some cream on it to keep it from drying out and then put a couple large bandages on it.

'I doubt it'll fade entirely,' Sherlock said gently. 'Sorry. I got a bit carried away as your captain.'

'It's ok. If I have to I can probably cover it up with makeup at work. But my beard probably won't grow in where the scar is.'

'At least you'll always have a little piece of me with you, hmm?'

'A reminder of our love,' John grinned softly, not wanting to upset his cheek. He fanned himself slightly. 'Worked up a sweat in this leather outfit. Mind of I change out of it?'

'Keep the leather pants,' Sherlock laughed.

'They're making my bollocks stick to my thighs,' John complained. 'I'll wear them for New Year's. I still need to go out and buy some champagne too.'

'I don't care.' Sherlock twitched in his seat, scratching at his arm. 'Wear them.'

'Ah! No scratching!' John warned. He went into the bedroom and peeled his leather outfit off. He was drenched in sweat. Maybe a quick shower would be good. Then he could change into his regular attire and go out for the shopping. A shower then. He went back into the sitting room, stark naked, and smirked at Sherlock.

'Wanna join me for a quick shower?' he asked. 'Could distract you from your cravings.'

'No,' Sherlock grumbled, scratching at his arm harder. 'I'm quite alright here.' His mood was now as dark as black treacle. 'I don't want to move.'

'Can you at least take the costume off? I don't want you to ruin it.'

Sherlock scowled. 'Let me be a pirate.'

'Ok, love. You can be a pirate.'

John went into the bathroom and started the shower, walking into it before the water had time to warm. He needed to cool off first before the water got too hot. He shivered when the cool water hit his hot skin, but it felt brilliant. He washed himself quickly and kept his right cheek out of the spray. When he was done he dried himself quickly and went back into the bedroom. Sherlock was busy examining the blood on his sword. Sherlock raised the blade to his line of sight and carefully began to lick the blood off, moaning as the tangy copper taste hit his taste buds.

John dressed quickly and grabbed his keys and wallet. Time to go buy some champagne for the new year. 'I'll be back soon, ok love?' He looked over at Sherlock licking the blood from his sword. He sighed and moved to him, pushing the blade away gently and sealing their lips together in a soft kiss, tasting the coppery tang of blood on Sherlock's tongue.

'Mmff, ok,' Sherlock mumbled through the kiss.

'Love you.'

'Mmmf.' Sherlock made a sound that hopefully conveyed a reply of 'I love you too.' His fingertips traced the arm he used to shoot up in, begging to itch the skin below the pirate shirt.

John moved Sherlock's hand away and tutted. 'No scratching, love. I'll be back in a few. Try not to get into too much trouble.' He smirked and walked downstairs and out the door, making his way to Tesco's.

Sherlock growled and pushed up his sleeve to scratch his arm to spite John.

**…::-::…**

Thankfully Tesco's was overstocked on champagne. John only bought one bottle though. He didn't want to go overboard. Especially since the last time either of them drank they did something they regretted. He bought Sherlock a pack of Jammy Dodgers as well. Sherlock loved those biscuits. He paid and made his way back home, hoping Sherlock's withdrawal wasn't horrendously bad.

**…::-::…**

Blood was trickling down Sherlock's arm, his body was shaking with tremor after tremor, and mad ramblings splurged from his lips as he continued to twitch and scratch. This was the worst his withdrawals had gotten so far and Sherlock knew they were only going to get worse still.

'I'm home!' John announced as he made his way up the stairs. At the sight of Sherlock trembling and bleeding he dropped the Tesco bag on the floor and rushed to his lover's side.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, are you ok? How bad is your withdrawal right now?' he asked in a rush. He'd never done this before, helped someone through drug withdrawal. He was scared and nervous as hell. Sherlock whimpered pathetically and leant forward to wrap John in shaking arms.

'Not good.'

John pulled away and examined Sherlock's arm, noting that the scratches weren't deep but were bleeding pretty harshly.

'I'll bandage your arm and then get you out of your costume. You're burning up.'

Sherlock frowned and shook his head. 'Mm freezing.'

'It's because you have a fever,' John said, holding the back of his hand against Sherlock's forehead. 'I can wrap you in blankets but I want you out of the costume. I don't want you to dirty it already.' He began to take the costume jewellery off and then worked on the coat. Sherlock allowed John to take the costume off, too weak to complain.

'You can be a pirate again later, OK?' John said softly. 'Now let's get your arm bandaged and wrap you up in some blankets.' He carried Sherlock over to the medicine cabinet and sat him on the counter. He cleaned Sherlock's arm and wrapped it in gauze. He then carried him to bed and tucked him in snug, grabbing some more blankets from the closet and draping them over Sherlock.

'Feeling better?' he asked, crawling over the blankets and settling down beside Sherlock.

'Worse,' Sherlock muttered with a defeated sigh. 'Now get under here and cuddle me.'

'Ok. Let me grab you your treat first.' John grinned.

'Treat?' Sherlock asked from underneath the covers.

'Yep. Got ya something special.' He went back to the sitting room and grabbed the Tesco bag. He put the champagne in the fridge and carried the Jammy Dodgers back into the bedroom. He set them on Sherlock's stomach and slid under the covers next to him.

'Got you your favourite,' he smiled against Sherlock's neck, pressing a soft kiss to his pulse point. Sherlock chuckled, his dark mood briefly lifted by the sugary biscuits. He grabbed them and pulled them beneath the covers, ripping them open and beginning to scoff them greedily.

'Thank you,' he managed to say through a mouthful of Jammy Dodger.

'Slow down, love,' John said softly, stilling Sherlock's hand. 'Don't eat too fast. You'll get an upset stomach. And you are very welcome. I know how much you like them.'

'Sorry,' he mumbled, swallowing one biscuit whole. 'Can I have my hand back?'

John pouted and clutched Sherlock's hand close. 'No. Mine,' he said and kissed his knuckles.

Sherlock pulled his hand away. 'Sorry, but my hand belongs to my Jammy Dodgers. They're my new love interest.'

'First your sword and now your biscuits,' John pouted. 'Have I been replaced?'

'Yes, afraid so. I'm having multiple affairs with inanimate objects. I can't help myself. They're just so darn sexy.'

'So what's next then? Your dressing gown? Your microscope?' John teased.

'There's my sonic screwdriver. You wouldn't believe what I did with her whilst you were away.'

'Oh god. Nope. Nope. Don't want to picture– too late.' John shuddered but laughed. 'At least you had something to stick up your arse. I still don't like my fingers up mine. I swear I wanked every day while I was gone.'

'I don't know why,' Sherlock smirked. 'It's one of the best feelings out there. And good lord, sonicing my arse was–' He moaned loudly and arched upwards in the bed.

'God I want you so bad right now,' John growled. He crawled over Sherlock and kissed him roughly, shoving his tongue between his lips and down his throat.

Sherlock pulled back. 'John–' He bit his lower lip. 'That wasn't an invite. I... I can take you if you want. But I can't let you take me. Not yet.'

'I didn't mean I wanted to take you.' John frowned. 'I know you're still scared. I wasn't trying to push you into it. I was hoping I could ride you. Take some strain off your back. And you can tell me how to open myself if you want,' he said huskily.

'Oh. Sorry. I just thought... uh.' Sherlock swallowed. 'Does that include fucking the sonic screwdriver to open you up?'

'If you want, yes,' John grinned. 'You're the boss today, Cap'n.'

'Go fetch the screwdriver to, well, I suppose screw,' Sherlock laughed heartily.

'And where do you keep it?' John asked, laughing slightly along with Sherlock.

'Underneath the bed for easy access to it on lonely nights.'

'I'm sorry, love,' John pouted. He kissed Sherlock's cheek. 'But I'm here now. No need to be lonely anymore.' He reached over and under the bed and grasped the sonic. He got lube from the bedside drawer and began stripping underneath the covers.

'It's stifling under here. Mind if we rejoin the world and poke our heads out for air?' He faked gasping for air to make a point.

'I'm freezing,' Sherlock complained, sighing as he saw John's point. 'But alright.' He wriggled upwards and broke out of the covers.

'You'll be warm soon enough,' John smiled. He dropped his clothes to the floor and moved to sit on top of the sheets, leaving Sherlock under them to stay warm.

'How do you want me?'

'Legs spread wide,' Sherlock ordered with a grin. 'Now, lube the sonic screwdriver up.'

John lay back and spread his legs as wide as they could go without straining himself. He then lubed the sonic perhaps a little too much, but he didn't want to hurt himself whilst it was up his arse. He looked over at Sherlock and awaited further instructions.

'Now press the tip to your entrance and slowly stretch yourself.' Sherlock's voice deepened in anticipation. John pressed the sonic inside himself slowly, scrunching his eyes shut at the intrusion. It was a lot harder and stiffer than a cock, and it felt so weird.

'More,' Sherlock growled. 'Shag that screwdriver.'

'It feels so fucking weird!' John complained, but he pushed more of it inside until it found his prostate. He gasped and lurched in the air, his eyes blown wide from the sensation. He did it again and again, his cock stiffening completely, and began rocking against the sonic like Sherlock had instructed.

'Stop a second.' Sherlock reached underneath the bed and plucked out a small black remote. 'You want to be careful what you put up your arse. I've transformed the sonic into a vibrator.' Without further explanation he hit the highest setting and watched as John became a violently thrashing mess.

'You and you bloody experiments,' John gasped out before the thing started vibrating. He cried out and thrashed against the mattress, fucking the vibrating sonic fast and hard, a litany of profanities spewing from his mouth. Sherlock grabbed John's cock and began moving his hand at a tortuous speed.

'You seem pretty content with this experiment.' John moaned loudly and fucked the vibrator faster, his cock sliding through Sherlock's fist.

'Faster! Faster John! Come on boy, you can do it. Go faster!'

John planted his feet against the mattress and tried to move faster, his lungs burning from the exertion and from how incredibly turned on he was from the vibrator stimulating his prostate. His cock was leaking profusely and he was almost crying from how bloody turned on he was.

'Not fast enough! You can do better that that! Faster!' Sherlock yelled, wanking John more harshly.

'Can't! Can't!' John cried, some tears of pleasure sliding down his cheeks. 'Help! Please!'

Sherlock frowned and crawled out from the covers and on top of John. He placed a hand on John's chest.

'You're struggling to breathe,' he stated, worry dripping in his voice. 'I told you all that smoking would come to haunt you one day.'

'Shut up,' John gasped, his words not holding as much inflection as he'd hoped. 'I only just quit smoking cold turkey yesterday. O' course I'm gonna still be having problems. Now help me!'

Sherlock sighed and leant forwards, kissing John heatedly. One hand stayed on John's chest and the other began wanking him off again. John panted into Sherlock's mouth and thrust faster into Sherlock's hand, the sonic continuing to vibrate against his prostate.

'Bollocks,' he gasped out, not sure himself if it was a request or profanity. Sherlock slipped a hand beneath John and squeezed his bollocks hard.

'It's not working,' he said after a few minutes. 'I tell you what–' He flipped their positions and grasped his own cock. 'Suck,' he growled. John complied easily, swallowing Sherlock down in one smooth motion. Sherlock groaned and thrust upwards into John's mouth.

'Cum for me, my darling,' he cooed softly. John trembled and shuddered as he tried to find his release, crying as he somehow couldn't. He pushed the vibrator rougher against his prostate and suddenly screamed around Sherlock's cock, his own erupting with torrents of cum. Sherlock's cock gave a twitch as he saw John cumming before he too was cumming down his lover's throat. John gagged slightly but managed to swallow Sherlock's load. The vibrator was still on and it was causing him to spasm in aftershocks of pleasure. He wrenched it out and lay panting against the mattress, very much out of breath and exhausted.

'So? Changed your mind about having things up your arse? Other than my cock that is?'

'Nope,' John gasped out. The damn thing was still vibrating against his leg. 'My arse doesn't like anything but your cock up it. It didn't like the toy at all. Refused to let me cum.'

'How disappointing,' Sherlock sighed, picking the vibrating sonic up. 'How very disappointing. It still felt good though, yes?'

'Disappointing how? Were you gonna buy or make new toys? Because I can still use them on you. Technically it won't be my cock up your arse, so that would be ok, right?' He stretched and slid up the bed, resting his head on his pillow. 'And yeah, it did feel really good at first. But then when I wasn't cumming it became tedious and almost painful.'

Sherlock hummed and shrugged. 'We'll see.' He frowned. 'How are your lungs feeling? I didn't mean to make a jibe at your smoking but you were going red in the face. It was worrying.'

'Burning and exhausted,' John panted.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock apologised softly.

'It's not your fault,' John grunted as he sat up. 'Need some water. Be right back.' He hobbled off to the bathroom and drank three cups of water, his throat soothed from the screaming and his chest cooling as the water travelled down. He then wiped himself off with a flannel and rejoined Sherlock in bed.

'Please don't worry,' he said softly, brushing Sherlock's curls from his face. 'I'm OK now. And I'll continue to get better. I may get worse before I get better, but I will get better. Oh.' He paused and sucked on his lower lip. 'Can I use a nicotine patch?'

'Yes, sure. Go ahead,' Sherlock said gently, turning the sonic off and placing it underneath the bed before crawling under the covers once more. 'G'night,' he grumbled before drifting off to sleep.

John frowned. Was Sherlock ok? Were his cravings acting up again? Probably. He opened the bedside drawer, put the lube back, and grabbed a patch. He slapped it on his arm and crawled under the blankets, cuddling up to Sherlock. He drifted off to sleep, Sherlock's twitching keeping him up until he finally passed out from exhaustion.

Sherlock's dreams were always the same. They always involved John pinning him to a bed, taking him, and then flipping their positions so that Sherlock was riding him. It was hot and perfect.

John's dream started soft and sweet. He and Sherlock were walking hand-in-hand down a random street, talking and laughing and happy, when suddenly it changed. They were now in bed, Sherlock facing away from him and rubbing his bum against his rapidly hardening cock. John whimpered and wrapped an arm around his lover's – no, husband, judging by the matching rings – waist and rut against him, his cock easily sliding between Sherlock's arse cheeks and getting trapped there.

Sherlock clenched his arse cheeks around John's cock, grinning wickedly and spilling Gallifreyan profanities as he rode his lover. John groaned and rut faster, his cock slipping down between Sherlock's thighs and hitting his bollocks gently with each thrust. Sherlock groaned loudly as he began to near his release. He clenched his arse cheeks tighter and warned John that he was about to cum before spilling out in thick jets. John clenched his arm tight around Sherlock's waist and pressed his forehead tight between his shoulder blades. He rut faster, his own release imminent, especially after hearing Sherlock cum so beautifully. He whimpered and his hips stuttered to a halt as he came thickly, this orgasm much more satisfying than the one the vibrator gave him. When he finished he collapsed back against the bed and let out a loud snore, falling asleep in his dream. Or... Wait... What?

His eyes snapped open to reveal it hadn't been a dream at all. He must have been partially awake and had started rutting against Sherlock when he had begun rocking back on him. Had the sexsomnia returned? Did John have it now too? He turned over and buried his face in his pillow, falling back asleep before he could dwell on it and lose sleep. He needed his sleep for work. Did he work tomorrow? Well, it wouldn't hurt to get a decent night's sleep even if he didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Some smut! A good start to a Monday, yeah? Or I guess a good end to a Monday?
> 
> Next chapter will be Friday, and it's a bit of a longer one. The boys celebrate New Years and some drunk snogging (and much more) ensues. It'll be a great start to the weekend ;) See you then.
> 
> TSA + IB


	54. New Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy Friday! And I suppose a Happy New Year as well ;)
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: drug withdrawals, minor physical violence, anal sex, drunk sex, sexting, vomiting, Mycroft's rage, more sex.

Sherlock awoke to the burning itching sensation his withdrawals always brought and the feeling of his pants sticking to his flesh. He groaned and struggled into a sitting position.

'John!' His voice came out as an almighty yell as his fingers scratched his bandaged arm furiously. Growling under his breath as John didn't respond, he climbed out of the covers and crawled onto him. 'John! Wake up! I need some! Get me some! Now!'

John groaned awake and nearly jumped out of his skin when he opened his eyes to see Sherlock looming over him. He gasped and flailed slightly before realising it was just his lover.

'I'm not getting you anything,' he stated once he got his breath back.

'I need something!' Sherlock screamed, grabbing John's wrists. 'Anything! Something! Give me! Give me! Now!'

'I don't have anything to give you!' John shouted back at him. 'We got rid of it all! There is nothing here!'

'Not good enough!' Sherlock roared, letting go of one of John's wrists so he could pull violently at his hair so he was sat up in the bed fully. 'Get me something. Now. Or you won't last to see the New Year.'

John growled and grasped Sherlock's bandaged forearm tightly with his free hand. The younger man screamed in pain and released John's other wrist. With that, John flipped their positions and pushed Sherlock onto his stomach, twisting his arms behind his back harshly. He sat on his bum and pressed all his weight down on him, effectively pinning him to the bed.

'We don't have anything,' he growled in Sherlock's ear. 'I am not buying anything and you are not leaving the flat to get anything. You are going to stay here if I have to have you sedated twenty four seven until you calm the fuck down!'

Sherlock sighed. Time to change tactic then. 'I have a few cold cases that I have to collect from Greg.' The lie was perfect because if needed to he could get some cold cases from the D.I. 'I've been meaning to talk to him properly too. What with my suicide attempt and my back we really haven't had a chance to talk.'

'If you go I'm going with you,' John said, not releasing his grip. 'I am not leaving you unattended. Not when you're cravings are only just starting. So if you truly want to go to the Yard for some cases, let's get dressed and go.'

'Alright,' Sherlock grumbled. 'Fine. We shall go together.'

'Ok,' John agreed. He released Sherlock's wrists and moved off his bum to stand on the floor. He watched Sherlock rose slowly before moving to his wardrobe and pulled on a t-shirt and a jumper before pulling on a pair of pants and jeans.

'Can we leave now?' Sherlock asked in annoyance.

'Are you going to get dressed?' John countered.

'No. I'll just pull on my coat and we'll be off,' Sherlock retorted, glancing around the room. 'I just need to find my cane.'

John scowled and pulled on his shoes. He stalked out to the kitchen and started making tea to calm himself down. He found Sherlock's cane in the sitting room and propped it by the bedroom door, returning to his tea and sipping it as it cooled. Sherlock hobbled out, picking his cane up. He made his way to his coat and pulled it on, not bothering to put on clothes. Part of him didn't want to wear clothes because of his withdrawals, and the other part just wanted to really piss John off. He shoved on his shoes and stood by the door.

'Coming?' he asked sharply. John looked up and nearly burst out laughing at the sight of Sherlock wearing nothing but his coat. Then he had to swallow down his arousal because damn Sherlock looked absolutely delectable in that coat. Then he got a little angry and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

'Sherlock, would you please get dressed? It's nearly January, it's snowing, and it's quite windy. I don't want you to catch cold, so would you please put some trousers and a jumper on?'

'Nope,' Sherlock grit out, turning around and starting to make his way down the stairs. 'Now, can you bloody hurry up?!'

'Sherlock!' John followed him down the stairs and grasped his arm. 'Sherlock, stop. Please. Just relax. I know your cravings are bad and you're grumpy and you ache all over. But please. Put your clothes on. I'm the only one who gets to see you naked and I don't want all of Scotland Yard eyeing your bits. Please.'

'I don't care.' Sherlock jerked his arm from John's grasp. 'I'm going. If you don't let me go now I'll tell Greg that you're keeping me in the flat against my will.'

'Shut up! He wouldn't believe it. You're in your own goddamn home! Now get dressed or I'll haul your arse back upstairs and dress you myself.'

'I need some!' Sherlock roared, thwacking John in the bollocks with his cane. He winced as the good doctor screamed and clutched his balls for dear life but Sherlock didn't dwell on it. Instead he hobbled out into the street and was in a taxi before he could even think over his actions. He hadn't meant to hurt John but in all honesty he hadn't been given much choice. John should have sedated him. This wasn't Sherlock. This was his cravings.

John was crouched on the stairs in a massive amount of pain. He whimpered and whined and a few tears slipped out. He managed to pull his mobile out and dialled Mycroft.

'He's gone,' he grit out through the pain. 'Disappeared god knows where. Please tell me you're tracking him.'

'Of course I'm keeping track of him,' Mycroft scoffed. 'Why wouldn't I be? As soon as his cab stops and he gets out he shall be apprehended, sedated, and brought back to you.'

'Thanks,' John gasped, whimpering as his bollocks were still in pain.

'Are you alright?'

'He hit me in the bollocks with his cane, Mycroft. I think it's safe to say I'm not OK.'

'Ah. Well. Take care of that. Sherlock shall be back soon.'

'Thanks,' John managed to say before hanging up. He stood slowly, his hand still clutching his crotch, and hobbled upstairs. He sat in his chair and spread his legs wide, sighing from the relief of pressure on his groin. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, thinking.

He should have sedated Sherlock as soon as he attacked him when he woke up. Things were starting to get ugly. And he needed more needles too. He could probably order them online seeing as he couldn't exactly walk to Bart's and get more. So he pulled his laptop out from under his chair and began searching.

**…::-::…**

As the cab came to a stop Sherlock automatically knew something was up. It wasn't until he got out of the cab and felt rather than saw someone grabbing him that he knew what that something was. Mycroft had sent men to apprehend him. He screamed and thrashed violently in an attempt to escape, but it was futile. A needle sliced into the back of his neck and he instantly slumped and fell into unconsciousness.

**…::-::…**

John had just placed an order for more needles and bed restraints when he heard the front door burst open. The stairs were being ascended a moment later. John closed his laptop and stood when two men entered, Sherlock slung over the shoulder of one. He was deposited on the bed without a word and the men left. John was instantly by Sherlock's side, removing his coat and shoes and tucking him into bed.

'I'm so sorry, love,' he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock's temple. 'Can you ever forgive me?' He lay on the blankets beside Sherlock and wrapped his arm around his waist in a tender hug. He fell asleep beside him, fully clothed.

Sherlock woke with a start. God knows how long he'd been under for. John was snuggled up against him and Sherlock sighed softly at the sight. He'd wanted to yell at John for he knew it was he who had gone to Mycroft, but he didn't have the heart. So instead he just lay there wrapped in John's warmth. John sighed and pressed himself closer to Sherlock. He was beginning to shiver so he took off his shoes, trousers, and jumper and crawled into bed wearing just his pants and t-shirt. Sherlock was warm and cuddly despite being sedated and John fell asleep again rather quickly, dreaming of the two of them happy and carefree.

Sherlock slipped in and out of sleep for a long while before finally waking fully. He prodded the sleeping John with a long, bony finger.

'Wakey, wakey, Jonathan. Time to rise and shine.' John groaned, his forehead pinching as Sherlock poked him.

'Ugh. Dun wanna,' he pouted, burrowing closer. 'Warm,' he sighed softly, smiling against Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock locked his jaw and poked John harder. 'Wake up. Now,' he growled. 'I mean it.'

John's brow furrowed further. 'Wha are ya gonna do if I don't?' he challenged, probably stupidly as he wasn't fully awake, and he knew all too well Sherlock would be ruthless in getting what he wanted. His bollocks still ached as proof.

Sherlock hummed and clambered onto John. 'I'll give you what you've wanted all along,' he threatened, rubbing himself against John's crotch. 'And I won't enjoy it one bit.'

John frowned. 'I don't want you to do that,' he said, more coherent as he woke. He cracked open his eyes and gazed softly at Sherlock's hard features. 'I don't want that at all. I'm awake. I'm awake.'

Sherlock grunted and rolled off of John. 'About bloody time.'

'I'm not apologising for sleeping,' John groaned, rubbing his eyes. 'But I will apologise for not sedating you sooner. So, sorry about that. I got more needles though. And some bed restraints for when you get especially bad. The Internet probably thinks I have one of the most disgusting kinks ever right about now.'

Sherlock gave John an unimpressed face and turned over so he was facing away from him. 'I hate you,' he hissed.

'No, you don't,' John said, but even he didn't believe his words. He crawled out of bed and pulled his trousers back on and went into the kitchen to make tea again.

'I hate you. I hate you. I hate you,' Sherlock chanted like a mad man, rocking in a small ball underneath the covers.

John sighed and held his face in his hands. He wasn't going to take any chances this time. He grabbed a needle and the sedative solution from the medicine cabinet and prepped the needle. He then returned to the bedroom, Sherlock still curled up in a ball chanting madly. He didn't give him any warning, just stabbed the needle in the meaty part of the back of Sherlock's neck and injected him. Sherlock fell limp and silent instantly. John arranged him so he'd be comfortable and then returned to his tea before he could break down.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock screamed as he awoke. He'd been caught in a nightmare. A horrible, horrific nightmare. Where was John? Tears spilled from his eyes. He shook and sobbed.

'J-ohn. J-John.'

John rose from his chair and returned to the bedroom. He sighed and crawled onto the bed, pulling Sherlock into his lap and holding him to his chest.

'Shhh, it's ok, Sherlock. I'm here. I'm here,' he said softly, petting Sherlock's hair soothingly.

Sherlock shivered in John's arms. 'Fucking withdrawals.'

'Shhh. It's OK. Do you want some tea and Jammy Dodgers? We might still have some left over from yesterday.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Yeah. That'd be good.' He hugged John tightly and sighed.

John clutched Sherlock tight and sighed. He glanced at the clock and almost smiled. Almost midnight. He picked Sherlock up and carried him out to the sofa, positioning him so he could look out the window when the fireworks started. He covered Sherlock in blankets and kissed him softly.

He went back to the kitchen and made Sherlock his tea. He opened the champagne and poured them each a small glass. He found the box of Jammy Dodgers wedged behind the bread box. He returned to the sitting room and handed Sherlock his tea and biscuits, setting the champagne on the coffee table for later.

Sherlock whooped a fake laugh. 'Nearly New Year. Hopefully it'll be less fucked up than the previous.'

'Same here.' He raised his glass in a mock toast. 'Here's to a less fucked up life.'

Sherlock raised his glass. 'Amen to that.'

John took a sip from his glass and stood in front of the window. A light snow was falling, making everything look fresh and new. How appropriate for the New Year.

'John... I've been a dick. I'm sorry.'

'It's your withdrawals, Sherlock, not you,' John said softly.

'It's me,' Sherlock countered.

'It's the desperate part of you that wants another fix,' John replied. He sipped his champagne again, the bubbles tickling his nose. He checked his watch. Five minutes. He didn't want their first conversation of the New Year being about drug withdrawals. He wanted it to be of love and encouragement.

'John, come here.' Sherlock beckoned his lover over, sipping at his own champagne glass before setting it down. 'I need you.'

John's lip quirked up in a semblance of a smile before falling into a neutral expression. He made his way over to Sherlock and set his champagne glass down on the table. He crouched down to Sherlock's level, his knees popping as he did so.

'What do you need, love?' he asked softly.

'You. All of you,' Sherlock said huskily. 'Please.'

John blushed and cracked a grin. He climbed over Sherlock on the sofa and lay along him, being mindful of his back. He brushed his lips against his softly, not wanting to rush for the time being. Sherlock, on the other hand, kissed John back roughly and became a mass of flailing limbs. He rocked beneath John urgently and his cock gave a flicker of interest. John quickly gave in and snogged Sherlock breathless. He pushed the blankets away and straddled his love's waist, rocking against him gently.

'Take me. Take me now,' Sherlock begged.

'Oh ye– What?' John pulled away and stared down at Sherlock, blinking rapidly.

'I – it's nearly New Year's for god's sake. Take me.'

'You seriously want me to take you before the New Year?' John asked incredulously.

'Come on. We haven't got long.' Sherlock rocked underneath John more insistently. 'Take me.'

'I – I don't... Ok,' John relented. 'But promise to tell me if anything feels... wrong.'

'Alright. Now bloody take me.'

'Jesus. Calm down. Let me bloody undress myself.' John chucked his t-shirt to the floor and stood to remove his jeans and pants, clambering back over Sherlock when he was completely nude. He pressed two fingers to Sherlock's lips.

'Suck.' Sherlock sucked on John's fingers greedily, swirling his tongue around them. John's breath hitched and he moaned as Sherlock's tongue worked around his fingers. He pulled them out with a soft pop and moved down between Sherlock's legs. He swirled them around his entrance, moistening it and helping it relax before pushing one finger in slowly.

Sherlock gasped, tensing slightly. 'Carry on. You're good. Just feels... strange after... everything.'

'I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry,' John murmured. He kissed Sherlock's inner thigh and pressed his finger in further until it was buried completely.

Sherlock moaned and tilted his head backwards. 'Shh now. It isn't the time for words. Actions only.'

John pressed his lips together tightly and began pumping his finger in a steady motion, stretching Sherlock. Sherlock clung onto John's shoulder and wriggled underneath him uncomfortably.

'It's good,' he reassured John again. 'Continue.'

'Are you sure? You look like you're in pain.' He frowned. 'Do you actually want this? Or do you want it just because you think I do?'

'I need you, please. Just continue.' John sighed and inserted his second finger, pushing in slowly so he wouldn't hurt Sherlock.

Sherlock whimpered and whined. 'Add a third finger, John. I can handle it.'

'I don't want to stretch you too soon,' John said softly. He scissored his fingers and pumped them steadily, a few whimpers escaping from Sherlock's lips as he did.

'Add the damn finger!' Sherlock demanded forcefully. 'Now.'

'Fine!' John sighed loudly. He pulled his fingers out, sucked on three of them, and then pushed them back in until they were buried deep.

Sherlock cried out and buried his face in John's shoulder. 'Mmmf.'

'Think you can take me in now?' John asked softly, his cock twitching in interest. Sherlock merely nodded, unable to speak.

'I'll be gentle. Promise.' He removed his fingers and leant over Sherlock, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 'I love you.'

'Love you too,' Sherlock hushed. 'Now take me.' John hummed softly and moved back between Sherlock's legs. He slicked his prick and positioned it at Sherlock's stretched entrance, pushing in slightly.

'Ready?'

'Yes.'

_No, idiot, you're not._

**_Yes you are._ **

_You can do this._

**_No you can't._ **

'Just hurry up.'

John frowned but pushed in farther, going slow so Sherlock could adjust to the feeling. He quickly checked the clock. Two minutes to midnight. Would they even be able to get off in two minutes? Or was the plan to be lost in each other as the New Year began?

Sherlock groaned and leant up to press his lips to John's, grasping his lover's hips tightly. They kissed softly, John getting pulled in by Sherlock's hands until he was buried completely in his lover's arse. He groaned and flicked his tongue out against Sherlock's, remaining still for a moment for them both to adjust.

Sherlock wriggled backwards, moaning obscenely. 'Come on, dear. Come on,' he said in encouragement to his lover. John whimpered and pulled back, thrusting back in gently but adjusting himself so he could find Sherlock's prostate. Given by his lover's startled cry, he found it. He laughed and pulled back, thrusting in a little more quickly and nudged the bundle of nerves again. He worked up to a steady rhythm, hitting Sherlock's prostate every few thrusts, making love to him gently as the New Year approached. Sherlock moved slowly with John, crying out a few profanities every now and then. He closed his eyes and grinned.

'Faster,' he panted. 'Faster.' John complied easily, thrusting faster, gripping Sherlock's hips to steady him against the sofa.

Sherlock giggled, like a woman no less. 'Fantastic. Harder. More,' he begged. John grinned and thrust his hips hard, jostling Sherlock's prostate. He laughed and moved faster, harder, his breath coming in harsh pants as he neared his release.

'Oh god. Shit! Ah! Fuck! You're so tight and warm. Oh god!' he gasped out, nearing his release. 'Close, love. So close.'

'Touch me,' Sherlock said softly. 'Touch me, please.' John released his grip on Sherlock's hip and moved to grasp his cock. He licked his palm first, slicking it up, and then grasped his lover's cock and started stroking hard and fast to match his thrusts. Sherlock laughed loudly between grunts and moans.

'Gonna cum.' John moaned and gasped loudly, his hips faltering only slightly.

'Oh god. Me too. Me too,' he shuddered.

Sherlock screamed as he came. The clock struck twelve soon after and the sounds of fireworks hitting the night air could be heard. John followed soon after, burying himself deep inside Sherlock as he came. The fireworks weren't just in the sky that night, they were in his eyes and heart as he gazed down at a laughing and completely debauched Sherlock. His Sherlock. He started laughing too and peppered kisses all over Sherlock's face before making it to his lips. They kissed quickly but softly, the fireworks illuminating the room in glows of blue, red, purple, and yellow as they came down from their high.

When the fireworks ended so did the kiss. John pulled away gently and rested his forehead on Sherlock's, a very happy and contented smile on both of them. They gazed into each other's eyes for a long while before John pulled out and whispered, 'I love you. Happy New Year,' in Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock's heart was still pounding in his chest and his breathing was still slightly ragged but he was the happiest he'd been in a long time.

'I love you, my dear. Happy New Year.'

John smiled and laughed. He sat up and helped Sherlock into a proper sitting position. He handed him his mug of tea and wrapped the blankets around him. He stood to get dressed and then sat back down at Sherlock's feet, pulling them into his lap, and sipped at his champagne. He hadn't felt so happy and relaxed in nearly a year. Over a year. It was a new year, a fresh start, and he was determined to make it a good one.

'This year shall be different,' Sherlock said, his jaw locked in determination. 'I am certain of it.' He kissed John tenderly. 'I shall not allow history to repeat itself.'

'I want this to be a good year too. No, not just good. Great.' John sipped from his glass before continuing. 'We need to start going on cases again, keeping the baddies and the sickos off the street. Maybe we can take a small holiday. Maybe in Ireland. Or somewhere sunny and warm. Could do us both some good to get out of the rain and cold. And... I still want to get a cat.' He blushed slightly and drank a small gulp of his champagne, the bubbles fizzing in his nose and making him sneeze.

Sherlock smiled, part of him caught in the past when he used to snuggle up to Ash, a furry ball of gray.

'I would love a kitten. When the time is right though. We're still finding our feet.' He kissed the tip of John's ear. 'You look a little flushed, dear. Some would say tipsy.'

'It's the bubbles,' John hiccupped. 'Take it away. I don't want to get pissed.'

'It's OK,' Sherlock assured him. 'It's a new year and I trust you.' He picked up his own glass and began sipping it. 'Besides, what sane man stays sober on New Year's?' He slid onto John's lap carefully. 'Perhaps we could get pissed together.'

John felt his cheeks heat but he wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or Sherlock straddling his lap. He sipped his champagne and flushed more, but smiled as it warmed him.

'You sure you wanna get pissed?' he hiccupped again. 'The bubbles will speed it up. Plus we haven't had a lot to eat so the alcohol will affect us faster.'

'I'm sure.' Sherlock drained his glass in one gulp. 'I want to get pissed with you. I want this. Let me have this.'

'OK.' John drank the rest of his glass and hiccupped when the bubbles fizzed up his nose again. He giggled and kissed Sherlock softly.

Sherlock sniggered against John's lips. 'I love you, my darling, huggable John.'

John smiled against Sherlock's lips. 'I love you too, my dear, wonderful, snuggly Sherlock.' He looked at their empty glasses. 'Want some more?'

'Please.' Sherlock offered out his glass for more champagne. John slid out from under Sherlock's lap and made his way over to the champagne bottle. He brought it back with him and flopped back down on the sofa, Sherlock quickly resuming his position on his lap. John giggled and poured them more champagne. He tapped his glass against Sherlock's in a small toast.

'To a better year.'

'To a better year,' Sherlock repeated in agreement, gulping at his glass greedily. John chugged his glass expertly, the alcohol sliding down his throat and into his stomach. He giggled again as he felt his neck heating up, a sure sign the alcohol was beginning to take effect.

Sherlock giggled with John, nuzzling at his neck. 'T' gettin pished.' His words were already starting to sound slurred and mashed together. The bubbly stuff really got to him quickly.

'We need more bubbly 'fore we make another toast,' John giggled, nuzzling his nose against Sherlock's. He poured them both another glass and clinked them together.

'To gettin' pissed,' he grinned.

'Pished,' Sherlock laughed, letting the alcohol slip down into system. 'Goo fun.'

'It iz,' John agreed, gulping his drink down quickly. He giggled again and covered his eyes with his hand, laughing outright at the idea that had just crossed his mind.

'I jus 'ad th' besht worsht idea,' he giggled.

'Oh god,' Sherlock grinned drunkenly. 'Wash ya idea?' he asked as he drank his glass whole.

'We need t' shend Myc some... some photos of us,' John laughed loudly. 'Like... Like sexy, funny pics. Ya know?'

'Oooh.' Sherlock's lips made an 'o' shape before he burst into uncontrollable laughter. 'Yesh! Bend me offa, bad Watson. N' take a pwetty picture.'

'Let me spank ya firsht,' John grinned. 'Need t' make ya nice an' red for th' picture.'

'Yesh!' Sherlock exclaimed, clambering to his feet and swaying his arse in front of John.

'Lean on th' table for me,' John said, kneading Sherlok's arse so it would be nice and pliant. Sherlock complied with a loud groan, leaning on the table.

'Shpank me.'

John growled and slapped a hand across Sherlock's left cheek hard, a bright red palm print forming almost instantly. John growled and did the same with the right, laughing giddily at how bright red the marks on his lover's arse already were. And they had only just begun.

'Yesh! Yesh! Yesh!' Sherlock cried out. 'Shpank me more! Shpank! Shpank!'

John growled and spanked Sherlock ten times on each buttock. His arse was now nice and red, tender, and sore. He stroked the soft flesh to sooth it.

'Shall we take a picture now?' he grinned cheekily.

'Yesh, take a piccy.' Sherlock wriggled his arse eagerly. John fished his mobile out of his pocket and took a few photos, pinching Sherlock's arse where it wasn't quite red enough.

'K. Wha shood we do now? Cuz I wanna send a bunch at once, ya know? Oh! Kiss me an' take a pic with ya tongue down m' throat.'

Sherlock grabbed John's face and forced a heavy kiss on him. He plucked the mobile from John's hand and took several pictures.

'Wanna suck you now,' John groaned. 'Take pics o' me suckin ya off.' John switched their positions and knelt between Sherlock's knees. He licked up Sherlock's cock and grinned.

'Take pictures,' he said huskily. 'Of everything I do to you.'

'God yesh!' Sherlock grinned down at John and took a picture of him. 'Go on! Suck!'

John licked up Sherlock's cock again, looking at the camera phone the entire time. He sucked the head into his mouth and slowly engulfed it, swallowing Sherlock whole.

Sherlock was a writhing mess as he took the pictures. 'Jawn, cans I sit down? Back's 'urtin.'

'Yesh. Sit, love,' John said, stroking his prick gently.

Sherlock smiled and sat down. 'Wanna take you n' take a pwetty picture.'

'Oooh, yesh,' John grinned. He chucked off his shirt and scrambled out of his trousers, straddling Sherlock. 'Stretch me open an' take a pic.'

Sherlock slicked his fingers up with saliva and set to work in stretching John nice and wide. He took several pictures before positioning himself against John's entrance. He pushed himself inside and took a picture of that too. John moaned and pushed down on Sherlock's cock, sitting on him fully. He hummed and kissed his love softly.

'I wuv you. So much,' he whispered against his lips. 'God. Ya feel fuckin' 'tastic up m' arse. Fuck me.'

'Mmm. Tink I'm gonna film dis.' He clicked the record button. ''Appy New Year, My.' He waved happily. 'Wave at ze camera, Jawn.'

'Hi Myc!' John giggled, waving at the little camera. 'Dis is wha ya bro 'n I do on a regoolar basis. Watch.' He threw his head back and moaned loudly as he moved up and down on Sherlock's cock. Sherlock thrust harder into John, hitting his prostate over and over.

'How's it feel? Mmm? Tell ma bro.'

'Ah god! Feels so good, Myc! Ya bro's a fucking animal! Ah fuck!'

'Hehe. Ya won lasht long.' Sherlock bucked his hips harshly. 'Show My your cumming face.'

'Ah! Ah! Ah! Fuck!' John cried out as he came, thick white ribbons of cum landing on Sherlock's abdomen. 'Oh Jesus! Oh fuck! Gah! Shit!'

Sherlock cried out John's name as he came too. He quickly flipped the mobile around as his facial muscles rippled with the orgasm spreading through him.

'Jawn is such a goo shag!'

'Ya missing out, Myc!' John added. 'Show 'im wha I did t' ya stomach.'

Sherlock flipped the mobile to his stomach, capturing the image of the thick cum that had been spilt onto it.

'See that, My? I did that,' John giggled proudly. 'An I made ya bro cum screamin. Am I goo or wha?'

'Lick i' up,' Sherlock cooed. 'Ma Jawn gonna lick i' up.'

John slid off Sherlock's cock and began lapping up his cum, humming and moaning for the camera.

'I tashte so gud, Myc,' he purred. 'Wanna tashte, Sher?'

'Oooh ya,' Sherlock purred. John moved the camera so it could see the cum on his tongue. He grinned and then sealed his lips to Sherlock's, shoving his tongue inside his mouth so he could taste his cum. Sherlock groaned and kissed John for a good long while before pulling away with a soft giggle. John giggled too and looked at the camera. He smiled cheekily and waved.

''Appy New Year, Myc. Say bye, Sh'lock.'

'Mmm. G'bye.' Sherlock gave a little wave at the camera and ended the recording.

John giggled again and grabbed the mobile. 'Shoo we sen it now?'

'Yesh! N' tell me wash he r'sponds wid.'

'Hep me pick some pretty pics to send too,' John grinned.

'Sen um all,' Sherlock said with a wide grin.

'Duh,' John said, smacking his forehead. 'Dere all pretty.' He selected all the photos they'd taken and sent them to Mycroft. The video was sent in a separate message.

'K. Done. Shall we 'ave a lil' more ackahol while we wait for 'im t' respond?'

'Yesh. Dere ish more in de cupboard. Fer experi–' Sherlock frowned. 'Wash dat word? Experi–?'

'Speriments?'

'Yesh. Dat's th' word.'

'K. I'll ge more.' He slid off Sherlock's lap and ambled over to the kitchen. 'Wish one?'

'T' top one.' Sherlock pointed to the cupboard which held a vast array of alcoholic beverages, ranging from classy wine to vodka.

'Oh!' John exclaimed upon opening the cupboard. 'Wish d' ya want?'

'Vodka. T' strong stuff.'

'Goo shoise,' John hummed. He grabbed the bottle and returned to the sofa, plopping down beside Sherlock. He poured them both a glass and he handed Sherlock one.

'Dis is gonna make me ill but meh.' Sherlock shrugged and downed the glass, spluttering afterwards.

'Iz gun make ya ill?' John frowned. 'Why ya wanna drink it den?'

'I dunno,' Sherlock giggled. 'Jus wanna ge goo n' properly pished.'

'I dun wan ya t' get sick tho,' John frowned. 'If ya start t' feel sick le' me know, k?' He gulped his drink and let out a loud 'ah!' at the taste and burn.

'K,' Sherlock hiccupped.

'K,' John repeated. 'D'ya wan more then?'

'Ya. Gimme more.'

John grabbed the bottle and poured them both another glass. He clinked their glasses together as he said, 'T' 'ternity.'

'T' 'ternity,' Sherlock said before draining his glass dry. He gazed at John as the warmth of the alcohol encompassed him. 'Wanna marry you. Wan ya t' be all mine.'

John swallowed his drink in one smooth motion, humming as it settled in his stomach and warmed him.

'Wanna marry ya too,' he said softly. 'Wanna spen de res o' my life wif ya.'

'Neffa wanna leaf ya. Neva. Marry me.'

'Ya gots a wing t' put on m' finga?' he asked playfully. 'Prop-pose prop-paly.'

'Mmm gonna get one n' do it proper. Wad tha a yesh?'

'I gots one,' John smirked. 'Gots it when I bought th' new mattress. Iz a pwetty wing.'

'Aww, cans I see i'?' Sherlock hiccupped and placed a slobbery kiss on John's forehead.

John shook his head and giggled. 'Shhhh. Iz a surprise for ya. Gon propose soon. Jus dun know when.'

Sherlock pouted. 'Wanna see it. Wanna marry ya now.'

'You'll see i' when I propose,' John answered. 'Wan it t' be a surprise.'

'Ya jus told me ya bloody muppet,' Sherlock pointed out with a sharp laugh.

'Not a muppet,' John frowned. 'D' ya weawee wanna see it?'

'Mmm,' Sherlock shrugged. 'Raffer wait I s'pose. T' make it more speshal.'

'K,' John smiled. He kissed Sherlock sloppily, open mouthed. 'D' ya... D' ya wan more ackahol or d' ya wanna go t' bed? Ish not too late. Bout one. We cud stay up la'er or go t' shleep now. Wha ya wanna do?'

'Wanna stay up fer My's response,' Sherlock grinned cheekily. 'Tink we scared im?'

'Fink we scarred 'im for life,' John grinned. 'Wan anofer drink?'

'Yesh. Shoo probly stop dere though.' Sherlock wrinkled up his nose and patted his belly full of alcohol. 'Feel icky.'

'K. One more. Den we shtop.' He poured them both one final glass. 'You can do th' final toast.'

'T' shstartin a family.' Sherlock raised the glass and hit it against John's.

'T'... T' startin' a famly.' He clinked his glass against Sherlock's. 'You wanna 'ave a famly wif me?'

Sherlock swallowed his glass and coughed slightly before answering.

'Yesh b' right now I jush wanna puke.'

'Go t' the loo t' do that. Dun wan ya barfin all ova me. Cuz den I'll barf.'

'Can ya elp me ge dere?'

'Ya. Ok.' John gulped his drink quickly and stood to help Sherlock up. He clasped his hands tight and they ambled their way over to the loo. 'Can ya take it from 'ere? Dun wanna listen to ya be sick. Dun like it when ya sick.'

Sherlock grunted and fell to his knees. He leant over the toilet as his stomach churned and gurgled.

'Go,' he managed to say before beginning to throw up the mainly alcoholic contents in his stomach.

John grimaced and scuttled back to the sofa. He checked his mobile. Still nothing from Myc. Hmm. Maybe he was out celebrating with Greg. So he and Sherlock could probably go to bed and a slew of messages from the elder Holmes would be in John's inbox in the morning. He took one last swig of vodka from the bottle and moved to put it away. Best not to leave it open and out all night. Thankfully, Sherlock seemed to have stopped vomiting. John knocked on the door softly, not wanting to startle him.

'Sher? Myc's na answerin. Wanna go t' bed and we can check in th' mornin?'

'Yesh. K.' Sherlock lifted his head weakly and smiled up at John. 'Gonna elp me up?'

'Yea. Rinsh ya mouth out. Dun wanna kiss ya an' tashte barf.' He helped Sherlock up and turned on the sink. He filled a cup with water and passed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock sipped gently at the water. 'Weely sleepy now.'

'K. Me too. Jus finish that and we can go t' bed.'

Sherlock rinsed out his mouth with the water and put the glass down.

'Come on. Bed.'

'Yesh. Bed.' They ambled their way to the bedroom and collapsed on the mattress, John nearly falling asleep instantly. But he managed to get them both under the covers and he snuggled close to Sherlock. He kissed him softly and smiled when he didn't taste vomit. Good.

'Love ya, Sher,' he mumbled, his eyelids heavy with sleep. 'N yesh, I'll marry ya.'

'N' haf a family wif me.' Sherlock kissed John slowly before snuggling down into the blankets. 'Cus I wuvv ya too. N' ya will make a good daddy.'

'Ya. 'Ave a famly wif ma Sher.' John smiled and laid his head on Sherlock's chest, tangling their legs together. 'Wanna be a daddy wif ya. You'd be a gud daddy too. Ya would.'

'Mmm. D'ya tink?' Sherlock pressed his body closer to John's.

'Yeh. I do. You'll be a great daddy.' John hummed and snuggled closer, nuzzling Sherlock's chest.

'Dun tink I will,' Sherlock mumbled as he fell asleep.

'No. You'll be a great daddy,' John mumbled as he too fell asleep. 'Great daddy.'

**…::-::…**

'Ow,' was the first thing Sherlock said as he awoke. He lifted his head slightly and winced his eyes open. 'Double ow,' he hissed.

John groaned and clutched tighter to his Sherlock pillow.

'Don't move,' he grumbled. 'You'll upset my head.'

' _Your_  head?' Sherlock snorted. 'My head's in a far poorer condition.'

'Don't care. Just don't move,' John grumbled. He pulled the covers over his head to block out the sun streaming in through the window. 'Who the fuck left the window open?!'

'That was me,' a cold voice said from the doorway.

'Croft?' Sherlock questioned. 'Is that you?' he asked, raising his head again.

'Who else would it be?' the elder Holmes questioned. 'I want you to explain something to me. I want you both to get dressed and meet me in the sitting room.' He slammed the door shut loudly behind them, causing both John and Sherlock to moan in discomfort.

'Your brother's pissed,' John grunted. 'What did we do this time?'

'I have absolutely no idea,' Sherlock groaned. 'I don't want to get up.'

'I don't either. Just want to sleep.' John was caught between being asleep and awake when Mycroft banged on the door, startling them both.

'Get the fuck up!' he shouted. 'Now!' Sherlock flinched and whimpered, partly because he was hungover and partly because of how angry his brother sounded.

'We should probably see what he wants.'

'Ugh. Fine,' John groaned. He slid out of bed and instantly drew the blinds on the window, casting the room in a comfortable darkness.

'That's better,' he sighed. He moved to the wardrobe and pulled out two pairs of pyjama trousers and tossed a pair over to Sherlock. He pulled a jumper on himself and tossed Sherlock a shirt and his dressing gown. He then began searching for sunglasses. He had a bad feeling Mycroft had opened all the blinds in the flat to irritate their hangovers. Sherlock got dressed slowly, pulling his dressing gown around him tightly. 'I have a terrible feeling about this,' he grumbled, holding his head in his hands.

'Me too. Here. Put these on.' He passed Sherlock a pair of sunglasses, putting a pair on himself as well. 'They should help a bit.'

Sherlock slid the sunglasses on with a grunt. 'Let's go,' he muttered. 'Err, where the hell is my cane?'

'In the sitting room I think. I can help you out there. Your back should be fine.'

'Alright.' Sherlock held out his hand to John. John laced their fingers and led Sherlock out to the sitting room. The cane was on the floor by the sofa, Mycroft sitting in Sherlock's chair with an angry scowl on his face. John sat Sherlock down on the sofa and handed him his cane. He plopped down beside him and pulled a stray blanket over their laps.

'Ok, Mycroft. What is this about?'

'What is this about? Oh, that is rich. You might want to check your mobile. Or, better yet, explain this to me.' He held up his own mobile, a photo of Sherlock's red bum on the screen.

Sherlock turned a shocking red. 'Err... umm... what the hell?'

'What, um... What is that?' John asked, turning a bright red.

'You sent it, Doctor Watson. You tell me.'

John was quick to snatch his mobile from the table, the battery nearly dead from not being charged last night. He opened his photos and paled considerably at all the lewd photos that had been taken last night. Sherlock's bum, John sucking Sherlock off, was that–? Oh god. Sherlock's fingers and prick up John's arse. And... Oh shit. Was that a video?!

'I-I, err,' Sherlock stammered. 'John can explain!' he squeaked and hid his head under the blanket.

'Sherlock!' John whined. He wrenched the blanket off Sherlock's head. 'You will not leave me to explain this alone. You will help me and take it like a man!'

'What am I supposed to say?' Sherlock hissed. 'You're the one who sent them. They're on your phone.'

'Well you obviously took some of them!' John countered. 'I certainly didn't take the photos of me sucking you off!'

'He took the video too,' Mycroft added. 'Play it.'

'Oh god. Must we?' Sherlock sighed loudly.

'Yes,' Mycroft growled. 'Play it.'

John sighed and pressed play, flipping his phone so the video took up the whole screen.

'Oh god,' he whispered, blushing in sheer mortification. And maybe a little arousal. Sherlock gulped loudly and shifted uncomfortably as arousal spread through him.

_I do not have a hard on. I do not have a hard on._

Looking down, he groaned. He had a bloody hard on and it was blatantly obvious through the blanket.

'Enjoying it a bit too much, eh boys?' Mycroft smirked.

'Stuff it, Mycroft,' John growled. He shoved his hand between his thighs and pressed his erection down so it wasn't so noticeable. Christ. Had they actually sent that to Mycroft? Jesus, they must have really been drunk.

Sherlock growled, not even bothering to hide his erection.

'What do you want Mycroft? To gloat? An apology?'

The elder Holmes shrugged. 'Suppose I wanted to humiliate you as much as those photos disgusted me.'

John whimpered when his little on camera self came, his face contorted with pleasure. Huh. So that's what my nearly cumming face looks like.

'We were drunk.' Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. 'Really drunk. It was new year's.'

'And you thought it would be funny to send me photos and a video of your celebrations? Would you shut the bloody thing off now?!' he yelled at John. The younger man jumped slightly and stopped the video just after Sherlock came.

'Sorry,' he mumbled.

'For which part? Sending me all that or for getting aroused by the video?'

'Stuff it, Mycroft,' John growled. 'We were pissed, it was New Year's, and we didn't know what we were doing. So just sod off.'

'Yes. Sod off, Mycroft.' Sherlock bared his teeth like a wild dog. 'Or I swear I'll–' A grin ripped across his face and he pulled John onto his lap. 'I shall make sure you're disturbed further.' He wiggled underneath John, pressing his erection into him. John let out a small squeak and blushed beet red. Mycroft burned red in anger. He stood and grabbed his umbrella, shoving his mobile in his pocket.

' _Do not_  send me anything of your activities ever again. Or I'll send you photos of what Gregory and I get up to.' He stalked downstairs and outside into his car, speeding away quickly.

'Thank God he's gone,' Sherlock moaned, rutting against John frantically. John whimpered and turned around in Sherlock's lap so he could straddle him. He rut against Sherlock hard and fast, kissing him heatedly. Sherlock panted into John's mouth heavily. That video had aroused him so much that he knew it wasn't going to take him long to find his release.

'Shall we play it again?' John asked, rutting hard against Sherlock's throbbing erection. 'Wanna watch it again?'

'Yes! Oh god! Yes!' Sherlock yelled out. John started the video from the beginning, turning the volume up all the way. Their moans and groans filled the room, mixing with their harsh pants and whimpers as they got off. John snaked a hand down Sherlock's pyjama trousers and stroked him, pulling his own cock out and placing Sherlock's hand on it so they could stroke each other in tandem. Sherlock leant his head on John's shoulder as he was dragged closer and closer to the edge.

'Not long now,' he gasped.

'Cum for me, love,' John groaned, thrusting into Sherlock's fist while pumping his own faster along Sherlock's cock. The John on the phone cried out as he came, sending the real John closer to the edge. Sherlock stole a kiss from John before flying upwards with a cry as he began to cum.

'That's it, baby. Cum for me. Oh god.' John lurched forward and started cumming on Sherlock's abdomen, shaking with the force of it.

Sherlock collapsed on John with a wet slap. 'Thank you, dear,' he said with a sleepy grin.

'Oh, you are quite welcome,' John giggled against Sherlock's chest. 'Shall we go back to bed and sleep the day away?'

'Thought you'd never ask,' Sherlock mumbled. 'My head's still killing me.'

'Mine too. Wanna take some pain pills before we go to bed?'

'Yes. Do you have anything to cure pure mortification too?'

'I'm afraid the only cure for that is time. Come on, love. Up.' He stood and held Sherlock's cane out for him. 'Meet me in the kitchen and I'll get the pain meds ready.'

Sherlock grunted and stood to his feet. 'Can't you bring the meds to me?' he pouted. 'I really don't feel well.'

'Ok. Go to bed, love. I'll be in soon.' John kissed Sherlock's forehead and went into the kitchen. He got the bottle of pain meds and filled a glass with water. When he got to their bedroom Sherlock was already beneath the covers, his trousers and shirt abandoned on the floor and the sunglasses resting on the nightstand.

'Sleeping nude, then?' John smirked. Sherlock merely snored loudly in response, already fast asleep. John shrugged and placed the bottle of pills and the water on the nightstand. He stripped out of his clothes and set his sunglasses next to Sherlock's. He took two pills before crawling into bed and snuggling close to Sherlock.

'I love you, you know?' he asked the sleeping man. 'Of course you know. I tell you every day. So I'll tell you one more time before I fall asleep. I love you, Sherlock Holmes.'

John snuggled a bit closer and twined the fingers of one hand with Sherlock's, holding him close as he fell into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are some kinky bastards ;) They're so very fun to play with.
> 
> Next chapter will have more angst in it, so be prepared for that. And Harry makes another appearance. So there'll be more BAMF Sherlock ahead ;)
> 
> Happy Friday everyone. Enjoy Doctor Who weekend! And we'll see you back here Tuesday. Yes, Tuesday. Monday I'll be seeing the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary in 3D with my other Whovian friends. Yes, I actually have friends. Don't laugh. But we'll be gone most of the day, so the chapter will be posted Tuesday. See you then!
> 
> TSA + IB


	55. Emotions Running High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for not posting yesterday. I got a little sidetracked (read: I got on tumblr and hit post limit and took a nap and watched some HIMYM and Castle and Doctor Who and Supernatural). I had a lazy day. I needed a lazy day. I only had one class today, so I took the rest of the day to be lazy.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, random Yarder  
> Me: John, Greg, Mycroft
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Harry is a bitch, Sherlock's got a gun, BAMF Sherlock, smut, hard fucking, emotions are everywhere in this chapter, graphic violence, Greg feels, feels feels feels, angst, John has a bad moment (I'm so sorry), emotional exhaustion, yelling and screaming in frustration and anger

'I'm heading to the Yard,' Sherlock informed John, beaming happily as he put on his trench coat and grabbed his cane. 'Will you be alright here for a bit? I won't be long. I'm just having a quick chat with Greg to try and get us back on some proper cases.'

He sighed and shook his head to answer the questions in John's eyes. 'Yes, I have my withdrawal symptoms under control. No, my back is faring far better than it has been. And alright, I'll pick up some milk on my way back.'

John laughed and smiled. 'Thanks, love. Take care.' John pecked Sherlock on the lips before he could dash out the door. 'Get us an exciting case. Even I'm bored.'

'I'll be back before you know it,' Sherlock said, waving his hands in a flourish. He left the flat, catching a cab the moment he hit the cool January air. The journey was painless and he was walking the halls of the Yard before he knew it.

John took out his mobile and sent a quick message to Mycroft, but before he could receive his reply there was a knock at the door. He smirked, thinking Sherlock had forgotten something simple, like money, and moved to open the door.

'Forgot something?' he asked cheekily before he realised just who was at the door.

His sister was standing on the stairs, fuming like a mad woman, and she stank of alcohol.

'H-Harry?' he stammered out.

'Where's Sherlock?' she demanded. 'He has some medical bills to pay.'

'He's not here. He just left.'

'Good. Just me and my baby brother,' she grinned wickedly. 'Aren't ya gonna let me in?'

'No.' John moved to close the door but Harry stopped it with her foot.

'Let me in, John. I need to talk to your boyfriend.'

'He's not here!' John yelled. 'Go away! We're not paying anything!'

'Yes you are!' Harry roared. She pushed the door back with more force than John thought she possessed, sending it flying back on his nose and causing it to bleed. This was not going to be pretty. Hoping to avoid Harry's mean swing, John sprinted upstairs and locked himself in the bedroom. He sent a quick text to Sherlock and huddled in the corner behind the wardrobe.

 _I know you just left, but Harry's here and she's been drinking. Wants you to pay her medical bills. Forced her way inside. Hiding in the bedroom. Please come. –JW_  
  
Sherlock had barely started discussing whether he and John could be allowed on proper cases with Greg when he received a text that made his blood boil in anger. He stood to his feet and rushed out of the room without so much as giving Greg an explanation.

'Sherlock?!' Greg shouted after the fleeing detective before sighing in both frustration and relief. It was a weight off his shoulders if having to talk to Sherlock was pushed back to a later date. It had been awkward and tense between them since 'the incident' and even more so since Sherlock had almost committed suicide over it. At least they were talking again but there was still so much lingering between them that it was almost impossible to ignore it. Greg shrugged and sighed again. Time to get some more wretched paper work done.

Meanwhile, Sherlock had rushed back home to the flat. When he arrived there he stormed in.

'John!' he shouted. 'It's OK. I'm here now!'

John didn't answer him, just clutched his phone to his chest. Sherlock had come to rescue him!

'Oi! Ya blasted git!' Harry shouted as Sherlock entered the sitting room. 'You owe me for dislocating my shoulder! I want you to pay my medical bills. You know how much it costs to fix a dislocated shoulder plus an ambulance trip?! A whole fucking lot more than I can bloody afford! Now cough up the money and there won't be any trouble!'

Sherlock chuckled deeply. 'No,' he stated clearly. He then proceeded to rush over to John's idiotic sister. 'You've made a most unwise decision in coming here Harriet.' He cocked his head and smirked. 'Besides, it's hardly my fault you went to a private practice instead of the NHS to get your shoulder fixed.'

He grabbed Harriet by the arm and flung her to the floor. 'Get out! Now!' he screamed, teeth bared, nose flaring, even his curly locks seemed to be quivering in anger. 'Leave me and your brother alone!'

'I'm not scared of you ya bloody idiot!' Harry snarled at him. 'I want my money!' She stood and shoved Sherlock rather harshly, the tall man nearly colliding with the fireplace.

'You should be,' Sherlock said, completely unfazed. 'Because you know what they say about me, don't you?' He reached inside his coat pocket and fished out a gun. 'They say I'm a psychopath. They say that one day it will be me who puts a body there. Hmm. Perhaps they were right.'

Harry blanched and stood back, eyeing the gun warily.

'That's not real,' she swallowed. 'It's not. You wouldn't.'

'It is.' Sherlock raised the gun to the wall and shot two bullets into the smiley face. 'Scared yet?' He pointed it at Harry and moved closer. 'Wanting to run? Don't you dare even think about it.'

Harry screeched in fear when Sherlock fired the gun, covering her ears. 'You're crazy!' she screamed. 'Completely fucking crazy! I don't know why my idiot brother loves you so much! You're fucking insane!' She backed up slowly until she was close enough to the door to turn and run without getting shot. She sprinted down the stairs and out the front door, running away as fast as her legs could take her.

'John?! You can come out now! I've dealt with your sister efficiently!' Sherlock called for his lover urgently. 'Sorry about the bullet holes!'

'Did you shoot my sister?!' John screeched from his hiding place.

'Oh, relax!' Sherlock snorted. 'I only threatened to!'

John stood and opened the bedroom door cautiously. Sherlock was standing by the fireplace, a pistol gripped in his hand.

'So you shot the smiley then?' he asked softly.

Sherlock smirked. 'Just like old times.'

He made his way over to John and wrapped his arms around him. 'Are you ok?' He frowned. 'Did she hurt you?' He brushed his thumb under John's nose.

'Slammed the door open and hit my nose. Is it bleeding?'

'No. But it has been.' Sherlock gently kissed it. 'God, I love you. I swear I almost had a heart attack when I received that text.'

'I'm sorry. But I didn't know who else to call. You were the first and only person on my mind. I was scared she was gonna break the door down if you didn't arrive soon.' He hugged Sherlock close and buried his nose in his scarf. 'I'm glad you sent her away. Thank you. Thank you so much.'

'Come on. To bed with you, Watson,' Sherlock said, smiling gently. 'You should sleep after a scare like that. Shall we just snuggle?'

'Can I thank you properly for dealing with my sister?' John purred. 'We can snuggle after.'

'You may,' Sherlock purred back. 'You may indeed.'

'Excellent.' John sealed their mouths together in a passionate kiss, his hands moving to grasp the lapels of Sherlock's coat so he could direct him to their room. He deposited Sherlock on the bed and climbed atop him, delving his tongue between his lover's lips.

'Hmm. Take me,' Sherlock groaned through the kiss.

'God yes,' John moaned in reply. He set to work removing Sherlock's clothes, everything getting randomly tossed across the room. He was too impatient to let Sherlock undress him, so he made quick work of undressing himself. Once they were both completely naked he reached into the side drawer and pulled out the lube. He coated three fingers and began swirling one around Sherlock's entrance, moving his legs further apart to open him up more. He pushed the finger inside slowly and watched Sherlock fall apart.

Sherlock was an incoherent mess. The only thing he was aware of was John and how brilliant he was making him feel. Grateful moans escaped his plump lips and his body was twitching for more.

'I wish I could have seen you deal with my sister,' John whispered huskily, pumping his finger steadily before adding a second. 'Wish I could have seen you in protective mode. Being my badass motherfucker. Wish I could have seen her face fall as she ran away in fear. God. What was is like? That power? It's intoxicating, isn't it?'

'Hmmf. It's the most brilliant and intoxicating feeling in the world.' Sherlock hummed loudly. He wasn't sure if he was talking about the feeling of power or the feeling of John pumping his fingers in him. Maybe both.

'God yes,' John hummed. He inserted one more finger to stretch Sherlock properly and found his prostate. He prodded it gently, laughing at how breathy and impatient Sherlock was becoming.

'Stop being a fucking tease! I just saved you from certain doom! Make love to me, and be damn quick about it!'

'Hard and fast, my love?' John grinned cheekily.

'Hard and fast, and utterly ruthless,' Sherlock managed to say.

'Mmm. As you wish, dear.' John removed his fingers and slicked his prick before entering Sherlock in one harsh push. He began thrusting fast and hard before either of them had time to adjust, slamming his hips against Sherlock as he fucked him.

'Fuck!' Sherlock squealed, not even having chance to prepare himself. 'F-aster!'

John huffed a laugh and thrust faster, his hips slapping against Sherlock's bum. He pulled Sherlock up slightly to kiss him but let him back down as he didn't want to upset his spine.

'Not fast enough!' Sherlock whined loudly.

'Gotta let me work up to it!' John panted. 'Give me a minute.' He progressively began thrusting faster, harder, hitting Sherlock's prostate as often as he could. He grabbed his lover's prick with his lubed hand and began stroking him off in time to his thrusts. His other hand pulled and massaged his bollocks.

'I want you to scream when you cum,' John growled, his hips faltering as he neared his release. 'Scream for me.'

Sherlock closed his eyes in pure pleasure and his lips parted as he came, shooting his seed everywhere. He screamed John's name till his throat was sore and all the air in his lungs needed to be replenished.

'Oh god. Good boy, Sherlock. Gah! Fuck! Sherlock!' John cried out as he came, pulsing long and hard in Sherlock's arse. He collapsed on Sherlock's chest, his cock pulsing every now and again as he came down from his high. He giggled softly and peppered kisses along Sherlock's chest.

'Thank you. Thank you so much for dealing with my sister,' he breathed softly. 'I love you. So goddamn much.'

Sherlock hugged John tightly. 'You are so very welcome. What use am I if I can't protect the man I love?'

'Mmm. You're utterly perfect. I love you.' He yawned and snuggled against Sherlock. 'You gonna go back to the Yard after this? Find us a case?'

'Would you like to join me?' Sherlock asked. 'It's downright awkward with Greg.' He sighed softly. 'He blames himself for my suicidal actions.'

'Oh, love. I'm sorry. Do you want me to talk to him first?' He yawned again. 'Sorry. May need some coffee before we go. Don't want to fall asleep at the Yard.'

'Tired you out, huh?' Sherlock smirked smugly before his face fell. 'I'd be appreciative of it if you spoke to him. The tension is killing me. Before this... well, don't tell him I said this, but before all this he was like family.' Sherlock snorted. 'In fact he'd probably be family by now if we hadn't gone to the pub that night.'

'That was Moriarty's fault, Sherlock, not yours or his. It'll be ok. I'll talk to him first, ease the tension, and then we can try to get another case. OK?'

'Yeah, sure, OK,' Sherlock sighed again. 'Can we get going? I want a case!'

'Make me some coffee first.' John yawned. 'And get dressed.'

Sherlock groaned. 'Get off me then, you lazy lump.'

'Make me.' John smirked, pressing all his weight down onto Sherlock. A growl ripped through Sherlock's throat and the adrenaline bubbled in his blood, both from roughing up Harry and the sex. He grabbed hold of John and with surprising force flung John off of himself, almost causing the poor man to fly off the end of the bed and onto the floor.

'Whoops.' He bit his lip. 'Sorry dear.'

'Jesus,' John groaned, sitting up slowly. 'Didn't think you were gonna get so bent out of shape about it. It was just a game.'

'I don't like games. Remember Cluedo?'

'You like sex games though,' John pointed out.

'Sometimes,' Sherlock grumbled.

'What do you mean sometimes?' John pouted. 'You don't like my teasing, do you?'

'No,' Sherlock sighed. 'Just drop it.'

John huffed and stood to get dressed. 'Would you still make me a coffee? Please?'

'Make your own bloody coffee,' Sherlock snarled. He got to his feet, grabbed his cane and his clothes, and stormed into the bathroom to get dressed, locking the door for good measure.

'Then go to the Yard and deal with Greg all by yourself!' John shouted after him. 'I'm not fucking going!' He crawled back into bed and curled up in a ball under the sheets, trying not to cry. Why did he always have to fuck everything up? Why? They had just had thank-you-for-dealing-with-my-bitch-sister sex for Christ's sake. Couldn't they be happy for more than five minutes?

Sherlock shoved his clothes on before speeding out of the bathroom, his eyes full of tears ready to spill. He'd fucked up, hadn't he?

'Don't wait up,' he choked out as he ran from the flat as fast as his legs would take him.

Great. Now he'd made Sherlock cry. John started crying himself, unable to stop the flood of tears. He cried for a long time, the sheets wet where his tears collected. He didn't fall asleep. He couldn't after that. He sat up, still gulping down sobs, and reached for his mobile. Mycroft had answered as well as apologised for Sherlock's behaviour. John made a mental note to check for cameras later. He typed a reply and made to put on some pyjamas. Now was not the time for sulking. Now he needed to plan.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock gazed out of the London cab window in a daze, tears running down his cheeks and his eyes going red and puffy. What the hell had just happened? He'd been a fucking dickhead, that's what.

By the time he arrived at the Yard he must have looked like a right mess. His curls were sprawled everywhere, his eyes were still streaming with tears, and his whole body was shaking in anger and frustration.

So it was hardly a surprise that when he walked into the Yard and was welcomed by a new officer whispering, 'Oh look, the freak's been crying,' that he grabbed said officer around the throat and began pounding his fists into him, ignoring the man's screams.

'What the fuck did you say!' he screamed. 'Well? Do you bloody want to repeat it?!'

Greg rushed out of his office when he heard shouts and screams, some people even going so far as to yell, 'Fight! Fight! Fight!' There was a large crowd gathered near the front doors, cheers and jeers coming from it. Greg pushed his way to the front and the crowd became deathly quiet. When Greg made it to the front of the crowd his blood boiled at the sight before him. Sherlock was beating up one of his new officers, and there was blood everywhere.

'Sherlock!' he shouted in the most menacing, fatherly tone he could muster. 'Stop that right now!'

'Why?!' Sherlock snapped, not stopping but increasing the intensity of the blows on the officer. 'Why the fuck should I stop?! I am sick to shit of people walking all over me! Well, I can bloody fix that!' He grabbed his cane and raised it, ready to hit the man in just the right place to kill him, to end that smug grin, and his snide remarks.

Greg grabbed the cane and pulled Sherlock back, growling menacingly. 'Stop this right now!' he yelled. 'Stop it! Get him to a hospital!' He pointed to the bloody officer on the floor and a small crowd gathered to pull him a safe distance away and then carried him out the door to a squad car.

'Sherlock,' Greg growled at the younger man. 'My office.  _Now_.'

'Piss off.' Sherlock snatched the cane from Greg and stood on the spot, refusing to move.

'Oh? So we're doing this the hard way then? Fine.' Greg stalked forward and grasped a fistful of Sherlock's hair, the younger man grunting in pain, bending down to accommodate Greg's harsh pulls on his hair.

'I will cuff you if I have to,' he growled. 'Now get in my office.'

Sherlock pulled away angrily. 'Fine! I'll come with you, you bloody idiot!' He rushed into Greg's office and flopped onto the chair with a grunt. Greg sighed loudly and counted to ten before joining Sherlock in his office. He closed the door behind him and locked it, drawing the blinds closed. He sat in his desk chair, facing Sherlock, and leaned forward like he would in an interrogation.

'Now, what was that about, Sherlock?' he asked softly, trying to remain calm.

Sherlock shrugged. 'I finally cracked. Maybe I am a psychopath. I sure as hell didn't want that idiotic officer to survive.'

'What did he say to you to warrant such a beating?' Greg frowned. 'And you aren't a psychopath, Sherlock. I never believed you were when we first met and I still don't now. You're a brilliantly mad genius whose genius isn't as appreciated as it should. You're brilliant, Sherlock. Always have been, always will be. And I'll be proud to call you my brother one day.'

'He said, "Oh look, the freak's been crying."' Sherlock said with distaste. 'Why should I have to put up with that kind of shit?! I don't! I could have easily ended him!'

His face softened slightly. 'You're already like family to me Lestrade.'

'I've been trying to get them to stop calling you that wretched name,' Greg frowned. 'Seems I need to take more forceful measures.' He softened slightly as he looked at Sherlock, his soon to be brother-in-law.

'Yeah. Family. Um... about that night at the pub... I'm sorry. It was a stupid idea to take you out drinking. And as for what happened after that...' He blushed crimson and shifted awkwardly in his seat.

'Oh, you mean the brutal fucking in the alleyway followed by months of my isolation and pain where everyone abandoned me? Do you mean the event that brought me seconds away from death because I felt so fucking shitty? Fucking keep your apology. And as for the name calling? Don't bother. They'll always call me it. I'm branded with it after all, by my own father no less.'

Greg sighed loudly and covered his face with his hands. 'Why the fuck do you think I blame myself for your suicide attempt?' he grumbled from behind his hands. 'You say shit like that and you make me feel so goddamn guilty and I just... I can't do this anymore. I want to apologise but you won't accept it and your words constantly make me feel like shit. I just... I can't. I just can't anymore.'

'Oh. You feel like shit, do you?' Sherlock laughed in disbelief. 'Were you the one who was almost beaten to death every single bloody day of your childhood? Did your brother turn his back on you whilst your life was hell? Did you scream for your brother whilst locked in a dark hole in the ground? A brother who  _never_  came, might I add! Was your childhood stolen from you? Were you forced to take drugs at thirteen because you were a freak?'

Sherlock took a deep breath before continuing. 'Have you been beaten into a bloody pulp by a henchman? Have you had your mind fucked with? Your memories stolen from you until you can't even remember your bloody lover? Were you put into a coma? Did you commit suicide in your coma dream to escape?!'

Sherlock was panting, tears streaming from his eyes, but he wasn't done yet. 'Are you struggling with a million fucking drug habits? Have you been raped  _twice_? Have you been called a fat fuck and worse by the man who supposedly loves you? Have you struggled with an eating issue for your whole life? Do you wake up every day thinking of new and better ways to end it all? Well, do you? Ask yourself, Greg, whether you actually know the meaning of feeling like shit. Because I have given you just a glimpse, just a tiny glimpse, of my bloody mess of a life!'

'You are a right git,' Greg mumbled. 'You're basically telling me that I have no right to feel miserable because my pain isn't as bad as yours. That's no better than telling me I can't be happy because someone is happier than me right now. Just shut up. God. I'm trying to fucking apologise for driving you to suicide. Why can't you just accept people's apologies? Why do you constantly have to bring everyone down? Why?'

'Oh, that's right. Let's make this all about me, shall we? How fucking selfish of me. Let's listen to your side of the story then.'

'Because it  _is_  all about you!' Greg cried. He looked up at Sherlock with red eyes. ' _Everything_  revolves around you! It's never your fault when something goes wrong! It's always ours! Take some fucking responsibility once in a fucking while! Act like a goddamn adult and not a fucking child!'

He gulped down deep breaths before continuing. 'You weren't the only one who was cast aside and alone after that night. Myc tossed me and all my belongings out on the street. I lived and slept in my office for months. I had nowhere to go. I was  _homeless_ , Sherlock. I had nothing, no one. I wish I could take back that night, maybe go back even further and end it all before this even began. Better my kids saw me as a coward than the bastard my wife has painted in their minds. Myc wouldn't be in so much pain, you wouldn't be here, John wouldn't either. We'd all have been so much better off if I'd have just killed myself long ago.'

He collapsed against his desk and buried his head in his arms, crying silently, his chest heaving from his deep, shaky breaths. 'You should just go. I know you don't want to hear me whine about my problems. Why should I when yours are so much worse? Just go.'

Sherlock frowned, bottom lip trembling. 'I am not going anywhere,' he sobbed, leaning over the desk and flinging his arms around Greg. 'You're like a brother to me, Greg. I never want to hear that again.'

'Don't want to hear what again?' Greg choked out, Sherlock's unexpected hug quite comforting. 'Because I said a lot.'

'That you want to end it all. It's bad enough that I moan about feeling that low.'

'It goes both ways, Sherlock,' Greg mumbled. 'I feel like a failure when you say you want to kill yourself. I helped you overcome your drug addiction when I first met you. And now you're going to be my brother. I don't ever want to hear you say that again. Do you hear me?'

'Okay. I promise to keep those thoughts all to myself,' Sherlock muttered, hugging Greg tighter.

'You shouldn't even be thinking it,' Greg muttered, a hand moving to grasp Sherlock's arm and squeeze it softly. 'While a lot of shit has happened to you, you have a good life now. With John. He loves you. I know he does. I can see it written all over him. I could long before you two got together too. He's completely smitten with you. But I realise I can't stop you from feeling utterly miserable, but please don't act on your suicidal thoughts. We would miss you something awful. John, me, your brother, your mother, your landlady. You're wonderful, Sherlock. And we all love you in our own ways. Please don't leave us.'

'That's the thing that scares me. As you said I  _do_  have a good life now. John does love me and I love him. And I should feel happy, right? But instead I just feel angry and weighed down by my past. I can't remember the last time I was genuinely happy. I can't remember a day where I woke without a suicidal thought brewing in my mind. I'm bitter and angry and depressed. And there is nothing anyone can do. What if I act on them one day? I won't be able to stop myself.'

'You can take medication,' Greg offered. 'It's not much, but it's helped me.'

'I've taken medication in the past. It did nothing for me.'

'Then I don't know what to tell you.' Greg sighed and sat up slightly, still grasping Sherlock's arm. 'Could you let me go for a moment? There's something I want to do.'

'What are you doing?' Sherlock asked, his voice shaking as he eyed Greg warily.

'I'm gonna hug you properly, if that's OK.'

Sherlock swallowed but nodded. 'OK.'

Greg stood up and motioned for Sherlock to do the same. He moved to the other side of his desk and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot before wrapping his arms around Sherlock in a tender hug.

Sherlock melted into the hug and instantly began sobbing quietly into Greg's shoulder. 'Mmm sorry... Mmm so, so sorry.'

'It'll be OK, Sherlock.' Greg hugged him tighter. 'I'm so sorry for everything.'

'You were right,' Sherlock whispered sadly. 'I am a fucking child. I just–' He shrugged and continued to sob.

'No. No you're not,' Greg began drawing random circles on Sherlock's back, hoping to sooth him. 'I said that out of anger. I'm sorry. You're not a child, Sherlock. You're my brother. Or, you will be.'

'I wouldn't wish that on anyone. To be my brother that is. I must be hell to be related to.'

'No. You're not. Stop with the self hatred. You're wonderful. You are.'

'It's not self hatred if it's true. I mean, just look at how awful I am to Mycroft. And I'm really not wonderful. Unless you mean wonderfully fucked up that is.'

'Please stop. I think you're great. And John does too. Please stop.'

Sherlock did stop but not by choice. His body and mind merely shut down in emotional and physical exhaustion. He slumped in Greg's arms and let out one last sob before blacking out.

'Sherlock? Sherlock?' Greg shook the man gently and started panicking slightly when Sherlock didn't wake. 'Shit.' He sat Sherlock in a chair and dialled Mycroft.

'Ah. Gregory. Good. John and I were just–'

'Myc, Sherlock's passed out on me. He isn't drunk or high. I think he's just emotionally exhausted. What do I do?'

'I can come pick him up and take him home. Otherwise try rousing him. Pinch the pressure points on the back of his neck if you want. That's always roused him before.'

'OK. See you soon then. Love you.'

'Love you too.'

**…::-::…**

There were no dreams in this place, just the dark and the escape of all emotion. It was warm here and safe. He didn't feel angry, he didn't feel sad or suicidal. It was a pleasant change and Sherlock certainly wasn't prepared to leave anytime soon.

**…::-::…**

Mycroft arrived a few moments later, taking the unconscious Sherlock into his arms. He gave Gregory a quick peck on the mouth before departing for Baker Street.

'Oh baby brother. What is going on now?' Mycroft mused aloud.

Sherlock was being held against a warm, solid chest, an arm was tugged tightly around him and a hand was resting in his curls. He blinked his eyes open reluctantly.

'My?' he whispered weakly upon the sight of his brother, an extremely concerned expression written into his features. 'How'd I get here?'

'Hi, Lock,' Mycroft smiled gently. 'I got you from Gregory's office. Gave him quite a scare, but I explained that you would be fine. I'm taking you home to John now.'

'Mmm. Why'd I pass out?' Sherlock asked, blinking up at his brother. 'I don't remember being high. I don't remember much in fact.'

'You weren't high. You were emotionally exhausted. So your brain just shut down,' Mycroft explained gently. 'I think you should get some rest when you get home, OK?'

'Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say, Mycroft.'

Mycroft sighed and pet Sherlock's hair softly. 'What do you remember before you passed out?' he asked gently.

Sherlock laughed. 'I almost beat a man to death.'

'Did he insult you?' Mycroft scowled further, clutching Sherlock tight.

Sherlock nodded, trembling in his brother's arms. 'Yes,' he whispered in a small voice.

'Then he shall be fired immediately. And if he tries to press charges against you I shall have them destroyed before they ever reach the higher authorities. No one insults my baby brother and gets away with it.'

'You don't have to fight my battles for me.' Sherlock sniffled. 'Greg was right when he said I'm not a fucking child and that I need to act like an adult. He may have said it out of anger but his words are correct. I am not a child and I don't need to be bloody mollycoddled.'

'Gregory called you a child? I shall discipline him severely for his words.' He hugged Sherlock close and sighed. 'I'm still having that officer fired. He insulted you, and he should know better than to mess with the Holmes brothers.'

Sherlock snorted. 'You're so bloody overprotective of me.'

'Is that such a bad thing?' Mycroft asked. 'Let me do this for you, OK? Just let me do this and I won't do it again unless you ask. Or John does. OK?'

'Yes. Alright,' Sherlock chuckled lightly. 'But go easy on Greg. He's been feeling like shit as of late. In fact... nope. I'm fairly sure if he hasn't told you then he doesn't want to.'

'About his depression and suicidal thoughts?' Mycroft guessed. 'I helped him get the proper medication for that. He's a lot better than he was. Believe me. And I didn't mean discipline in the normal sense.' He coughed and blushed at his own admission.

'Oh god. That's such a lovely image for you to leave me with.' Sherlock groaned and rubbed at his eyes.

'Consider it payback for those photos.' Mycroft chuckled and grinned at his traumatized brother. They finally pulled up outside 221B. Mycroft hugged Sherlock close and sighed. 'Do you want me to come up with you? Or will you be alright?'

'Come with me seeing as I bloody don't have my cane, and even with it I'm fairly sure I'd collapse in exhaustion anyway. And those photos were all John's fault! Don't blame me.'

'Fine. And I shall see about getting you your cane back.' The driver opened the door and Mycroft slid out, still holding Sherlock in his arms. Sherlock opened the door and Mycroft entered, ascending the stairs slowly. John was in the kitchen making tea when they entered.

'Hello Sherlock. Wasn't expecting you back this early,' he said to the kettle as it boiled. 'Want a cuppa?' He finally turned around and saw Sherlock in Mycroft's arms and gasped slightly. 'What happened?'

'Oh, so you make your own coffee now then?' Sherlock grumbled, glaring at John. 'I'm fine. My brother was just dropping me off.'

'It's  _tea_ , Sherlock. And I asked because I was downright exhausted at the time. Now what happened?'

'You were already bloody up! My back was starting to twinge! And it's none of your bloody business!'

'I was well fucked and tired! And then you practically threw me across the bed!'

'Should I go?' Mycroft asked awkwardly, setting Sherlock on his feet.

'Nope,' Sherlock growled. 'Don't even think about leaving. I may do something drastic, like murder John.'

'What the fuck?!' John yelled. 'What did I do to warrant that reaction? Tease you a little too much? Why don't you like my teasing? You're too damn demanding and pushy! Asking me to go faster and harder when you  _know_  I can't!'

Sherlock swallowed thickly. 'Shut the bloody fuck up! I'm dealing with a lot of shit at the moment! That added onto the adrenaline I was feeling meant that I pushed you a little too hard! And you could have said a very simple two letter word to make me stop being so damn pushy! You fucking idiot!'

'Oh! What kind of shit are you going through today?' John spat. 'It's always something! Too tired, daddy issues, suicidal thoughts. What is it today? Was it because I fucked you too hard and you thought I raped you again? Because the sex can stop, just like that.' He snapped his fingers. 'Or did you really,  _really_  want to shoot my sister today and become the psychopath everyone believes you to be?'

'John!' Mycroft gasped.

'Shut up! This doesn't concern you!' John spat at him.

'I wouldn't expect you to fucking understand! Either way, I'm not hanging around here anymore! I don't need you fucking putting me down! Don't you think I do a good enough job of that myself?!'

Sherlock turned and began to hobble weakly out of the flat, a fresh set of tears spilling from his eyes.

'What the fuck is wrong with you two?!' Mycroft demanded. 'It's nearly Sherlock's birthday! You should be elated! Celebrating! What the hell happened?'

John ignored Mycroft and screamed at the top of his lungs, his hands fisted in his hair and pulling hard.

'I don't know!' John cried after his screaming. 'I don't know! This year was supposed to be better but look at us! We're at each other's throats already! What happened to a less fucked up year? What happened to that?' John collapsed in a kitchen chair and buried his head in his arms, sobbing loudly.

'I don't want to fight!' he choked out. 'I don't. But I can't... You're just so infuriating sometimes! How did this fight even start? You not wanting to make me coffee? Me asking about my teasing you? How the hell did this happen? Sherlock! Don't go! Come back! Please!'

'I can't bloody deal with this right now! I've had it up to my head with feeling emotional today! And apparently my problems mean shit to everyone now, no less you! So I am leaving the building and fucking off to fuck knows where! But hopefully I'll be a little more appreciated by everyone where I'm going!' And with that Sherlock slammed the door shut.

'No! Sherlock! Please!' John bolted after him, Mycroft close on his heels. 'Sherlock! Sherlock, stop! Please.' He grabbed Sherlock's arm and turned him around, taking in his tears and how exhausted he looked.

'Please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't go. I'll shut up. I'll duck tape my mouth shut if I have to so I don't say anything that will make you feel like shit. Please don't go. I want to fix this. Please don't run. Please.'

'Get off me. Now.' Sherlock sighed loudly. 'I'm not angry at you. I'll be back soon. I just need to escape awhile, alright?'

'Please,' John begged. 'Please come home. Just sleep. I'll go sleep in my old room. Please. I don't want you to go.'

'Fine.' Sherlock stumbled forwards slightly with a grunt and found himself once again passed out from emotional trauma.

'Sherlock!' John caught the poor man before he could fall to the ground. 'Myc! Help!' Mycroft was there in an instant, pulling Sherlock into his arms and carrying him back to Baker Street and into his bedroom. He undressed him so he was just in his boxers and tucked him into bed, placing a soft kiss to his forehead.

'Please stop yelling at him,' he said softly to John. 'He's going through a lot and is still getting over being abandoned for so long. Please, try not to yell or fight with him.'

'Ok,' John agreed. 'I'm so sorry about all that.'

'Don't apologise to me. Apologise to him. Now I suggest you go upstairs before he wakes up.'

'Yeah. Thanks for your help.'

'No problem. If anything else comes up don't hesitate to call.' Mycroft left swiftly and John trudged upstairs to his old bedroom. He lay on the sheets, not really planning on falling asleep. Just laid in the darkness with his thoughts to keep him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter might be up a bit later as it is Thanksgiving in America this Thursday and I'll be home... WHERE I HAVE NO RELIABLE INTERNET CONNECTION.
> 
> Oh. Wait. My brother turned his phone into a Wi-Fi hotspot. I keep forgetting that.
> 
> I'll try to get the chapter up Friday, but it still has to be edited and so I'm not making any promises. Depends on the length of the chapter. But it will be up sometime this weekend for sure. Until then my lovely Sherlockians!
> 
> TSA + IB


	56. Bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Happy Friday. For our American followers, I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving and ate a lot of good food. Also, I hope you didn't go out for Black Friday shopping last night. Those crowds were going to be crazy. If you're going out today, stay safe, don't let anyone trample you or cut you off whilst driving, and don't kill anyone either. That robot dog won't be worth the jail time.
> 
> Sorry. Got a bit protective there.
> 
> There's smut in this chapter, and fluff, so that should make up for the horrible argument at the end of last chapter.
> 
> Also, I'm posting this early (midnight my time) while my brother still has his wifi on. I'll be going to bed after this is posted.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John and Greg
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: angst, emotions, mention of childhood trauma, sex in the Yard (again), dry humping, anal sex, the thrill and humiliation of getting caught, shower sex, body worshiping, fluff

Sherlock awoke the next day in the evening. He'd slept the whole day away apparently. Sighing, he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, not wanting to face the world.

John was cooking himself something to eat. Not much, seeing as he didn't want to wake Sherlock, but also because he hadn't had much of an appetite since the fight. He sat in his chair, facing away from Sherlock's room, and ate silently and quickly so that he could retreat to his old bedroom. Or was it just his bedroom again? He sighed and pushed his food away, climbing the stairs quickly so he could lay on the sheets again and surround himself in darkness.

_I need a hug. –SH_

_I don't feel very well. Headache. –SH_

_I'm sorry. –SH_

  
John's mobile chimed and he was broken free of his thoughts. They hadn't been very nice thoughts, so he was thankful for the distraction. He opened his messages and sighed, a smile threatening to cross his features. He went downstairs without replying back, grabbed the bottle of pain meds and a glass of water, and softly knocked on Sherlock's door for permission to enter.

Sherlock grunted from underneath the covers. 'Come in.'

John opened the door and closed it behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed and set the bottle and water on the nightstand.

'I brought you pain killers,' he said quietly. 'And I'm sorry too. Sorry I'm such a dick. I don't like fighting with you. It kills me inside when I make you so upset that you see no other choice but to leave. I'm so sorry.'

Sherlock sat up slowly and winced. 'I believe I was the bigger dickhead.'

'I honestly don't even remember how that fight started,' John whispered morosely. He opened the pill bottle and dumped two pills into palm. He gave them to Sherlock and passed him the water as well.

'Was it really about making coffee? Or is there something I'm missing?'

Sherlock took the pills and sipped slowly at the water.

'The truth is that I am angry, not at you, not at anyone really. I'm just really, really angry. And sometimes that anger boils in my blood with such intensity that I do not have control over my actions or words. Does that make any sense?'

'Yes. You have so much anger trapped inside that it sometimes leaks out and we get into fights about petty things. Sometimes serious things too.' He looked down at Sherlock and sighed.

'But it didn't start out as a serious thing. It started over you wanting me to make you coffee. That's beyond petty. It's ridiculous.'

'It is. You have such a strong aversion to coffee sometimes though. Why is that?'

Sherlock shrugged and placed his glass of water down. 'You probably don't want to hear my reasons for my hatred of the stuff, seeing as they revolve around my "daddy issues."'

'Oh. I... I'm sorry about that. I don't like bringing it up in our rows, and I'm not sure why I do. I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?'

'I will always forgive you it would seem,' Sherlock said. He reached out and clasped John's hand and raised it to his head, pressing it down on the large lump there. He knew that John had noticed it before, but he hadn't wanted to ask about it.

'Feel that?' he whispered. 'Of course you can. You feel it every time you wash my hair. Aren't you curious as to where I received it?'

'I was afraid to ask,' John said softly.

Sherlock moved John's hand along the scar. 'I was eight years old. I was alone in the family home, with only Father for company. I don't know what I did to piss him off but he got a cup of scolding hot coffee and poured it on my head before smashing the cup on my head for good measure.'

John whimpered and his lower lip trembled. 'You were just a child,' he choked out. 'And he was an abuser. He probably only did it to hear your screams of pain. I'm so sorry love. I'm so sorry.' He pulled Sherlock into a comforting hug, removed his hand from the scar and used it to rub circles on Sherlock's chest.

'It is quite alright. This isn't your fault. I just wanted to explain to you why I dislike the beverage, and I suppose, why I flipped out.'

'If it helps, I won't ask you to make coffee ever again,' John sniffled. 'I'll get rid of all the coffee in the flat.'

'That would be ridiculous. You need coffee.'

'No I don't. I have tea.'

'Alright,' Sherlock whispered. 'Get rid of it.'

'Ok.' John moved to get up but Sherlock's grip prevented him from moving. 'I'll toss it later then?'

'Yes. For the moment can you just hug me?' Sherlock nuzzled John's neck.

'Of course, love.' John crawled beneath the covers and entwined his legs with Sherlock's, nuzzling against his chest as his arms wrapped around him in a soft but warm hug.

Sherlock sighed softly and hugged John close. 'Will you accompany me to the Yard today?'

'Sure. Still trying to find us a case then?'

'Greg and I didn't get much of a chance to talk cases.'

'Ah. Is it less awkward between you two now? I'm assuming that's what you discussed going by your emotional exhaustion and the fact that we still don't have a case.'

'I'm not sure. They're either going to be more awkward or less. A lot of things were said, and I  _did_  pass out in his arms, after almost beating a man to death.'

'You almost–? What happened, love? Please tell me.'

'Called me a freak,' Sherlock growled, breathing heavily through his nose.

'Shhh. Calm down,' John said softly. 'It's OK now. You're here with me and the idiot officer is in hospital. You're OK now.'

'I'm calm. I'm good. Just... I am sick of people calling me that.'

'I wish people would stop calling you that wretched word too,' John grumbled. 'I hate it. I hate what it does to you.'

'I was so blissfully close to killing him.'

'Oh, love,' John sighed. He pulled Sherlock closer and hummed softly against his chest.

'I wanted to kill him. I wanted him dead.'

'Shhh. It's OK now. Shhh,' John soothed softly.

'Mmm. I know. Can we go to the Yard now?'

'It's a bit late. You sure Greg will still be there?'

'No, but I need to get out of here.'

'OK. Get dressed. I'll join you in a moment. I need some tea.' He pecked Sherlock on the lips softly and crawled from Sherlock's grip. He padded into the kitchen and threw out all the coffee first, then turned the kettle on to make tea.

Sherlock got up and pulled on a black button up and denim jeans. He grabbed his cane. Mycroft had obviously dropped it off at some point. He smirked at his reflection as he slicked his hair back with gel and applied eye liner, and a light coating of lipstick to add colour to his usually pale lips.

He then proceeded to walk out into the kitchen. He smiled gently and hugged John from behind.

'Remember our first trip to the Yard as a couple? How I dressed up and worked you into a sorry state on the floor?'

'Yeah.' John smiled and laughed, stirring his tea. 'God. That was fun. Why d'ya bring it up?'

'Oh, no reason,' Sherlock smirked. 'I just know how much you liked being dry humped on the floor.'

'Mmm, yeah,' John moaned. He rut back against Sherlock and grinned. 'That was great.'

'John, turn around,' Sherlock ordered huskily. He did and nearly fell to the floor from his knees giving out on him. God. Sherlock looked gorgeous.

'Jesus,' John gasped out softly, licking his lips at the sight of his lover.

'Here's the plan. We distract Greg by asking him to find a current case and whilst he's gone I am going to dry hump you as hard, as long, and in as many places I can. Count it as an apology for being snappy yesterday.'

'Am I allowed to cum in my pants this time? Or is this gonna be another orgasm denial thing?'

'You can cum but try to cum quietly.' Sherlock grinned. 'God, I am so going to bend you over Greg's desk and do a number on you.'

'Oh god yes. Please. Jesus. I'm hard already.'

Sherlock reached down and cupped John. 'How about actually on the desk, against the door, and on the floor like animals?'

'Oh god yes!' John cried, rutting into Sherlock's hand. His thin pyjama bottoms dampening as his cock leaked precum.

Sherlock snatched his hand away. 'Get dressed. Be quick about it.'

John hobbled off to the bedroom and quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and the blue shirt Sherlock had picked out for him years ago. It fit better now that he'd lost weight. He pulled his shoes on and returned to Sherlock in the sitting room. He was pulling on his coat and scarf, so John pulled on his own coat.

'We ready?'

'I don't know, are we?' Sherlock asked in amusement. John smirked and pulled Sherlock in for a deep kiss, his tongue delving down his throat.

'OK.  _Now_  we're ready,' he smirked, palming Sherlock's erection through his jeans.

Sherlock grunted and grinned. 'I shall fuck you so hard through your trousers for that little move you just pulled.'

'I am so looking forward to that.' John grinned cheekily. 'Let's go get a cab. Don't forget your cane.'

Sherlock smiled and grabbed his cane. 'Come on. Off to have some fun.'

'Mmm. Tons of fun,' John hummed. He practically skipped downstairs and hailed a taxi easily, surprising for that time of night.

The drive was heated. John kept on looking at him with big, intense and lust-filled eyes. Sherlock's heart was pounding in his chest. They couldn't have arrived at the Yard soon enough. When they finally arrived at the Yard John was sweating from the anticipation. He'd had to take his coat off while they were still in the cab. They made it inside the Yard and immediately headed to Greg's office. He wasn't there and the door was locked.

'What do we do now?' John whined.

Sherlock smirked. 'This.' He kicked the door off its hinges in one swift move and moved over to the desk, shoving the paperwork off of it to clear some space.

'Get on.'

'God damn that was hot,' John gasped out. He moved into the room and climbed on the desk. 'How do you want me?'

'I want you fully naked and legs spread wide. Since the former would be ill advised, just stick with the latter.'

'On my back then?' John asked, laying back and spreading his legs wide. Sherlock hummed and leapt onto the desk, instantly humping John. John clutched to Sherlock tightly, moaning and groaning obscenely as Sherlock humped him mercilessly. Sherlock was ruthless. He was fast and unforgiving. His lips attacked John's and he squeezed his arse. John whimpered and groaned and he kissed Sherlock back heatedly. He arched into Sherlock's groping hands and gasped when he felt his release drawing close.

'Gonna cum,' he gasped out. 'Gah! Fuck!'

'Scream. No one will hear. Scream for me.' Sherlock increased the intensity of his actions.

'Sherlock!' John screamed as he came. He rut harder as he came hard, pulling Sherlock closer.

'John!' Sherlock screamed back at his lover as he came too. John slumped down against the desk, his legs numb from his orgasm.

'Holy shit,' he gasped out.

'Holy shit indeed,' Sherlock laughed. 'Want another round?'

'God yes. Where now?'

'The floor.' Sherlock slid off of John. 'Hurry.'

John slid down to the floor and spread his legs invitingly. He wiggled his arse as if to say, 'Come and get me.'

Sherlock pounced onto John like a lion catching its prey. Even he couldn't have predicted what he did next. He tore John's shirt apart and tossed it to the side. His hands quickly moved to his lover's trousers.

'Gah! God! Fuck yes!' John cried. 'Suck me off! Please!'

'That wasn't what I was thinking.' Sherlock raised his fingers to John's mouth. 'Suck.'

John sucked Sherlock's fingers in his mouth and swirled his tongue around them. He slurped them loudly, coating them liberally in saliva. Sherlock yanked John's trousers all the way down and his pants too. He immediately plunged his finger into John, pumping it in and out. John kicked his pants and trousers off completely and rocked against Sherlock's finger.

'You have too many clothes on,' he grit out. 'Fix that. Please.'

Sherlock pulled his finger out and quickly shed all his clothes before re-inserting one finger and adding another.

'You know, we could get caught.'

'There's no one here but the janitorial staff. We'll be fine.'

'Greg could come back,' Sherlock retorted as he added a third finger.

'The thrill of getting caught just makes it all the more exciting. Now fuck me.'

Sherlock removed his fingers and shoved in his cock in one swift movement and began moving frantically.

'Oh god yes!' John moaned. 'Oh fuck! Oh fuck yes!'

Sherlock moved harder and faster, devouring John's lips whole whilst massaging his bollocks. He was shagging John in Scotland Yard but right now he didn't give a damn.

'Oh god! Oh god yes! Fuck me!' John cried. 'Harder!'

Little did they know that Greg's office had an anti-theft security system, and he had been alerted to the break in as soon as Sherlock kicked down the door. He had just arrived, gun drawn, when he heard the moans, groans, and cries of pleasure emitting from his office. Probably some drunk kids who thought it'd be a hoot to get off in New Scotland Yard. Well, Greg would soon change their minds. He barged in, gun drawn, and was about to shout something but it died on the tip of his tongue as he realised just who was shagging in his office.

'John? Sherlock?' he asked incredulously. 'What the fuck are you going here?!'

'What the fuck does it look like?!' Sherlock cried out, hips not faltering. He was too far gone now. He arched upwards in the air and screamed as he came hard into John. John followed Sherlock over the edge and came screaming, humiliated but completely debauched.

'I can... Jesus.' He turned his back. 'I can see what you're doing. Now get dressed and get the hell out!'

Sherlock collapsed onto John with a heavy sigh and rather reluctantly removed himself from him, and thrust his clothes on in a hurry.

'Whilst you're here we might as well utilise this time and discuss cases,' Sherlock said, brushing his embarrassment to one side.

'Cases?! You break into my office and have a shag and you want to discuss cases?!' Greg yelled. 'Fuck no! Get out of my office now!'

John thrust his clothes on too and made his way to the door before Sherlock's arm on his wrist stopped him.

'Please?' Sherlock asked softly. 'I really need some cases to keep my mind away from... well, you know.'

Greg sighed but refused to look at him. 'Ok. Fine. I'll see what I can dig up. Stay here and keep your antics to a minimum.' He stalked off to the records room to search for interesting cold or warm cases for Sherlock to peruse.

Sherlock grinned. 'Well that went better than I thought it would.'

'I'm still fucking humiliated that he caught us like that,' John grumbled. He sat in a chair and crossed his arms as he pouted.

'You enjoyed it though.' Sherlock waggled his eyebrows. 'Stop pouting.'

'It was so embarrassing getting caught though,' John huffed. 'I thought the thrill of getting caught would be great. And it was. The actually getting caught part wasn't all that great though.'

'Can we just enjoy the fact that that was the best orgasm I've had in a very long time?'

'Really?' John asked, looking up at Sherlock sheepishly.

'Yes. Really.'

John grinned and blushed. Sherlock moved to where John was sitting and plopped onto his lap.

'I love you.'

'I love you too.' John grinned, kissed Sherlock softly, and hummed. Sherlock shifted on John's lap so he was straddling him. He then proceeded to subtly hump him.

'I... I don't... Make it quick,' John groaned, shoving his tongue down Sherlock's throat. He grasped his hips tightly and rut against him fast and hard. Sherlock moaned loudly and humped John as hard as he could, panting wildly.

'Mmm, fuck! God yes! More! Please!'

'I'm going as fast as I can! Oh god! Close! So bloody close!'

'Cum for me! Oh fuck! Close too! Cum for me!' John grit out, trying to be quiet now Greg was in the building.

'Fuck!' Sherlock tilted his head backwards as he came, trying to suppress a scream but failing. John clamped a hand over Sherlock's mouth and whimpered loudly as he came too.

'Shhh. Don't want Greg to hear,' he grit out as he came down from his high.

'Too late for that,' Greg sighed. He was standing in the broken doorway holding multiple files and a few boxes. 'Found some interesting ones if you want to take a look before I kick you out.'

Sherlock coughed awkwardly and slid to his feet.

'Thank you. It's appreciated,' he said, walking over to the DI.

'I found a couple cold cases for you. They're the ones in the boxes. The files are still warm, only a few months old or so. These were the weirdest ones I could find. Enjoy. Now get the hell out of here. Or I'll tell you what shenanigans Myc and I get up to in here.' He smirked and crossed his arms over his chest in smug satisfaction as Sherlock swallowed thickly. Sherlock turned bright red but managed to compose himself.

'Do that and I'll describe just how John and I got together in the first place.'

'John told me when you had that bout of amnesia. The Viagra drug? I know about all that.' Greg smirked, laughing slightly. 'Now go or I'll tell you what happened in that chair only a few days prior that you just so happened to be sitting in.'

'And that's all I needed to hear. Thanks Greg. We'll see ya later.' John grabbed Sherlock by the waist and led him out of the office and to the front doors, exiting into the crisp January air.

'I say we drop the damn Viagra in his water for that little remark,' Sherlock whispered quietly to John. 'He won't know what's hit him.'

'He did mention he wanted to try it a while back.' John laughed. 'Go ahead and do it.' He hailed a cab and they climbed in, the boxes and files resting on Sherlock's lap.

'I may just do that,' Sherlock chuckled. 'It'd serve him right.' John merely hummed and squeezed Sherlock's thigh.

'You know,' Sherlock mused out loud. 'It's my birthday soon. I do believe it's the first birthday of mine that we'll be celebrating as a couple.'

'Yeah. It will be,' John smiled. 'And don't worry. I've got plans made and arranged.'

'Oh? Is that so?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

'Yes. I managed to get us some concert tickets to hear Tchaikovsky played by a concert orchestra. So wear your best suit.'

'God. You're perfect.' Sherlock chuckled and pecked John on the lips.

'Thank you. I do my best.' John grinned smugly and gave Sherlock another quick peck on the lips. 'You deserve to be spoilt.'

'I've never really been spoilt before when it comes to my birthday. It's usually me, Mycroft, and mother having dinner.'

'Well then it's definitely time you were spoilt. And by the man who loves you no less.' The cab stopped outside their flat and John smiled. 'Let's get upstairs and solve some murders, yeah?'

Sherlock blushed as he clambered out of the cab. 'I just hope you haven't gone out of your way to spoil me.'

'Not at all, love,' John grinned. 'Just the orchestra and then a nice dinner afterwards.' He paid the cabbie and held the front door open for Sherlock.

'It still sounds like a lot.' Sherlock smiled as he walked inside.

'An orchestra and dinner is a lot?' Oh Sherlock, I haven't even begun to spoil you,' he said, grinning cheekily. 'Well, I suppose to someone who isn't used to being spoilt it probably is. But I want to do this for you. You deserve it.'

'Lots of birthday sex and cake is all I need.'

'Not spoilery enough for me,' John laughed. 'Though there will be cake and lots of birthday sex when we get home.'

Sherlock grinned. 'What about you covered in cake whilst we have sex so I have to lick it off?'

'I like that idea very much,' John laughed. He entered the sitting room and toed off his shoes. He hung his coat on the rack and stretched, cracking his back. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to take a shower and get in some clean clothes. My cum is cold and sticky.'

'May I join you?'

'You don't even have to ask,' John smiled. 'I'll just get the shower started.' He ambled off to the bathroom, shifting uncomfortably as the cum from his three orgasms was soaking into his pants. He stripped as soon as he got in the bathroom, sighing in relief, and turned on the shower, allowing it to warm. Sherlock walked in after John, throwing his clothes and his cane to the floor hurriedly. He wrapped his arms around John and hugged him tightly.

'Things are looking up, hmm?'

'I definitely think so, yes,' John hummed, pressing back against Sherlock. His head rested on Sherlock's shoulder and he smiled. 'We have some cases to look over, we have your birthday to celebrate in a couple days, and we have to plot Greg's Viagra drugging.' He laughed at the last bit. 'Yes. Things are looking up indeed.'

'And after that we have our whole lives ahead of us. Who knows what life will bring us?'

 _Hopefully a proposal_ , John thought softly. 'Yeah. Who knows? Let's just hope there aren't too many hoops to jump through this year.'

'Here's hoping I do not fall if I come across any difficulties,' Sherlock sighed softly.

'And here's hoping I don't fall with you if you do. Come on. Enough of the sad stuff. Let's get ourselves cleaned up and then solve some murders, yeah?'

'Murder!' Sherlock exclaimed with gusto. 'Oh how I've missed a good killing!'

'Even I've missed our cases,' John laughed. 'Come on, love. In we go.' He stepped into the shower, Sherlock's arms still wrapped around him, and stood under the spray of water. The water was cool and refreshing yet warm, exactly what John needed. He turned around in Sherlock's arms and kissed him softly.

'I love you.'

'Hmm,' Sherlock hummed happily, swaying under the spray. 'So a little birdie has told me on many occasions. I love you too, in case you needed reminding.'

'Good.' John grinned happily. He grabbed the soap and lathered his hands. He then proceeded to was Sherlock like he would a small child; slow, tender, and thoughtful.

Sherlock leant into John's gentle touch and sighed happily as he felt years of tension simply roll off of him. John worked on Sherlock's shoulders first, massaging the tension out of them. He moved down to the flat planes of his stomach and hummed, running his hands over the muscles that were still there. He slowly dropped to his knees and massaged and cleaned Sherlock's thighs and calves before moving to clean around his cock where most of the cum had settled.

Sherlock gripped John's hair in his hands tightly and groaned. 'Want to show me how much you love me?' he asked, his voice thick with lust.

'I believe I already am.' John grinned cheekily. 'But I'll be more than happy to go further. What do you want me to do?'

Sherlock grabbed one of John's hands and wrapped it around his cock, grinning down at him. John grinned and began pumping his fist teasingly slow, just so Sherlock would come to full hardness. Then he squeezed harder and moved faster, the soap causing his hand to slide perfectly along his lover's arousal.

Sherlock blew out air heavily. 'Jesus. Do you know how good you make me feel?'

'No,' John breathed out against Sherlock's throbbing cock. 'Tell me.'

'You make me feel loved. It's like nothing can possibly touch me when I'm with you like this. I feel safe, and fantastic, but most of all I feel like I'm home. I belong with you,' Sherlock said without pausing for breath.

'You and your poetry putting me to shame,' John laughed. 'But I feel the same. You make me feel whole, safe, loved, even protected. And that's coming from a former soldier. But soon I want you to be cumming all over me, yeah?'

Sherlock chuckled softly. 'You'll get your wish incredibly soon, soldier.'

'Good.' He pumped faster, squeezed harder, his free hand going to massage Sherlock's sac teasingly at first before pulling on a testicle roughly and rolling it in his palm. Sherlock felt his hips jerk upwards and his entire body tense briefly as he began to cum all over John. He moaned John's name loudly and laughed giddily. John moaned and smiled as Sherlock's cum landed on his chest and face. He started laughing when he felt a dollop land on his nose and then drip down onto his chin.

Sherlock grinned and wiped the cum off John's chin. 'I love it when you get covered in my cum.'

'We should do it more often.' John giggled. 'I hear it's an excellent moisturiser if you allow it to soak into your skin.'

Sherlock smirked. 'Taking tips off Cassandra now?'

'Moisturise me,' John said, mimicking Cassandra's voice. He stood up and kissed Sherlock softly, humming in content. 'Wash me now.'

Sherlock nodded and squeezed some shower gel onto his hands. He lathered it up into suds and began to delicately wash John, worshipping his lover's body as though he were a god. John hummed and moaned softly as Sherlock began washing him. He arched into his touch and purred.

'God you're fantastic at this,' he sighed softly.

'You deserve to be pampered a little,' Sherlock retorted, massaging John's thighs gently. John merely hummed and closed his eyes, revelling in Sherlock's gentle yet firm touches.

'Do you know how happy you make me?' Sherlock whispered as he moved his hands to squeeze John's bottom.

'No,' John moaned out softly. 'Tell me.'

'You are the light to my dark. You are the one thing which makes my usually lifeless heart pound within its cage. You are the words written in my mind. You are the very air I breathe.'

'Fucking poetry,' John laughed. 'God. I love it when you talk like that, professing your love and feelings for me. Don't ever stop. Please.'

'Poetry it may be but it is all true.' Sherlock stood up and worked his hands through John's hair. 'You're my everything.'

'And you are mine. Now kiss me you fool.'

'Make me.'

John grinned and captured Sherlock's head in his hands. He pulled him close and sealed their mouths together, though not without some difficulty. Sherlock was stubbornly playful and refused to move his head. So John decided he'd meet him before he had a chance to pull away. And meet they did. The kiss was soft and languid yet held promises of a future. Minutes, hours, days, all eternity. They would have a future together. John was determined to make it so.

Sherlock's heart soared. He felt as light as feathers floating in the air and as free a wild horse running with its herd. He was free. John had made him that way. He had unlocked his broken and dusty heart and had filled all the holes within it. John had taught him how to love.

'I think we should relocate to the bedroom, yes?' John asked breathily.

'I don't want sex,' Sherlock whispered huskily. 'I want to worship you. Let me do this.' Sherlock kissed John lightly and smiled. 'Go and lie on our bed. I'll be right behind you.'

'OK.' John rinsed himself of the soap and dried himself off quickly. He went back to their bedroom and laid across the bed, waiting for Sherlock. Sherlock fetched a bottle of oil and swiftly moved into the bedroom. He clambered beside John and kissed up and down his neck.

'Roll over for me.' John hummed and rolled over onto his stomach, wiggling his bum out of habit.

'You know, some say that if performed correctly, body worshipping can become even more intense than sex. I've read a few fan fictions for research.'

'Fan fictions aren't reliable sources,' John tutted. 'But I'll take your word for it. Go ahead. Worship me.'

Sherlock smirked and shook his head before squirting the oil onto his hands. He started by pressing his fingers gently against the space between John's shoulder blades and smoothing the oil onto his lover's still slightly tanned skin.

'I plan to worship you till you're an incoherent mess. Fan fictions being a reliable source or not, I do believe I will make this an intense experience for you.'

'I never doubted you wouldn't.' John hummed and stretched out further along the mattress, purring loudly. Sherlock continued to press his fingers into John's back, brushing his fingertips against his lover's skin like petting a cat. Sherlock smiled at the thought. John was just like a cat, a little purry kitty wanting some attention. He moved his hands downwards to just above John's bottom but he didn't go any further. His research had told him that the key to body worshiping was keeping the sexual places of the person being worshiped untouched.

His fingers danced and learned his lover's physique all over again. He lightly brushed his fingers over John's scar and lowered his head to place a light and tender kiss upon it. He traced the other lighter scars that had faded into John's skin and placed a kiss to each of those too. John was starting to squirm and his breath was hitching. So much for fan fiction not being a reliable source. It would seem John was finding this very intense indeed, as was Sherlock.

John moaned and groaned as Sherlock worshipped him, his hands never travelling farther than below his waist. Which was fine, actually. His touches were soothing, powerful, and overall comforting. John loved Sherlock's touches. Always exploring, always learning. He sighed and rubbed his nose against his pillow, smelling Sherlock on it. He hummed again and arched into Sherlock's soft touches, craving more.

Sherlock's lips ran along the whole expanse of John's back. They then moved to glide over John's throat. His hands were touching John firmly but gently and for one sweeping moment he just soaked in what it felt like to have John under his spell. It felt magical. Wonderful. Bloody fantastic. John's eyes were closing and he looked blissfully peaceful. More peaceful than he had in such a long time.

John had never felt more relaxed or utterly at peace. Sherlock's touches were magical, relaxing him like nothing else. Not even the soother he'd had barely a week prior. His eyes drooped shut and he was dangerously close to falling asleep.

'Go to sleep. You are clearly in need of it.' Sherlock slid off from John and moved the blanket so it was covering them both. 'Sweet dreams. Don't let the mass murdering criminals bite.'

'Only you get to bite me,' John mumbled with a smile before sleep took him.

Sherlock clutched John tightly. 'You are the best thing that's ever happened to me, do you know that?' John snored in response and Sherlock smiled softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope this makes up for all the horrible things John said last chapter. The next one will be Sherlock's birthday where John gets to spoil him a bit and make him feel special and loved and not a freak for an entire day. So prepare yourself for all the cute celebrations.
> 
> I hope you have a wonderful weekend and I'll see you again on Red Pants Monday!  
> TSA + IB


	57. Sherlock's Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy Monday! Tis the last Monday of the semester for me. Finals begin next week. Oh joy. So there probably won't be a chapter up next Monday, so I'll be posting three this week to kind of make up for that. This is a longer chapter and the next two are pretty short, about 10 pages each.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, Mycroft, Violet Holmes, Greg
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: birthday fluff, drunk shenanigans, public sex, drugged sex, erotic eating of cake of another's body, smut, fluff, feels, love

The cases occupied most of their time after that. Sherlock was finally back to work and John was following him around London like a puppy. The cold cases had been solved rather quickly, both on the day after they'd gotten them. So now Sherlock was completely devoted to the warm cases, not sleeping and barely eating as he worked.

But now Sherlock's birthday was upon them, and John was completely giddy with excitement. He'd ordered a taxi to pick them up so they wouldn't have to hunt one down in their suits, and he was currently getting dressed into his while trying to pry Sherlock out of his mind palace to put his own on.

'Sherlock! The cab's going to be here in ten minutes! Get your arse out of your chair and get dressed! It's your birthday and I plan on spoiling you today whether you like it or not!'

'Hmm?' Sherlock blinked, shaking his head slightly as he exited his mind palace. 'Did you say something about spoiling me?' He blushed. 'I told you I don't need to be spoiled. It's too much, really.'

'I want to do this for you,' John said, emerging from their room in a traditional black tuxedo, bow tie in hand. 'Can you tie this for me? I never learned how.'

Sherlock stood to his feet, chuckling softly. 'You are sometimes quite unbelievable.'

He moved over to John and expertly tied his bow tie for him. 'There. You look cool.' He chuckled again at his own use of a  _Doctor Who_  reference.

'Thanks, love.' John pecked him on the lips. 'Now go get dressed. The cab'll be here soon.'

'Would you like to dress me?' Sherlock smirked.

'I would be honoured. Now get your bum in our room.' He squeezed said bum playfully and swatted it to get its owner in motion.

Sherlock yelped and hurried into the room. 'Oh, happy birthday to me.'

'Mmm. Happy Birthday indeed.' John followed Sherlock into the bedroom and pulled his tux out of the wardrobe. He then moved to his lover's trousers and undid the belt and button, sliding down the zip agonisingly slowly before pulling his trousers down and off.

'You aren't wearing your bee pants,' he pouted. 'I'd like you to wear them today. Or your pirate pants, which I have yet to see. I even put my red pants on specially for you today. Wanna see?'

'Hmmm, oh yes.' Sherlock's eyes bore into John's crotch. 'And very well, as you wish.' He moved to his wardrobe, not moving his eyes from John's crotch, and pulled out a pair of pants. They were light blue with two pirates sword fighting with each other. He pulled them on and smirked smugly.

'Better?'

'Much,' John grinned. He undid his own zip and allowed Sherlock a quick peek at his pants before zipping his trousers back up. 'There'll be more of that later. Now, let's get you dressed, yeah?'

Sherlock pouted but nodded. 'Make me look dapper, Watson.'

'You always look dapper, Mr Holmes.' John smiled. 'Now sit so I can get your tuxedo trousers on.' Sherlock sat at the edge of the bed and held his legs up in the air.

'Good boy, love,' John smirked. He pulled the trouser legs on and hoisted them up so they sat just below Sherlock's waist. He buttoned and zipped them and smiled. 'Now for your shirt.' He unbuttoned Sherlock's deep green shirt and laid it on the bed. It was replaced by a crisp white shirt and a black tuxedo jacket, both of which John smoothed down after he put Sherlock's socks and dress shoes on.

'There. You look marvellous, darling. Go and look.'

Sherlock hopped to his feet and rushed to the mirror. 'Wow. Hello handsome.' He waved at his reflection, grinning like an idiot.

'Very handsome indeed.' John grinned and hugged Sherlock from behind. 'And you're all mine.'

Sherlock turned around and kissed John softly. 'I'm yours for eternity.'

'One day we'll make it official,' John hummed. The doorbell rang suddenly and John pulled away reluctantly. 'That'll be the cab.'

Sherlock slid his hand into John's. 'One day very soon I hope.'

'I'll do my best.' John smiled, squeezing Sherlock's hand. 'Let's go. Grab your wallet. I'll get the tickets and the keys.'

Sherlock quickly fetched his wallet along with a couple of Viagra pills. Who knew when those little beauties would come in handy?

'Right. Let's go,' he said, straightening out his suit and walking out the bedroom door. John grabbed the tickets and his own wallet before following Sherlock out the door. He grabbed his keys and mobile on the way and headed out the door, locking it behind him. He slid into the cab next to Sherlock and linked their fingers together. He gave the cabbie the address of the concert hall and they sped off into the night.

'I do believe that this is the best birthday I have ever celebrated,' Sherlock said warmly.

'And it hasn't even begun yet,' John grinned.

'Oh god. I know that grin. It's your "I'm planning something" grin.'

'Shush you. It's just the concert and dinner. Then home for cake and birthday sex.'

Sherlock huffed, crossed his arms and pouted adorably. 'I still think you're keeping something from me.'

'It's really just the concert and dinner. I swear. My grin's just because I can't believe you're letting me spoil you.'

'I like to be spoiled every now and then. It's very character building.'

'Then you're going to love what I have planned for after dinner,' John purred, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Sherlock growled and puffed out his chest. 'I await it impatiently.'

'You're gonna love it.' John squeezed Sherlock's hand again and pecked him on the lips. They arrived at the concert hall and John paid the cabbie. Still holding Sherlock's hand, he slid out of the cab and led him to the entrance. He handed the busboy their tickets and they were directed to their seats. Private balcony seats no less.

'Happy Birthday, Sherlock,' John said at Sherlock's stunned expression.

Sherlock's lips were stuck in a huge 'O' shape for a brief moment before his face lit up with a grin. 'Blimey. These seats must have cost a fortune. That and there's usually a waiting list for them. How did you score these?'

'Like I said, you aren't the only one with connections.' John grinned cheekily and moved to the icebox, pulling out a bottle of champagne. He poured them each a glass and handed one to Sherlock.

'Happy Birthday, love.' He raised his glass in a toast. 'Here's to many more.'

Sherlock bit his lip sheepishly. 'I can't believe you did this for me.' He sipped at the champagne. 'This really is the best birthday ever.'

'I wanted to spoil you. It's your special day.' John took a sip of his drink. 'Now sit. The concert's about to start.'

Sherlock sat down and sighed happily. 'I'm really not used to being spoiled to this extent.'

'Well, it's not like I'll do it every birthday,' John said as he sat in his own chair. 'This was just our first time celebrating it as a couple, and I wanted to do something special and spoil you after everything that's happened.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Have I told you how much I love you?' he said as he placed his head on John's shoulder, nuzzling his neck.

'Not recently,' John hummed. 'Remind me, will you?'

'I love you,' Sherlock ushered in John's ear. 'I love you more than bees.'

'Really? More than bees?'

'More than life itself. More than the moon loves the stars. More than  _Doctor Who_. Actually, you know what, forget the latter. I'm sorry but the Doctor will always be my first love. Spock was probably my second. You're a close third though.'

'Fine. I can accept that. But you aren't going to marry the Doctor or Spock. You're going to marry me.' The lights dimmed then and John kissed Sherlock's forehead. 'Sit up, love. And listen to the orchestra.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John's words but stayed quiet as the hall was quickly filled with beautiful music. While John wasn't a big fan of classical music, he did enjoy Tchaikovsky. The music was beautiful, and even Sherlock looked gorgeous as he listened to them play. John found himself watching Sherlock more than he listened to the music. He didn't even realise it was over until Sherlock looked over at him with a soft smile on his face.

'Over already?' John managed to ask.

'That is the beauty of the music. It must be appreciated whilst it lasts. Each note played out is special, one of a kind. It is a metaphor I suppose for life. Life is short and yet it holds a lot of beauty, but it holds sadness too, just like the tale the music was telling. The music must come to an end, as does every life, and yet before it does you are playing out a tune that carries out both ups and downs.' Sherlock smiled softly. 'Sorry. I do believe I'm getting poetic again.'

'Don't ever stop being poetic. I love it.' John kissed Sherlock and then finished his champagne. 'Come on. Time for dinner.'

'Oooh.' Sherlock finished off his own champagne. 'Are you going to tell me where we're going?'

'Nope. It's a surprise. Come on.' He clasped Sherlock's hand and led him outside and into a waiting cab. He handed the cabbie the address and they took off.

'OK, you're definitely planning something.' Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

'And you'll see it in a few minutes. Now shush.'

'Ah ha! You admit it then! You are planning something.'

'But you still don't know what it is,' John sing-songed.

'Spoil sport,' Sherlock huffed, sticking his lower lip out.

'Oh, shush you.' John nipped at that pouty lower lip before kissing Sherlock softly. 'You're gonna love it.'

'I have no doubts about that.'

'We're almost there. And... don't freak out, OK?' Sherlock frowned, paling ever so slightly as he shifted nervously in his seat.

'What have you done?'

'I got us a restaurant all to ourselves,' John said, looking away from Sherlock's shocked expression.

Sherlock giggled in disbelief. 'Really? You did that, for me? You really have gone overboard, huh?'

'First birthday as a couple,' John reiterated. 'I wanted to go overboard. And you deserve to be spoilt today.'

'As you keep on stating.' Sherlock bit his lip as he smiled. 'But I still think it's far too much. As long as I'm with you I shall be quite content.'

John smiled and kissed Sherlock again. They arrived at the restaurant soon after. 'We're here, love.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand. 'Happy Birthday.'

Sherlock kissed John heavily. 'Happy birthday indeed,' he mused softly as he slid out of the cab. John paid the cabbie and followed Sherlock outside. He held his hand again as he opened the door to the empty restaurant.

'God, you weren't joking, were you?' Sherlock muttered as he entered the restaurant.

'Nope.' John grinned and pulled Sherlock toward the back. 'Our arrangement is over here.'

'God, I love you,' Sherlock laughed as John led him through the restaurant.

'I love you too.' John opened the door to the buffet room and the two of them were greeted by their group of friends all shouting, 'Happy Birthday Sherlock!'

Sherlock almost jumped out of his skin before freezing to the spot, eyes wide with shock and heart pounding. After a couple of minutes he burst into laughter.

'Is this all for me?' he gasped out in disbelief. 'Really?'

'Yes, love. All for you,' John said softly. 'Happy Birthday.'

'Jesus. You kept this under wraps, didn't you? Was this your idea?'

'Yes, but Mycroft helped with the planning.' The man in question strolled over and enveloped Sherlock in a warm hug. He smelled strongly of champagne already.

'Happy Birthday, Locky,' he slurred. He grinned dopily at his shocked little brother as he pulled away. 'D'ya like it?'

Sherlock grinned toothily. 'Come here you.' He tugged his brother into a tight bear hug. 'I love it, Croft. Thank you.' He wrinkled up his nose at the smell of champagne coming from his brother. 'Been enjoying the party already, huh?' he asked as he finally let Mycroft go.

'Jus a lil bit,' he laughed. 'Come on. E'ryone wans t' see ya.' He dragged Sherlock over to the group, taking him first to their mother. Sherlock smiled happily as he saw his mother and instantly wrapped his arms around her in a delicate hug.

'Thank you for attending, Mother. You're looking as beautiful as ever I see.'

'And you look as handsome as ever,' she said softly, wrapping her arms around him in a tender hug. 'I wouldn't have missed this for the world.'

Sherlock slowly pulled away. 'I do believe some champagne is in order.' He glanced over to Mycroft and leant in closer to his mother. 'No more for him though. He's already utterly drunk,' he said jokingly.

'Oh, I know dear. Your brother never could hold his alcohol.' She swatted Mycroft's hand, which was reaching for another glass of champagne. 'You'll be having water, young man.'

'Mummy,' Mycroft pouted.

'No. Water, or I'll have your lover take you home.'

Greg blushed at Violet's words and ruffled his hair awkwardly. John laughed. Molly and Mrs Hudson merely rolled their eyes and continued their conversation.

'Oh, you know what? Let us just celebrate. Let him have as many glasses as he likes. It only makes him huggy and overemotional anyway.' Sherlock shook his head and reached for a glass of champagne for himself. Violet sighed as Mycroft eagerly grabbed another glass, but he passed it on to Greg. He took it upon himself to make sure everyone had a glass before he grabbed one for himself.

'Gonna make a toast, Locky?' he asked. 'Speech?'

'Speech?' Sherlock bit his lip and laughed lightly. 'Oh, I don't know.' He blushed nervously. 'What the hell do I say? I've never made a speech before.'

'Well, you can thank everyone for coming,' John suggested. 'Talk about yourself for a bit, make a few jokes, and then say we can dig in to the food.'

'Right, OK, speech it is then.' He got a spoon and tapped it against his glass as he'd seen others do when making speeches to catch the crowd's attention. 'Speech time everybody!' he exclaimed melodramatically. The group quieted and gathered closer to the birthday boy, waiting eagerly for him to begin.

'I–'Sherlock took a deep breath to calm his nerves before continuing. 'I just want to thank you all for being here for me, and not just here as in this room, but over these past few years. As you all know they haven't been exactly easy for me, nor for you I imagine. And without all of you I wouldn't be the man I am today. Focusing on the good points, I am a hell of a lot closer to my brother. I think I finally understand him.' He clapped a hand on Mycroft's back. 'I have met the love of my life.' He smirked at John and then raised his gaze to Greg. 'And I have made a friend that I can always rely on, no matter what.' He glanced at his mother. 'Of course none of us would be here if it wasn't for my mother.' Then to Molly: 'You do count. You've always counted. Thank you for being there for me at Bart's at ungodly hours of the night,' he told her softly before moving onto last but not least, Mrs Hudson. 'And thanks for with putting up with my reckless behaviour. You are like a second mother to me.'

Sherlock was a little teary eyed now and his voice was beginning to break. 'I don't know what else to say other than I love you guys all so much, and just – thank you, because I never expected to have so many people who cared enough to throw me a party and it's just – too much to take in really.'

John was sniffling at Sherlock's speech, Greg had an arm around Mycroft who was close to blubbering like a baby, and even Molly had a tight grip on her own champagne glass.

'We'll always be here for you, Sherlock,' John said softly. He took his free hand and squeezed tight. 'We all love you.' The crowd murmured their agreement. John raised his glass and said, 'To Sherlock.'

'To Sherlock,' the crowd repeated, clinking their glasses together. John clinked his with Sherlock's and took a large sip of his drink. 'I love you.'

'I love you too,' Sherlock half sobbed, flinging his arms around John, gulping down his own champagne. When he pulled away he huffed a laugh at his brother who really was blubbering like a baby now.

'Do you need a hug Croft?'

The poor man was an incoherent mess, but he managed to nod his head. Sherlock placed his champagne glass down and scooped his brother into a tight hug. Both of them were crying and shaking now.

'You're a good brother. I hope you know how much I appreciate you.'

'Ya the bes lil broder ever!' Mycroft sobbed. 'I love you so much!'

Sherlock sighed softly. His brother really was drunk. He just hoped that being overemotional was all his brother got. He certainly wasn't going to clear up his brother's sick or piss if there were any accidents.

'I love you too, Croft.'

Mycroft sniffled and released his hold on Sherlock. He leant over Greg and smiled. 'Go be a' ya party. 'Appy Birfday.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Should I get him some coffee to try and sober him up?' he asked Greg.

'I'll get it. You go enjoy your party.' He wrapped an arm around Mycroft's waist, pulling one of Myc's over his shoulders.

'Gun soba me up Greggy?' he giggled. 'Gets me coffee!'

'That's what I'm doing ya big lummox.'

'OK. Gets me coffee.' Greg merely sighed.

'Is he gonna be OK?' John asked, finishing his first glass of champagne.

'Him? Yes. Always goes a little overboard on the champagne at these events.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as Mycroft suddenly stopped and burst into tears. 'Do you think Greg needs help?' Sherlock asked in amusement. His eyes lit up. 'Remember the plan to drug Greg with the Viagra?' He smirked. 'I'm gonna do it now. Maybe give Mycroft some too. It'd certainly sober him up.'

'You brought some pills with you?' John asked, raising an eyebrow.

'Hey. You never know when they might come in handy. You distract them. I'm going to go spike their coffees.'

John sighed and rolled his eyes but smiled. 'OK. Be discreet about it. Not like how you drugged my coffee during the Hound case.' He went to help Greg sit Mycroft down and try to console him, making sure they were both thoroughly distracted while Sherlock snuck off to make coffee.

Sherlock made the coffee and plopped a pill into each cup. He grinned, knowing that the drugs would barely take a couple of minutes to work once digested. Satisfied that they were both dissolved properly he walked over to Greg and his brother.

'Here. He really does need to sober up, and you look like you need a cuppa too.'

'Oh, thank you,' Greg sighed. He plopped down next to Mycroft and took a large gulp of the hot liquid, humming as it travelled down his throat. Mycroft reached out with grabby hands for his cuppa and sipped at it idly, sniffling every now and again.

'You two'll be OK now?' John asked. Greg gave him a thumbs up and Mycroft nodded, taking a large gulp of his coffee. 'Well alright then. Sherlock and I are gonna go eat. Then it'll be time for dancing.'

'That is if they can dance in their state,' Sherlock giggled down John's ear.

'You mean drunk and exasperated? Yes, I suppose that would be a challenge.' John smirked. 'See you guys later.' He linked hands with Sherlock and led him to the buffet table, all of Sherlock's favourite foods lined along it, including a few packets of Jammy Dodgers.

Sherlock chewed on some Jammy Dodgers before spotting another delicious  _Doctor Who_  based dish.

'Mmm, fish fingers and custard. And – are those Star Trek themed cookies?!'

'Yep,' John said, grinning. 'And your mum made your favourite dish too.'

Sherlock grinned. 'My mother is the best.' He turned around and hugged John tightly. 'And so are you.'

Upon seeing Greg and his brother he said, 'Oooh. My plan's working, John,' he laughed. 'Greg looks flushed and confused already. And my brother is as bright red as a tomato and can't stop crossing his legs.'

'I can't wait to see how that plays out,' John laughed, turning to look too. 'I just hope they don't start shagging in front of everyone.'

'I hope not,' Sherlock blanched.

'I'm sure they wouldn't,' John assured him. 'Greg is too modest to start shagging Mycroft in public. Come on. Wanna dance?' He held a hand out to Sherlock and grinned.

Sherlock took a step back, bowed, and took John's hand. 'I have a few moves up by sleeve.'

'Do you now, Mr Holmes?' John grinned, bowing himself. 'Show me your moves.'

Sherlock twirled John into his arms and kissed his head. 'Allow me to lead,' he said as he led John out to the middle of the dance floor.

'By all means. I suck at leading anyway.' He allowed Sherlock to twirl him around the dance floor, grinning like a mad man. 'What dance are we doing anyway? Waltz? It feels like a waltz.'

'Yes. Allow me.' Sherlock moved across the dance floor, pulling out the big moves to impress John, bending him over in his arms and spinning John into his body.

'Beautiful,' he whispered huskily.

'God,' John breathed out in surprise. 'I had no idea you could dance so well.'

'I am a man of many talents,' Sherlock smiled. 'It would seem we're attracting an audience too.' He laughed lightly. 'Mycroft is starting to practically hump Greg. Oh god. Greg's allowing it.'

'Oi! Get a room!' John yelled at them. Greg looked up and blushed, mortified. Mycroft simply continued his actions. Greg hauled him up and they stumbled off to a back room.

'Oh thank god,' John sighed. 'They've got some privacy now. And yes, we do seem to have attracted an audience.' He smiled at Sherlock's mother as they waltzed by her.

'I love you, John. I wish to marry you too. Marrying Spock would be no fun at all. As sexy as he is. God damn those pointy ears,' Sherlock joked before becoming serious. 'I really do want to marry you.' He twirled John around in his arms. 'And... have children too.'

'Children?' John gasped, looking up at Sherlock in surprise. 'Really? I-I want to have a family with you too. Marriage first. I want to do it in the right order.' He cuddled as close to Sherlock as he could while they were still dancing and choked back a few tears. 'God, I love you so much. I want to marry you too, but I'm not proposing tonight. It doesn't feel right. Plus I want it to be just you and me, not so many people around. Private and intimate.'

Sherlock smirked and held his lover close.

'Yes. Children. You and me and mini versions of us. Everyone shall love them. They shall have a loving uncle, us, Mrs Hudson and mother will fight over grandparent duties, Greg will probably be our babysitter. Think of how adorable they shall be. As for marriage, there isn't a rush. We'll tie the knot once we're both ready. Good lord. Are you blubbering like a baby now?'

'Shut up,' John joked half heartedly. He was indeed crying, but they were tears of joy. He and Sherlock were going to have a family one day. He laughed softly and buried his nose against Sherlock's chest. 'I'm just extremely happy is all.'

'Hmm. Extremely happy going by your erection. Does me being a baby daddy do that to you?'

'No. OK, maybe. But it's also your dancing that's turning me on.'

Sherlock groaned. 'Wait till later, tiger. I'm going to devour you.'

'Mmm. Looking forward to that,' John grinned. The speakers crackled overhead suddenly, the tail end of someone's expletive broadcasting throughout the room.

'–ck! God don't stop! Oh yes!'

'What the hell?' John quirked an eyebrow but paled considerably as the second person's voice rang out.

'Goin as fasht az I can!' Mycroft slurred out. 'Fuck! Oh Greggy. Ya feel sho good.'

'Shut up and fuck me!' Greg whined.

'Oh my,' Molly gasped out. Mrs Hudson looked absolutely appalled. Violet merely sighed and shook her head.

'Oh god.' Sherlock groaned and buried his head in John's shoulder. 'Make the images go away. They burn!'

Greg began to pant heavily and started going in to quite graphic detail about the size of his brother's cock.

'Oh god!' Sherlock wailed. 'I don't believe this.'

Mrs Hudson was so mortified she had to leave the room, Molly was turning red and she drank her champagne quickly, and Violet simply grabbed a glass and joined Molly in her drinking. John burst out laughing as Mycroft slurred that he felt too damn big and Greg merely moaned that he felt perfect. They came simultaneously, screaming and panting loudly.

'Jesus Christ,' John laughed. 'Please tell me it's over.'

'I love you,' Mycroft gasped out.

'I love you too, Myc. I love you so much. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Would you do me the enormous honour of marrying me?'

There was a long pause as Mycroft's drunk brain took in what Greg had just asked. The small crowd waited with bated breath for the answer.

'Yes!' Mycroft cried suddenly. 'Of course I'll marry you Gregory! Yes!'

'Ah well. All's well that ends well,' Sherlock mumbled into John's shoulder, utterly mortified.

'It's about time if you ask me,' John grumbled. The noises started up again, a litany of 'I love you's and 'fuck me's echoing throughout the small space.

'And it would seem they're not done,' John laughed. He covered Sherlock's ears and kissed him on the forehead. 'I'll protect you from the nasty sounds, love.'

'You better make swift work of erasing those sounds with ones that belong to you and me,' Sherlock grumbled.

'Once we get home, all you'll hear is me slurping up your cock and you slurping up cake off my naked body,' John growled. He pulled Sherlock in for a quick kiss and laughed, clamping his hands around Sherlock's ears harder. He definitely didn't want to hear Mycroft screaming about how fucking fantastic Greggy felt up his arse. Especially when taken from behind over a desk.

'I shall never allow them to live this down,' Sherlock huffed. 'And mmm god. Cake all over your naked body.' He felt his cock twitch violently. 'I like that image. I like it a lot.'

'And it's the special kind with jam in it,' John whispered close to Sherlock's covered ear. Greg and Mycroft both came screaming and collapsed on each other, gasping for breath and laughing. The speakers shut off as they fell to the floor. Thank god.

'All clear,' John said, uncovering Sherlock's ears. 'Would someone please go fetch Mrs Hudson and see if she's alright?' Molly dashed out without hesitating, though it would be a few extra minutes before she went to search for the landlady. All those noises had set her skin aflame and she needed some alone time.

'Should I go knock on the door?' Sherlock smirked. 'Say we're making another toast and then make one on them when they get out?'

'That's a brilliant idea, love.' John pecked him on the lips and released his hold on him. 'Go get 'em.'

'I am going to mortify them,' Sherlock sang happily and all but skipped over to the door. He knocked on it. 'We're making another toast. Will you come out from... whatever you're doing?'

Greg giggled and sat up, his head spinning from champagne, the sex, and that beautiful, wonderful Viagra pill Sherlock must have slipped them.

'Be out in a minute!' he called out.

'Hurry!' Sherlock exclaimed with a loud snigger.

'We'll be out as soon as we can. Just give us a moment. Can ya sit up, Myc?'

'I can try,' he grunted. He attempted to sit up but he was too damn tired. 'Can't. Need help.'

Greg stood on shaky legs and held a hand out for Myc to take. He grasped it gingerly before holding on tight as Greg attempted to pull him up. He managed to make it to a sitting position at least. Greg pulled up his trousers and zipped them, not bothering to tuck in his shirt or button his jacket. He then somehow managed to get Myc to stand up and pulled up his own trousers, smoothing his shirt so the usually pristine man didn't look too dishevelled.

'We'll just stay for this one toast and then we can go home and celebrate all night,' Greg told his new fiancé. 'OK?'

'OK. May need help walking though.'

'Just take my hand. You'll be fine.' Myc took Greg's left hand in his right, the shiny engagement ring sparkling on his left ring finger. God, it was simple yet elegant and absolutely beautiful. He loved it.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He was definitely going to mortify them now. He waited for them to come out of hiding before raising his glass.

'To the newly engaged!' he exclaimed. Greg blinked in surprise. Had John proposed too? When he noticed Sherlock wasn't wearing a ring he turned beet red in mortification. Mycroft merely cocked his head, his drunk brain still slowing him down.

'Were we really that loud?' Greg asked softly, blushing at the group who all had glasses raised for them. Mrs Holmes, however, looked like she was caught between killing them with her bare hands or wrapping them up in a hug so tight it would crack their ribs.

'Oh, you were loud alright. You were on the speakers.' Sherlock scowled. 'We could hear everything! Just what I wanted to hear on my birthday.'

Greg froze to the spot, his entire body red in embarrassment and some lingering arousal. Mycroft was still trying to process what his brother and lover were discussing. Then he saw Violet.

'Mummy! Look!' He held up his left hand. 'We gonna gets married!'

Sherlock scoffed loudly. 'We all know Mycroft, or rather we all heard.' His face lit up slightly. 'Congratulations. Will you stay for more champagne before leaving to celebrate your own momentous occasion?'

'More drinks!' Mycroft laughed. 'Come on, Greggy. More drinks!'

'I don't think so,' Greg said, scowling. 'You are still quite drunk and I need to get you home as soon as possible.'

'Allow him one more glass. It's hardly going to harm him.' Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'OK. Fine. One glass. And don't drug this one,' Greg said sternly. As he passed Sherlock he whispered a small 'thank you' to him and led Mycroft to the champagne. Mycroft downed the glass in one gulp.

'That was your one glass, Myc. No more.'

'Jus one more,' the man pouted. 'Pleaz?'

'Ugh. Fine. But actually taste it this time.'

'K!' Mycroft grabbed another glass and attempted to sip at it slowly, but those sips quickly turned into three large gulps and him demanding another. Sherlock laughed at his brother's behaviour and grabbed two glasses of his own, downing them within seconds.

'I bet I can drink faster than you,' he challenged Mycroft, hiccupping a little.

'Betcha ya can't,' Mycroft slurred. Greg and John both sighed and rubbed a hand along their foreheads in slight frustration. Oh the Holmes boys.

'Wha do I get if I win?' Mycroft asked.

'A grounding,' Violet said, coming up beside them. 'And a whap upside your head. Put that glass down. You too, Sherlock.'

'This is between me and Mycroft, Mother,' Sherlock retorted, hiccupping again and giggling. 'I'll – what d'ya want if ya win? Which you're not gonna cuz I'm gonna,' he asked Mycroft.

'Give me those,' Violet said sternly, scowling at her sons. She snatched their glasses away and handed them to John. She then smacked both her sons on the backs of their head as well as Greg. All three groaned.

'One, this is Sherlock's birthday, Mycroft! What were you thinking doing that with Greg? It was indecent and embarrassing for us all! Two, boys, neither of you can hold your drink. Mycroft is already beyond pissed and Sherlock, based on the snippets I've heard between you and John you aren't going to want to be pissed later. And three.' She paused before wrapping Greg and Mycroft in a large hug. 'Congratulations on your engagement! When am I getting grandchildren?'

Sherlock growled and quickly grabbed two more glasses whilst John and his mother were both congratulating Greg and Mycroft on their engagement. He swigged them both.

'Oooh!' he squealed. 'Tis good stuff.'

'Hey!' John pouted. 'Sherlock, please don't get pissed. I know it's your birthday, but please. I'm not getting pissed tonight, and I'd appreciate you if you stayed as sober as possible as well.'

Sherlock whined and pointed at his brother. 'B' My's pished.'

'Yes, but your brother's an idiot. We both know this. Please. I want you sober and able to eat cake off me without throwing up everywhere.'

'Errg, a'right. Promish t' not get pished.'

'Good. I'm making you some coffee to sober up. Or is that not OK after...?' He pointed to Sherlock's head and frowned slightly.

Sherlock snorted. 'Fuck it. Tis m' b'day. Fafer's na gonna feck it up. G' me coffee.'

'Ok. Go sit down. Eat some biscuits. I'll go make you coffee.'

'Hang on. Gonna gratulate ma bro propa.' Sherlock grinned and practically leapt at his brother, enveloping him in a hug.

'Congrats. Ya deserve t' be 'appy. God I love ya, bro.'

'Love ya too, Locky,' Mycroft grinned before bursting out in tears of joy. 'God! I'm jus so 'appy right now! Greggy n' I are gonna get married an maybe 'ave a kid or two. When are you an John gonna do zat?'

'Do what?' John asked, returning with a mug of fresh coffee.

'Marry n haf kids,' Sherlock retorted before also bursting into tears. 'God, mmm so 'appy too. Me n Jawn gonna haf kids too. Ya gonna be an uncle My.' He sobbed heavily. 'This moment tis beautiful.'

'You two are getting married too?!' Violet asked incredulously. 'Oh boys! Congratulations! When am I getting grandchildren?'

'Wait... What? No! Sorry, but no. We aren't getting married yet, and kids won't be happening until after we get married and maybe moved into a house instead of a flat. I'm sorry to disappoint everyone, but Sherlock and I aren't getting married yet.'

Sherlock snorted. 'Dun listen t' im. He's just mad cus Spock made n offer first.'

'I am so confused right now,' John sighed. 'Here's your coffee, Sherlock. Drink it slowly, alright?'

'Aww. D'ya dink mm an idiot,' Sherlock said as he did the exact opposite to John's words and gulped greedily at the hot beverage.

 _Right now I think you're a drunken idiot_ , John sighed to himself. 'I think we should all go home,' he said. 'It's getting late and the Holmes boys need to get some sleep and sober up.'

'One more dance?' Sherlock asked softly as he put his coffee down. 'Hmm?'

'OK. One more dance,' John agreed. 'Then we're going home.'

Sherlock grinned wickedly. 'Gangnam Style! Gangnam Style!'

'Oh god no,' John groaned as Sherlock burst out in the dance, laughing hysterically. 'I'm filming this to humiliate you later.' He pulled out his mobile and hit record, filming Sherlock not only trying to do the dance but also trying to sing the song. It wouldn't have surprised him in the slightest if Sherlock actually knew how to speak Korean either.

Sherlock burst into full song and laughed loudly as he stumbled around in his attempt at Gangnam Style. He circled his lover and sang down his ear, 'Oh sexy Jawn!' before bouncing over to his brother. 'Come on brofer. Dance. Celebrate! Ya just got engaged!'

Mycroft laughed loudly and began dancing about the room joyously, shouting, 'I just got engaged!' John filmed the whole thing.

Sherlock grinned as he came to a stop. 'Give tha t' me.' He beckoned John to give him his phone.

'Why?' John asked, turning the camera on Sherlock. 'What are you gonna do?'

'Mmm gonna tickle ya n ya won' last one minute.'

'Nope.' And John dashed off, Sherlock close behind, giggling like children. Sherlock sprinted after John, catching up to him with ease. He leapt into the air, lunged himself at John, and they both landed on the floor with a thud. Sherlock laughed and gazed into John's eyes.

'You're so beautiful.'

'So are you,' John breathed out softly, his eyes trapped gazing into Sherlock's.

'Will ya find me beautiful forever?' Sherlock asked, his voice rumbling deeply. 'Even when mmm old n grey?'

'Always.'

'Always,' Sherlock replied softly. 'Always.'

'Just kiss him already, dear!' Violet sighed loudly. Sherlock smirked and attacked John's lips.

'Always.'

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and kissed him soundly, pulling him close, both of them hardening rather quickly.

'We need to get home,' he whispered softly against Sherlock's lips. 'I want to fuck you into our mattress and then you can cover me in cake and eat it off me.'

'Ge' me 'ome!' Sherlock groaned, humping John frantically. 'I need dat.'

'Oi! Not here!' John protested. He shoved Sherlock off him and sat up, straightening his suit. 'Home is only a few blocks away. Think you can make it without ravishing me in a dirty alley?'

Sherlock licked his lips. 'Ow opposed t' dat idea are ya? Cus dat is hot!'

'Quite opposed,' John scoffed. 'I'm in my best tux for Christ's sake. I don't want to dirty it!'

'Pfft. I'll buy anofer one. Come on! Ya know mmm a dirty bastard. It's ma b'day.'

'No,' John said sternly. He grabbed his mobile and stopped recording. He pocketed it and stood up. 'So I suppose the party's over. Feel free to grab snacks on the way out and get home safe. Thanks so much for coming out to celebrate.'

'Yeh! Fanks! Had a goo time!'

Everyone said their goodbyes and congratulations. Greg and Myc left in a flourish, Mrs Hudson got a cab, Violet had her private car drive her away, and Molly returned to Bart's for the night. Then it was just John and Sherlock ambling toward home while Sherlock sang drunkenly.

'Ya can b' tha peanut butter t' ma jelly! Ya can b' tha butterflies tha I feel in ma belly! You can b' tha cap'n and I'll b' ya first mate!'

'I already am the captain,' John grinned. 'We're almost home. Come on.'

'Wha? 'Ome n b'day sex?!'

'Home then birthday sex.' John grinned. 'Look. I can see Speedy's from here.'

'Ya know Jawn, I had de las tablet. S' mm gonna rock ya world.'

'You took a Viagra tablet?' John asked. 'When?'

'Jush a min ago. When ya weren't lookin.'

'Oh dear lord.' John was vibrating with arousal now. 'I'm gonna ride you so fucking hard.' They made it back home and stumbled inside, Mrs Hudson having left the door unlocked for them. They couldn't get to the bedroom fast enough, shedding their clothes as they went.

'Prepare yaself. Gif me a show,' Sherlock panted as he laid back on the covers of their bed. John sucked his fingers into his mouth eagerly, plopping down on the bed in front of Sherlock. He leaned back and showed himself to Sherlock before pushing a finger inside, moaning loudly for Sherlock's benefit. It still felt weird to finger himself, but if it was for Sherlock he found it immensely more pleasurable than he normally would.

Sherlock grunted and squirmed. 'More! Faster!' John inserted another finger and located his prostate, crying out and panting harshly as he fucked his own fingers.

'Anofer finga n harder!'

John added a third finger and moaned obscenely. 'Oh god, Sherlock! I want you in my arse now! My fingers aren't nearly as pleasurable as your thick, fat cock.'

Sherlock giggled. 'Get on board soldier. If ya tink ma cock's not t' big for ya.'

'Your cock is the perfect size,' John growled. He removed his fingers and crawled up Sherlock's body, devouring his lips while positioning himself over his lover's drugged cock.

Sherlock's breath hitched. 'Ride me, Watson.'

'God yes,' John groaned. He sat up and began to push down on Sherlock's cock until he was seated fully. He whimpered and shifted slightly, both men moaning. He began to subtly move up and down until he relaxed around Sherlock's cock and began riding him hard and fast. Sherlock bucked his hips up and down frantically. His long legs came to wrap around the good doctor's waist and he was beginning to pant and moan, his tongue happily sticking out of his lips.

'Mmm. Let me get a taste of that,' John moaned. He leant down and stuck his own tongue out to greet Sherlock's before sucking it into his mouth greedily. Sherlock kissed John like there was no tomorrow. He pounded himself into him without mercy and carded his hands through his lover's hair. John growled and met Sherlock thrust for thrust, their skin slapping harshly. His hands held Sherlock's face tenderly, tilting it back so his mouth would open more and he could delve his tongue inside.

'Shit,' Sherlock mumbled as his entire body suddenly lurched upward of its own accord. 'Oh fuck.' He was beginning to cum long, hard, and intensely into John.

'That's it love. Cum for me,' John growled, rocking back on Sherlock's throbbing cock and seating himself fully so Sherlock was buried deep.

'Yes!' Sherlock cried out. 'Yes! Fuck. Feels so good.'

John continued to wiggle on Sherlock's cumming cock, drawing out his orgasm as long as he could. Once Sherlock collapsed against the sheets John clambered off and went to the kitchen. He grabbed the cake he'd bought and brought it back to the bedroom.

'Seeing as I haven't cum yet, want to cover me in this and eat it off me till I'm a lusting mess?' he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

'Oh god yes,' Sherlock moaned pitifully. 'Just give me a second to catch my breath.'

'Shall I start while you gather your wits?' John smirked. He dabbed his finger in the icing and painted it down his nose, sucking the remaining icing off his finger. 'Mmm. Tastes good, love.'

'That's it!' Sherlock moved over to John and grabbed a large bit of the cake, smearing it on his lover's body. 'Get on top of me so I can lick it all off.'

'Wouldn't you rather have me on the bed, spread out like a buffet?' John purred.

'I – god yes,' Sherlock purred back. John handed Sherlock the cake and moved onto the bed. He lay along near the end, his feet and outstretched arms dangling off the edge.

'All set,' he grinned. 'Now devour me.' Sherlock scooped up the cake in both his hands and covered John in it, smearing the icing, jam, and cakey goodness across the full length of his body. He made sure John's cock had a good covering too. He'd leave that for last.

'Ready to be devoured?'

'God yes,' John panted. His heart was beating incredibly fast in anticipation and arousal. He couldn't wait to feel Sherlock's teeth and tongue on his skin. Sherlock growled and instantly began to chomp down on the cake, pressing his tongue to the bare skin below it. John hummed and purred loudly, pushing his body as close to that tongue as possible. Sherlock made his way down John's body slowly and teasingly. He ate the cake greedily and lapped and nipped at John's chest. He giggled slightly when Sherlock started nipping at his sides. But as Sherlock made his way lower down he began to squirm in need. He needed those brilliant, magnificent lips around his aching cock. Needed that mouth to tease him, torture him, and do whatever Sherlock damn well pleased with him. He needed the man that mouth belonged to desperately. He whined and canted his hips slightly, letting Sherlock know what he wanted.

'Shhh,' Sherlock whispered. 'It's OK. I know what you want.' He lapped at the cake on John's thighs.

'Tell me how much you love me. No, tell me what you love about me.'

'God,' John groaned, spreading his legs apart so Sherlock could lap at the cake there easier. 'What I love about you? It's gonna be a damn long list.'

'Then you better start talking dear,' Sherlock chuckled, stopping his actions to gaze into John's eyes.

'First off I love your brain. Your genius, beautiful mind. It's part of what drew me to you in the first place. Those deductions you spit out when we first met were spot on, and I was charmed and flattered from the very start.'

'Shall we see what else my lips can do? Other than spit out deductions.' Sherlock ducked back down and swallowed John's cock whole.

'Fuck!' John cried, lurching up and driving his cock deeper down Sherlock's throat. Sherlock hollowed out his cheeks and bobbed his head furiously. He lapped his tongue around John's cock, swallowing the cake with hungry slurping sounds. John whimpered and whined and locked his ankles around Sherlock's shoulders, pulling him down further. Sherlock chuckled around John's cock as he sped up. His eyes lit up as an idea popped into his mind. He brushed his fingers up John's thigh before pressing two of them into his entrance with ease. John gasped and pushed back against the fingers, screwing his eyes shut as he felt himself nearing the edge. Sherlock found John's prostate and began prodding it in time with his head bobbing.

'Oh fuck!' John cried, his hands clutching the sheets tightly. 'Fuck! Gonna cum!'

Sherlock pulled back and removed his fingers. 'Happy birthday to me,' he said, crawling up John and shoving his cock inside of him. John screamed as Sherlock pushed inside, causing his own cock to throb before it erupted, splashing cum all over their torsos and the sheets. Sherlock whooped for joy and began thrusting in and out of John as hard and as fast as possible. John continued to scream a litany of swears and some 'I bloody love you's made it in as well.

Sherlock soon joined in John's screams as he came as well. 'I bloody love you too!'

John collapsed against the sheets, panting harshly. His heart was beating erratically but he felt truly sated, well fucked, and incredibly loved. Sherlock sighed happily and snuggled against John's chest, closing his eyes.

'Best birthday ever,' he mumbled sleepily.

'I'm glad you enjoyed yourself,' John sighed happily. 'Do you want me to continue my list of things I love about you? Or do you want to go to sleep?'

'Continue.' Sherlock placed a kiss to John's chest, humming when he tasted cake still. 'I'll probably fall asleep though. I'm tired and full of cake.'

'Well, let's get into bed first before you fall asleep.' He moved up the bed and pulled Sherlock along with him. Once his head was on a pillow he pulled the covers over them and pulled Sherlock close.

'Now, shall we begin?'

'Shower me in love,' Sherlock said softly, smiling widely.

'Then I'll start with that smile.' John grinned and touched a finger to the dimple in Sherlock's cheek. 'I don't get to see it very often but I saw it quite a lot today. And it's beautiful and all mine. Because I know you have different smiles depending on who you're around. And the one for me is the brightest and the most genuine. And I love it.'

Sherlock's smile grew and he pressed himself closer to John. 'Tell me more.'

'Your mouth.' John smirked. 'It's fantastic at giving me pleasure but it's even better at spewing deductions and rambling on and on about cases. And, connected to that, your voice is gorgeous. I could listen to you talk all day and I would never tire of hearing that gorgeous voice.'

'My voice has always affected you,' Sherlock growled. 'It sets your skin on fire. Your heart is pounding in your chest. I love that my voice can do that to you merely by speaking.'

'I especially love it when you say dirty, filthy things to me,' John hummed. He skimmed a hand down Sherlock's arm and clasped his hand.

'I love your hands too. They're slightly scarred from your experiments, but you got them doing your work. And those fingers. God. Don't even get me started on those long, dextrous fingers that can reach so deep inside me and tickle me and caress me.'

Sherlock squeezed John's hand and chuckled. 'Tell me more.'

'Your hair is soft to the touch and yet firm. I can tug and pull on it all I want during sex and it will still bounce back to its naturally curly state.'

Sherlock tilted his head and rested it on John's shoulder. 'Can I ask you something?'

'Of course.'

'I'm the first man you've been with, correct? What was it like to suddenly be sleeping with a man instead of a woman?'

John blinked and thought about that. 'Different,' he said, still thinking. 'It was very different. I don't know how else to describe it. I'd never sucked another man's cock before yours that first night three years ago, and I can only hope I did a decent job. The fucking though? It was strange at first. I was used to more lubrication, you know? But you felt utterly fantastic around my cock and I loved every minute of it. And it is very different to be sleeping with you, but a good kind of different.'

'You did more than a decent job. You made me feel... I can't explain. But it was amazing.'

'Good to know.' John grinned and kissed Sherlock softly before he continued on with his list.

'To go back to my list, I have to add your eyes. They're never the same colour two days in a row, and sometimes, depending on the light, your eyes will be two different colours. Blue, green, grey, gold. They're a mystery and utterly gorgeous. Much like the man they belong to.'

'My eyes are only a reflection of what they're looking at, hence why they're gorgeous.' Sherlock smiled and kissed John. John hummed and carded a hand through Sherlock's curls, kissing him softly.

Sherlock hummed loudly as he pulled away. 'Anything else on that list of yours?'

'That voluptuous bum of yours,' John chuckled. 'And your cock, of course. I'm sure I'll think of more later. I'll have to write them down.'

Sherlock yawned. 'Alright. You do that. I'll sleep.'

'I'll write them down in the morning. I'm pretty knackered myself.' He kissed Sherlock on his forehead and settled down against his pillow, yawning loudly. 'Goodnight, Sherlock. Happy birthday.'

'G'night. Thanks for everything today. Sorry about getting slightly pissed.'

'It's alright. It was your birthday. I shouldn't have been so uptight. I was just worried that if you got pissed then I would too. And after New Year's who knew what sort of antics we would have gotten up to?'

'Mmm. At least we didn't shag like rabbits over bloody speaker phone!'

'Very true,' John laughed. 'But let's not think about that now. Now it's about us, celebrating the last few minutes of your birthday. I say we snog until midnight and then we go to sleep.'

Sherlock smirked. 'Then snog me, my idiot.'

'I'm an idiot in love with a genius.' John smiled and pulled Sherlock close. He sealed their lips together, his tongue poking out and licking along Sherlock's upper lip. Sherlock pushed his lips against John's tenderly, moving a hand to caress his cheek. John parted Sherlock's lips with his tongue and gingerly made his way inside, lazily flicking his tongue against Sherlock's. His free hand came up and tangled in Sherlock's curls, pulling slightly and scratching at his scalp.

'I love you,' Sherlock mumbled between their lips. 'I love you so bloody much.'

'I love you too, Sherlock,' John whispered. 'I love you more than anything in the world. Because you are my world.'

'You're my world. You're my universe. You're the air in my lungs and the wind beneath my wings. You're the reason my heart is still beating.'

'You and your poetry.' John smiled. 'I love it. Don't ever stop being poetic. Ah! There's another thing I love about you! Your poetic way of speaking. It's beautiful.'

'Words are so important. They are the foundation of our society. They've always fascinated me, so I love to speak poetically. If we have children I hope to pass that trait on.'

'I hope our children get your smarts too,' John sighed happily. 'How would we even have kids anyway? Adoption or surrogate?'

'Surrogate, definitely. I want a little you and a little me.'

John smiled and purred. 'I can't wait to have a little Sherlock running around.'

Sherlock laughed sadly. 'Yes, though I'm sure they'll try your patience. Benny certainly did.'

'Your dream son?' John asked softly.

'Yeah. His drug habits were the main problem, his attitude another.' Sherlock swallowed loudly. 'I miss him.'

John hugged Sherlock close and buried his nose in his hair. 'I'm sorry, love. One day we'll have children of our own. Real children. Not that our dream children weren't real to you, but you know what I mean. Although I would love to see you with a little girl instead of a boy.'

'Felicity, my little princess. I had tea parties with her and we watched  _Doctor Who_  together. Even if you said it was too scary for her. It was our secret. And I taught her Gallifreyan.' Sherlock's voice broke. 'I was her daddy and she was my beautiful little girl.'

John hugged Sherlock closer and sighed. He didn't know what to say. Sherlock had had a whole other life in his dream. And it was a good life too. They were married, had two beautiful children, and apparently even Mycroft and Greg had gotten married and had a son of their own if his memory served him correctly.

'I wish I knew what to say,' he finally mumbled. 'But I'm at a loss for words. All I can think to say is that I love you and I'm so sorry you lost your family. But one day we'll have a family again, complete with kids, a cat, and maybe some bees for you to tend. I just wish we could skip ahead to that.'

'No!' Sherlock sat upright, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. 'Don't bloody say that. Just – don't. I don't want to skip time.'

'I don't either. Shhh. Calm down.' John pet Sherlock's hair soothingly. 'I'm sorry. I don't want to skip any time I have with you. I don't know why I said that. I suppose because I want to skip to a time where we're already married and have kids and we're safe from Moriarty and we're happy.'

Sherlock nodded and settled down on John's chest. 'Then bloody marry me,' he said brokenly.

'One day very soon,' John promised. 'Now go to sleep.'

'Don't leave it too late. Life is short,' Sherlock said in a hushed whisper as he fell asleep.

'Soon, love. Very soon. I promise.' He kissed Sherlock's temple and settled down against his pillow. 'I promise.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay happy feels ^_^
> 
> Sorry. I just like it when our boys are happy and not in pain or trouble of any sort. And Sherlock's birthday was just a wonderful event to write. He deserved to be spoiled after all the shit they'd gone through recently.
> 
> Next chapter will be up Wednesday some time. It's a shorter one, and there will be withdrawal symptoms and anger in it, so if that's triggering for anyone or if you just don't like reading about the effects of drugs, you can skip the beginning. Because you don't want to miss the rest of it ;)
> 
> Until then!
> 
> TSA + IB


	58. A Case and a New Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy Wednesday. This is a short chapter, less than 10 pages. The chapter that will be posted on Friday is about the same length.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John, Greg
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: drug withdrawals, minor violence, semi-public rutting, so much fluff you just might die

Sherlock woke up with a jolt. 'What the hell?!' he screamed as he tried to get up from the bed but was prevented by doing so. He glanced down at his feet and noticed the restraints tying him down. He then looked at his wrists. There were restraints tying him down there too.

'What the fuck? John! Get your arse in here! Now!'

John took a final sip of his tea and went back to the bedroom.

'Ah. You're awake. How are you feeling?'

'I wouldn't know! I'm rather "tied down."'

'I meant your withdrawals,' John sighed. 'I've had to keep you heavily sedated the past few days. Your coke bugs started early on the seventh. It's now the twelfth. So I'll ask you again, how are you feeling?'

'I need to punch something!' Sherlock's entire body was shaking. 'And stab somebody! And slowly torture somebody! And – let me out of these bloody restraints!'

'I'm taking those to mean that you aren't feeling like yourself,' John sighed. 'And I'm not letting you out.'

'I feel bloody perfect,' Sherlock grunted, struggling against his restraints. 'Let me the fuck out!'

'Nope.' John walked back out to the kitchen and prepared another needle with a sedative. He'd need to get more if Sherlock's behaviour continued. He returned and injected the needle into the IV bag he'd pilfered from work. He'd needed it as Sherlock hadn't eaten much in the past few days and he needed to get some nutrients somehow. He pushed the plunger down and Sherlock relaxed instantly, his eyes drooping shut as he fell asleep slowly.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock awoke a few days later with a soft whimper. 'John? Where are you? What have I done wrong? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

John entered the room quietly, not wanting to start another shouting match.

'Your coke bugs have stopped,' he said softly. 'But I've kept you sedated because you've become quite violent.' His black eye was proof of that. He'd tried to take Sherlock out of the restraints yesterday but the man had screamed and flailed his free hand wildly. It had smacked John rather hard in the face so he'd had to sedate him again in order to restrain him yet again.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock sniffed, a tear dropping down his cheek. 'John, I'm scared. Let me out, please?'

John swallowed and nodded. He moved over to the foot of the bed and removed the straps from Sherlock's ankles before moving up to his wrists. He swallowed again and unbuckled the first cuff before moving to the next one. Once Sherlock was unrestrained he took a tentative step back, watching him warily.

Sherlock raised a hand up to John's face, lip trembling. 'I did this to you. I hurt you.' He burst into tears. 'God. I'm so sorry!' he wailed, launching himself at John to hug him. John froze to the spot, not wanting to make any sudden moves to cause Sherlock to lash out again. But he seemed more emotionally distraught than violent for the time being. So he sighed and moved closer to the bed, sitting down on it. Sherlock was in his lap in an instant.

'I'm a monster! I hurt my John!'

'It was an accident,' John said softly. 'I'm OK. Really.'

'Aren't you angry at me?' Sherlock sobbed.

'No. Just worried about you.'

'Don't worry about me. I just need a case. Think you can score me one?'

'Greg actually called me this morning. Said he had a weird one for you whenever you were feeling better.' John smiled softly. 'You up for it?'

Sherlock nodded eagerly. 'Gimme a case! Gimme!'

'OK love. Get dressed. I'll meet you in the sitting room.' John released Sherlock and he was up like a shot, scrambling about the room in search of clothes. John went to the bathroom and washed his face quickly. His eye was still tender and was a dark purple in colour, but he wasn't going to cover it up. Greg would probably know what happened anyway. It would do more harm than good to Sherlock if he covered it up. He didn't want him thinking that he was hiding his pain from him or something like that.

Sherlock threw on a random assortment of clothes in a hurry. 'Come on John! I wanna go!' he exclaimed, ever like the big, impatient child.

'Alright, dear! I'm coming!' He dried his face and met Sherlock in the sitting room, laughter bubbling from his lips as he saw Sherlock's choice of clothes. 'You really were in a hurry, huh?'

The man was wearing one of John's more ill-fitting jumpers, his dress trousers, and two different shoes. His scarf was a deep red and his coat was hanging haphazardly on his shoulders.

'Gah!' Sherlock kicked off one of the shoes and put on a matching one instead. 'It'll do,' he sighed as he shrugged his coat on properly and buttoned it up.

'I'll let Greg know we're on our way. He gave me the address to the crime scene.' He followed Sherlock downstairs, typing a quick message to Greg.

 _On our way. Thanks. Sherlock really needed this. –JW_  
  
The reply came a moment later.

 __ **No problem. See you soon. –GL  
**  
John made it outside and into the cab Sherlock had hailed. He gave the cabbie the address and they took off, Sherlock practically vibrating in his seat in excitement.

'A case! A case, John! An actual case!'

'I know, love,' John grinned. 'I'm excited too.'

Sherlock crawled onto John's lap. 'How excited?' he purred loudly, humping him like he knew his lover liked.

'If you have a problem with this you can take it up with Mycroft Holmes. I believe you have heard of him, Samuel Smith,' Sherlock said in reply to the cabbie's grumbles. The cabbie instantly paled. 'Hmm. Good. Back to work.'

'Excited enough,' John groaned, meeting Sherlock's thrusts. 'I can't really describe it, but I know I'm not even close to being as excited as you are. It just feels good to be going to a crime scene again. Oh fuck. Don't stop. Keep doing that. Oh god yes.'

Sherlock rut harder against John. 'I remember a time where you'd be opposed to humping in the back of a taxi cab. Look at you now. Feels good, doesn't it?'

'God yes,' John groaned. His hands gripped Sherlock's hips and helped him move harder. 'Oh fuck. Ugh! God! Close already!'

Sherlock seared his lips to John's and rubbed himself over his lover's throbbing erection more roughly, desperate to make him cum. John's hands moved under Sherlock's coat to grope his bum tightly. He moaned slightly into their kiss as his body stiffened and he began to cum in his pants. Sherlock moaned loudly into the kiss as he too came in his pants.

An awkward cough interrupted them. 'Excuse me lads, but we've arrived at your destination.'

John cleared his throat and blushed slightly, his cheek with the Gallifreyan symbol for love burning slightly hotter as it was still healing. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He paid their fare and gave the cabbie an extra £20 for what he'd had to listen to. He then opened the door and clambered out, Sherlock right behind him.

'Come on! A case! Here we come!' John laughed joyfully and followed Sherlock to the crime scene tape. Greg greeted them there.

'Hello boys,' he smiled gently. He held the tape up for them to cross under. 'Welcome back.'

Sherlock grinned at the D.I. 'It's good to be back. So, what do we know so far? You said that this was a strange one.'

'Young girl, mid-twenties, found strangled over here.' He led them to an abandoned house where a young brunette's body was propped against a wall. 'She's the fourth brunette we've found this way. And she's also an American tourist, just like the others. So the pattern has emerged, but we still don't have any leads or motive.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, a thousand deductions brimming in his mind.

'I'm not entirely sure she was strangled. It's only been made to look that way.'

'But she has ligature marks on her neck,' Greg said, pointing to them.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. 'I'm surrounded by idiots.'

Greg sighed and gestured to the body. 'Fine. Tell me what you see.'

Sherlock smirked smugly.

'Those are definitely ligature marks. However they are fresh. Which is strange because this body has been here for at least a couple of days. She was poisoned. Look at the light bluish tint to her skin. The marks on her neck can't be a couple of hours old so... Oh. Oh!' Sherlock clapped his hands together. 'The killer is still here in this very building. As I was saying, I am surrounded by idiots! Not even our killer is smart enough to get out when the police arrived.'

'Wait... He's still here?' Greg asked. 'Where could he be? We swept the alley and the buildings next to it.'

'These houses are old. Really old. So...' Sherlock began jumping along the floorboards until he found what he was looking for. 'Ah ha!' He ripped up a small carpet and revealed a trap door. 'He'll be down here.' He lifted the door up. 'Give me two minutes alone to catch him.'

'Sherlock wait!' John cried. He chased after him, pulling his gun out once he was down the trapdoor. It was dark and damp down there and he had to pull out his torch in order to see where the hell the entry started and in which direction it went.

'Sherlock!' he whispered loudly. 'Where'd you get off to?'

Sherlock crept through the passage way. It seemed to stretch on for miles. He hadn't gotten far when he felt hands close around his neck. He tried to scream but failed so instead he attempted to struggle free, lashing out at the killer.

'Sherlock!' John called out again, a bit louder that time. He swept his torch along the walls, looking for a turn or another passage that Sherlock could have taken. 'Sherlock! If you can hear me make some sort of noise so I can find you!'

Sherlock kicked out at the wall, causing a loud, banging sound to echo through the passageway.

John perked up and listened. The sound echoed around him, then it sounded again. It was definitely nearby, but where? He ventured out a little further and saw another passageway. The noise resounded again and it was definitely coming from down there. John turned off his torch and gave himself some time to adjust to the darkness. Once he could see enough he ventured further down and could vaguely see movement just ahead. One figure was definitely Sherlock, so the other must have been the murderer. He took the safety off his gun and snuck up behind the man attacking his lover.

'Let him go, or I  _will_  kill you,' he growled, pushing his gun against the back of the attacker's head.

The hands instantly unwound from Sherlock's neck and he gasped for air like a fish out of water. As the killer turned to face John, Sherlock took the opportunity to knock him out with one blow to the head.

'Nice team work,' he croaked, rubbing at his aching throat.

John turned his torch back on and examined Sherlock for any injuries. 'You OK?' he asked softly.

'Mmm. I think so. Why is it that killers always try to strangle me? It's not very nice,' Sherlock pouted.

'No. It's really not.' He looked down at the unconscious body of their killer. 'Think you can carry him back to Lestrade and his boys?'

'Me lifting killers around? I like to beat killers up but we've already done that, and quite efficiently too. Besides, it will only mean paperwork and lots of it if I do carry him, believe me.' Sherlock raised an eyebrow and snorted. 'Get Greg and his dogs down here.'

John sighed and clicked the safety back on his gun. He stuffed it in the waistband of his jeans and pulled out his mobile. No signal. Of course. He groaned and attempted to hoist the unconscious man over his shoulders to no avail.

'Gah! Stay here with him and make sure he remains unconscious. I'm going to go find Lestrade.' He flicked his torch around the passageway. 'That is if I don't get lost first.' He made his way back the way he assumed he'd come from and turned back down the other passage, hoping he was going in the right direction.

'Yes. I'll just watch the killer,' Sherlock sighed loudly in annoyance and boredom. This had been a ridiculously easy case to solve and he was craving more already.

He stood there for a good few minutes before hearing a strange sound. It was a small and pitifully sad sound. It sounded a lot like a kitten mewling for its mother. Further investigation showed that it was indeed a kitten. Sherlock chuckled softly and knelt down beside the tiny creature.

'Hello little one. What are you doing all the way down here?' The kitten merely cried again in reply. Sherlock's heart warmed. 'Don't you have a mummy?' The detective decided that if there  _was_  an adult cat then it was likely that she was dead. He wasn't going to allow the kitten to receive the same fate.

He cautiously scooped the kitten up. The furry creature was barely the size of his hand and was shaking terribly so from the cold.

'Shhh. I've got you now.' He wrapped her up in his coat, holding her close. 'You'll be OK. I'll keep you nice and toasty.'

John somehow managed to make it back to the passageway's entrance. Greg was waiting for him.

'We got him,' John said. 'He's unconscious now but I don't know for how long. Follow me.' He ducked back into the passageway and waited for Greg and a few of his men to follow, all of them shining their torches along the walls to search for Sherlock and the killer.

'Sherlock! Start talking so we can get back to you!' John hollered.

'Through here!' Sherlock called softly, not wanting to frighten the already traumatised bundle of shaking fur in his coat. John and Greg turned toward Sherlock's voice, travelling down another passageway until they saw the killer still unconscious on the ground and Sherlock with his coat wrapped tightly around him. The officers cuffed the man and carried him out towards the entrance. Greg, John, and Sherlock followed close behind.

'You alright there, mate?' Greg asked, eyeing Sherlock carefully. 'You're shaking. And are those bruises on your neck?'

The kitten meowed in response before Sherlock even had a chance to reply. Sherlock coughed.

'Err... yes... I'm alright,' he said, trying to cover up the high pitched sound.

'Did you just meow?' John asked, but Greg was already talking over him.

'I'll need you to come to the Yard with me and fill out some paperwork. If the killer assaulted you we can charge him for that. And then later we can pin the murders on him once we've gathered more evidence.'

Sherlock raised a finger to his lips and silently hushed John. He had to get the kitten back home. He didn't have time to be faffing about with paperwork. Time to come up with an excuse.

'I... can't. I'm in shock. Where's a blanket when you need one?'

'Really?' Greg asked, clearly not buying it. 'In shock? From what, may I ask?'

'I was almost strangled to death! My life flashed before my eyes.'

Greg sighed and made his way up the door opening. Sherlock followed and John was close behind.

'OK. Fine,' Greg sighed. 'Go home and calm down. I'll stop by later to get your statements.'

'Brilliant. You do that.'

Sherlock was out the building and hailing a cab in a flash. All the while he clutched the kitten in his pocket tightly to him. John followed Sherlock outside and into the cab. They were strangely silent the ride home, Sherlock's hands shoved in his pockets the entire trip despite it being quite warm in the vehicle.

'Right. We're home. Good,' Sherlock muttered as the cab pulled up by the flat. 'Come on.' He clambered from the cab cautiously and smiled to himself as he felt the kitten shift within his coat. John raised an eyebrow questioningly and paid the cabbie before climbing out and following Sherlock inside. Once they were both upstairs Sherlock began pacing ever so slightly, only one hand shoved in a pocket. And that pocket was squirming from something other than Sherlock's hand. And... was it mewing?

'Alright Sherlock,' John sighed, plopping down onto his chair. 'What have you got in your pocket?'

Sherlock chuckled softly. 'Someone very precious that needs us to protect her.' He sat down beside John and slowly revealed the tiny kitten. Now in better light, Sherlock could see that the kitten was ginger with beautiful markings. She was gorgeous.

'Help me, John. I think I'm in love,' he whispered, gently stroking the tip of one of the kitten's ears.

John's heart melted at the sight of the tiny kitten. She fit in Sherlock's palm with ease she was so small. She couldn't have been more than a few weeks old. John cooed and stroked a finger from the top of her head and down her spine, her little tail flicking from the touch. He could hear her tiny little purr and he felt himself fall in love with her too.

'Did you find her in that passageway?' he asked softly, gently stroking the tiny ball of fluff with his index finger.

Sherlock nodded. 'I wasn't going to leave her there all alone to die.'

'I wouldn't have been able to do that either,' John sighed. 'She's so small. Can't be more than a few weeks old. Where's your mummy little one?' The kitten mewed in response and butted her head against John's finger. He smiled and scratched her ear gently. Her purr got a little louder.

'She's absolutely adorable. And such a beautiful colour too. Look at those markings. I'm smitten already.'

'You said our future had a cat in it. And I do believe this is her.' The kitten climbed up Sherlock's chest and snuggled under his chin.

'Happy there little one?' He smiled and kissed the ginger furball. John watched Sherlock interact with the kitten. He was incredibly gentle with her, more gentle than John had ever seen him act in his life. It made him think of how good a father Sherlock would be one day, holding their son or daughter close, lulling him or her to sleep, rocking his arms gently as he hummed 'The Lonely Mountain.' John's heart leapt in his chest. He needed to marry Sherlock, and soon, so their future could truly begin. But John was nothing if not traditional. He would have to talk to Violet as well as Mycroft before he proposed. He cleared his throat softly, breaking Sherlock out of his gentle musings with the tiny kitten.

'We'll need to get some supplies,' he said. 'Food, a litter tray, litter, dishes, toys. Want to go out now? I'm sure you can smuggle her into Tesco's and she can test out the toys herself.'

Sherlock sighed. 'But she seems so content here,' he whispered as he continued to pet the little, purry, sleepy kitty. 'Can't we go out later?'

'I suppose we can stay for a little while. But we'll need supplies sooner rather than later. Preferably before tomorrow. She's gonna want food when she wakes up.'

'I know,' Sherlock mumbled sleepily, eyelids drooping. 'But right now both the kitty and I are exhausted. We'll get her some special kitty milk for her wittle belly once we're awake.'

'Oh dear lord. Falling to baby talk already?' John smiled softly at his sleepy detective and their new kitten. He helped Sherlock move into his seat properly and then took a picture of the two of them. He'd make a blog post later, maybe try to attach the photo to it as well. But right now he needed to go speak with Violet and Mycroft before he lost his nerve.

'I'm going out for a bit, OK love?' he whispered softly. 'If you need me, text me. I love you.' He kissed Sherlock lightly on his forehead. 'Same goes for you little one.' He pressed a tender kiss to the top of the kitten's head. She purred in response. 'I love you both very much.'

He dashed out the door and hailed a cab. First thing's first. He needed to talk to Mycroft. Violet would be a lot more pleasant to talk to, and he imagined he'd stay a little longer with her out of pleasantries more than the awkwardness sure to ensue with Mycroft.

Sherlock fell fast asleep, a purry kitty snuggled against him. 'I love you my darling ginger kitty. We're one and the same, you and I. I'll always be here for you,' he mumbled as he continued to stroke the kitty in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they finally got a cat. We'd mentioned it so early in the story and now it's finally happened. You seriously have no idea how happy this makes me. I hope it's made you all happy too. John will be meeting Mycroft to get his blessing to marry Sherlock next chapter. There will be loads of feels and, just a warning, Moriarty makes another appearance. And he's pretty sinister. But Mycroft does get to meet the new kitten. And she even gets a name :)
> 
> See you Friday.
> 
> TSA + IB


	59. Trouble Brewing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Happy Friday! I completed my last class of the semester today! Now I just have final exams Monday and Tuesday. Then I get to go home and be with my cat! And my family too. But mostly my cat ;)
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Mycroft, Moriarty, Sherlock  
> Me: John and Greg
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Mycroft gets drunk, Moriarty comes back and attacks Myc, blood, very brief small teenie tiny mention of bodily violation

John's foot kept bouncing on the drive over to Mycroft's. He was nervous about not only what Mycroft had to say, but also that he might say no. When he arrived he paid the cabbie and stepped out onto the steps leading up to the mansion door. He swallowed thickly and moved forward to knock, but a security officer apprehended him.

'Mr Holmes has been expecting you,' he said cryptically. 'You are to come with me. I'll take you to him.' John merely nodded and followed the man inside.

Mycroft lifted his head as John entered his living room. He'd been expecting the army doctor to pop in sooner or later concerning his brother and marrying him. It had been inevitable.

'Ah, John. I've been expecting you. Do come in. Take a seat.'

John nodded and sat in the chair opposite Mycroft. It was stiff and quite uncomfortable. He waited for Mycroft to finish whatever business he was doing, asking for a cup of tea while he waited.

Mycroft put his paperwork to one side. It could wait. Once sat down with a steaming cup of tea, and ensuring John had a cuppa too, he spoke up.

'So what brings you to my doorstep?' he asked, feigning ignorance. 'Is Sherlock quite alright?'

'Oh yes. Sherlock is quite alright. We had a case this morning, caught the killer too. Though I'm sure you probably already know that. As well as why I'm here.' He swallowed a large gulp of tea before continuing.

'I want to marry your brother and I would like to have your blessing before I propose.'

Mycroft's lips twitched into a smirk. 'Do you now?' he said in great amusement.

'Yes. I do.' John sat his cup of tea down. 'You see, after we had apprehended the murderer, Sherlock had been acting slightly different. His coat was drawn tight around him, he had his hands shoved in his pockets, and he was silent.  _Silent_ , Mycroft. When we got home I asked him what was going on and... he pulled the tiniest kitten I've ever seen out of his pocket. And he was so gentle and loving with her I just... I couldn't help but see him as a father being gentle and loving with our children. I always knew I was going to marry him one day, but seeing that solidified it. I want to marry him. I want to have a family with him. I want to grow old and die with him. So please, can I have your blessing to marry your brother?'

Mycroft smiled and nodded. 'I do believe my brother would make an excellent father. However you understand my doubts, yes? A lot has happened between the two of you. Sometimes your relationship is... destructive. And not long ago Sherlock was distraught because of the arguments happening between the two of you. I need you to promise me that you will look after him. Because if I find out you've broken my little brother's heart ever again, I'll kill you. Understood? I will kill you with my bare hands.'

John nodded and hung his head. 'I understand your doubts, because I have them myself. I love Sherlock with all my heart and soul, but our fights are always destructive and quite emotional. One of us always ends up leaving the flat for an extended period of time.' He looked back up at Mycroft. 'I'm not a religious man, Mycroft. I don't pray, I don't believe, I have no faith. But if there is just one thing I believe in, just one thing, I believe in Sherlock.'

'You love my brother. That much is clear. It's just – I suppose I just don't want to fail in protecting my brother once more. I'm not saying you're a danger but you  _have_  hurt him in the past, both emotionally and physically, and even mentally too. I am being cautious about this. I hope I'm not coming across as cruel.'

'No. No, I understand,' John said solemnly. 'You don't want me to hurt him again. I don't want to hurt him again either. But I can see you won't be giving me your blessing, so I'll just go.'

'Excuse me? Did I say no? Of course you have my blessing.'

John blinked. 'I... I do?'

'Yes,' Mycroft said gently. 'You see, whilst you and Sherlock have had your destructive moments, there are times where I look at my brother and he is more content and complete than I have ever seen him. That is due to you I believe. So I will give you the benefit of the doubt and give you my blessing.'

John grinned brightly. 'Thank you, Mycroft. Thank you.'

'You are quite welcome. Will you stay and celebrate? Have some champagne?'

'Thank you, but no thanks,' John declined politely. 'I'm still learning how to control my alcohol intake and I would hate to go overboard. Plus, I still need to visit your mother. But thank you for the offer.'

'One glass, one toast. I insist, please. We're both getting married to the men we love. Let us celebrate a little.'

'Well, when you put it that way.' John grinned. 'OK. One glass, one toast. Then I need to go visit you mother.'

'Fantastic.' Mycroft stood and grabbed a large bottle of champagne. He popped it open and poured two glasses, handing one over to John before taking a seat once more.

John accepted the glass and raised it in a toast. 'To marrying the men we love, and living happily ever after.'

Mycroft raised his glass. 'To marrying the men we love, and living happily ever after.' He swigged his glass and was pouring himself another before John even had a chance to sip at his. And down the second glass went.

'Whoa. Slow down there Myc.' John sipped at his glass as Mycroft poured himself another glass and downed it. 'You feeling OK?'

'I feel quite alright.'

Of course that was a lie. He was far from alright. Things with Moriarty had taken an unexpected turn, and his work was starting to take a toll on him. Despite being ecstatic about getting married to Gregory, and his own brother finally finding happiness, Mycroft himself was far from happy. He carried so much guilt with him it was beginning to almost physically pain him. The only way he could rid himself of that guilt was via alcohol. But he didn't have a problem. He wasn't an alcoholic. He was fine.

Despite what he kept telling himself, the fact that he ignored John and gulped down two more glasses at a rapid rate told another story entirely.

He was an alcoholic falling apart at the seams.

'Look, I know what a man looks like when he's distressed and has turned to the drink to kill the pain. I was there not too long ago. If you ever need to talk, I'll be more than willing to listen. You're going to be my brother very soon, and family needs to stick together. So please, if there's something you need to get off your chest, go right ahead.' He finished his drink and sat it down, watching Mycroft carefully.

'I haf no idea what ya talkin' about,' Mycroft hiccupped, pouring himself another glass. 'Dere's nofing wrong wid me.'

'Nope. Give me that.' John snatched the glass and bottle out of Mycroft's hands. He drank what was in the glass simply because he didn't want it to go to waste. 'There is definitely something going on with you. Now, I know you're not going to talk to me about it, but please talk to someone. Someone you trust. Please, before your drinking gets worse.'

Mycroft glanced up at John with sad eyes. 'I can't.'

'Can't what? Stop drinking or talk to someone?'

'Both,' Mycroft croaked, sliding his trembling hands over his face and beginning to sob.

'Myc, what is going on?' John asked softly. 'Please talk to me. Do I need to send you to AA or rehab? Because I will.'

'Like hell you will!' Mycroft rose to his feet, looming over the shorter man. 'This is none of your business!'

'Mycroft, you enrolled Sherlock and me in rehab somewhat against our wills. I will do the same for you if I see fit. Now, I'm going to help you to bed, seeing as you can barely stand up straight as it is.'

'Don't tell Gregory,' Mycroft whispered, falling forward into John's arms. 'Don't tell anyone.'

'It's not my place to tell,' John said softly. 'But please, tell someone before it gets out of hand.'

'It's already beyond out of hand.'

John sighed and helped Mycroft upstairs to his room. He managed to take his suit jacket and vest off before Mycroft plopped down on the mattress. John took his shoes off and eased him into bed, pulling the covers over him.

'Please get some help,' he begged Mycroft softly. 'Please.'

'I don't need help. I need everybody to leave me be.'

'If you say so. But it won't stop me from worrying about you.'

'I'm not worth worrying about,' Mycroft muttered, rolling over and closing his eyes.

'Yes you are,' John whispered. 'Now get some sleep. I'll check in on you later.'

Mycroft curled in on himself and whimpered. 'Fine.'

'Go to sleep, Myc,' John said as he turned off the light. Mycroft snored in response, already half asleep. John closed the door behind him and exited the mansion. He hailed another cab to head to Violet's and sent a quick text to Greg.

 _Keep an eye on Myc. He's not doing so well. That's all I'm saying. Please don't ask. –JW_  
  
Greg didn't answer.

 _ **Oh dear. First Sherlock, now Mycroft. The Holmes boys are almighty destructive, aren't they? I wouldn't worry about him. I'll make sure he's safe. –JM  
**_  
 _You stay away from my family you son of a bitch. –JW  
_  
 _ **Funny you'd say that. Mycroft is family to me. –JM  
**_  
 _Lie all you want, but that doesn't change the fact that you are threatening the only family I have. Now back off. –JW  
_  
 _ **Very well. I do believe I have a meeting with Mycroft as it is. I'll get him nice and pissed. –JM  
**_  
 _Stay away from him! –JW  
_  
 __ **Too late. God does it feel good to make him cry. –JM  
**  
'Turn around!' John ordered the cabbie. 'Go back! Something's gone wrong!'

 _ **His blood tastes even better. Mmm. All that blood. Shame about the carpet. –JM  
**_  
 _Ok. Now I know you're playing me. You don't strike me as the cannibalistic type. –JW_  
  
Jim snorted and looked down at the bloodied government official.

'He doesn't believe me. Shame. Should I take a picture?'

Mycroft whimpered and curled himself into a ball.

'Or should I get Seb to stab you one more time, brother?'

'You're no brother of mine.'

Jim laughed. 'You should have thought of that before letting me into your life.'

He took a picture and sent it to John.

 __ **Maybe not but it really is a shame about the carpet. –JM  
**  
John paled at the photo in his inbox. He dialled Greg.

'John, I'm a bit busy–'

'Moriarty's got Mycroft.'

'I'll be over in five minutes.'

'He might not have five minutes,' John grumbled as Greg hung up.

'Goodbye, Mycroft Holmes,' Moriarty hissed. 'Live long and prosper. Oh wait. Whoops. My bad.' And with that the consulting criminal left. Seb was close behind.

Mycroft was trembling on the floor. He had several broken bones, had been stabbed three times in the side, and he was also covered in piss. Moriarty had forced him to drink and drink and drink, until his bladder hadn't been able to take anymore. Tear tracks were running down both his cheeks. No more tears came though. He was numb inside.

'Mycroft!' John yelled as he entered the mansion. 'Mycroft where are you?!'

'I'm here,' Mycroft whispered hoarsely. John pulled out his gun and made his way over to the sitting room. Mycroft was sprawled on the rug in a puddle of blood and what smelled like piss.

'Is he gone?'

'Long gone, yes,' Mycroft mumbled. John tucked his gun in the waistband of his jeans and made his way over to Mycroft.

'My god. What did he do to you?'

'Only what I deserved. Does it look that bad?'

'You didn't deserve this.' John moved forward to examine the broken man. 'You've lost a lot of blood from the stab wounds, as you can already tell. He's fractured your wrist, multiple fingers, and he's dislocated your shoulder. It all looks pretty bad. And knowing Moriarty he probably didn't stop there.'

Greg burst in then, panting and wild eyed.

'Myc! Where are you?! Are you alive?!'

'John he–' Mycroft swallowed down hard as he heard Gregory's voice.

'Just about, dear,' he gasped before quickly turning to John.

'He violated me.'

John swallowed and turned to Greg. 'Get an ambulance. Now.'

Mycroft turned his eyes away from John and onto his husband-to-be.

'I love you, Gregory. I love you so much.'

'Myc?' Greg swallowed thickly as he dialled 999. 'What happened?'

'Moriarty happened.'

Greg swallowed and answered the operator on the phone, ordering an ambulance for a home invasion plus assault consisting of multiple stab wounds and broken bones.

'They're on their way,' he said softly. He knelt down by Mycroft's head and stroked his hair softly.

Mycroft leant into the gentle touch of his lover. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

'What are you apologising for?' Greg choked out. 'You're the one who's hurt, not me.'

Mycroft raised a shaking hand to Gregory's face and licked his lips. 'I've betrayed you. I've betrayed all of you. I've betrayed Sherlock. Oh god. Sherlock. He can't know about this.'

'Too late.' The man in question was stood in the doorway, the tiny ginger kitten sat on his shoulder, a frown embedded into his features. John looked up, his phone to his ear. He ended the call as the person he'd been trying to contact had just arrived.

'Sherlock. Good. You're here. And... you brought the cat.'

'I was on my way to Tesco's. She was hungry. And I certainly wasn't going to leave her at home.' The ginger kitty purred loudly and headbutted Sherlock's cheek. 'Now, what the hell is going on?'

John opened his mouth to say something but no words came out. Greg swallowed thickly, choking back tears. Eventually someone managed to say, 'Moriarty.' Sherlock sighed and strolled over to his brother, sitting down beside him.

'He has gone too far this time.' The kitten meowed loudly in agreement. John took the bundle of fluff off Sherlock's shoulder. She had been about to jump onto Mycroft and his injured body wouldn't have appreciated that. He held her gently and stroked her fur, eliciting more purrs from her.

Mycroft smiled weakly and coughed. 'She's a sweet thing. What's her name?'

'We haven't had a chance to discuss it,' John said softly. 'Sherlock found her at the crime scene this morning and took her home. But have you got any ideas, love?'

'I was thinking... Lily?' Sherlock mused softly, brushing a hand through his brother's hair.

'Lily. Lily.' John said the name a few times, testing it out. The kitten mewed each time he said it. She seemed to like it.

'Lily it is,' he smiled softly. 'Everyone, meet Lily. Lily, this is everyone.'

Mycroft raised a finger to pet the kitten. 'Hello Lily.' His smile widened as the kitty began to lap at his finger.

'She's a sweetie,' Greg sniffled. 'Where the hell is the ambulance?'

'Wouldn't be surprised if Moriarty's stopped the ambulance from arriving somehow,' Mycroft muttered. Sirens approaching proved that theory moot. A team came in shortly and gently eased Mycroft onto a stretcher, Greg close behind. John and Sherlock stayed behind with Lily.

'Do you want to go with them?' John asked softly. 'I wouldn't blame you if you did. In fact, I'd encourage it.'

Sherlock nodded. 'He's my brother. I should be there. Will you be OK with my little girl?'

'I should be, yes.' John smiled down at the kitten. 'I'll go pick her up some milk and a litter tray at least. We can do some more major shopping after your brother is stabilised.' He kissed Sherlock on the lips quickly. 'Now go. We'll be fine.'

Sherlock kissed John again harshly and then placed a softer kiss upon Lily's head.

'I love you both so much. Stay safe.'

'We will. Let us know how Mycroft's doing. We'll come visit soon. I love you.'

Sherlock nodded and stood to his feet. He ran a hand through his hair and made a small noise in the depths of his throat.

'Moriarty,' he muttered, the name flying off his tongue like venom. He then quickly turned on his heel to hail a cab to Bart's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the kitten has a name! And John has Mycroft's blessing to marry Sherlock! The only good things about this chapter. Moriarty is back with a vengeance now.
> 
> Six chapters to go. Holy crap. This will either be finished right before or just after Christmas. I'm not sure yet. Depends on if I post three chapters one week versus just two. The second story will be posted after Series 3 is completed in America. That'll be February 2, so the new chapter will be posted the next week probably because I'll have to cope with all the feels for at least a week. By then the DVD will be out and I can kill myself all over again. Ugh.
> 
> We'll see you next week guys. It's a happier chapter. The kitten Lily will be in it ;) Kittens make everything better.
> 
> TSA + IB


	60. Shopping for Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise everyone! I decided to upload this today instead of tomorrow! I have completed 3 of my 4 final exams, and I am not looking forward to my last one. Not only is my professor expecting us to write a 5-7 page paper but he also expects us to write IN CLASS ESSAYS for the final. I was simply expecting the paper to be the final where I could hand it in at 10 a.m. and call it a day, but NO. He had to go be a dick and make us write under pressure, which I cannot do to save my life. Not academically at least. Creatively yeah, boom, there ya go. But I cannot write academically without proper warning and at least a week to write it.
> 
> But I digress...
> 
> More adorable kitten stuff this chapter! And there's some smut near the end ;)
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock and Mycroft  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: adorable kitten things, some Mycroft feels, so much adorable, Sherlock being all emotional, anal sex, fluff.

John cleared his throat and stood up, holding onto Lily gingerly. She was trembling slightly and looked up at him with big eyes.

'It's alright, baby. Daddy's just worried about Uncle Myc.' He pet her softly and she purred, butting her little head against his finger. 'You adorable little girl. Come on. Let's get you some food.' He put her into his pocket and walked down to Tesco's, getting a litter tray, litter, and some special milk for her.

Once home, he set the litter tray in the bathroom and poured some litter into it. He let Lily sniff it and play around with the litter while he got out a little bowl and poured the milk onto it. She quickly ambled over on uncoordinated feet and began lapping at the milk. John had to give her some more twice before she was full. She fell asleep in a patch of sun on the floor, her ginger markings bright and beautiful in the sunlight. He sent a quick text to Sherlock to see how things were going.

 _Lily and I made it home safe. She's eaten and is now napping. How's Mycroft doing? Any news? –JW_  
  
Sherlock was sat by his brother's side when he received the text. Greg had popped out momentarily to give the two of them some peace. He bit his lower lip in thought as his eyes ran over his brother. He was horribly pale and shaken up, and had been sedated on more than one occasion since he'd been brought in as whenever he roused he was upset and beyond distraught.

_**Mycroft is fine, physically. Emotionally on the other hand? ... It is hard to say. I do not think he is coping. –SH  
** _   
_**I believe there to be something drastically wrong with him, other than almost being beaten and stabbed to death that is. –SH  
** _   
_**I miss my little girl already. Send her my virtual cuddles. –SH  
** _   
_Do you want me to come over there? –JW  
_   
_And yes, I believe there is something more at work with Mycroft than he's letting on. He's been drinking quite heavily for some time apparently. I think it's to numb his mind. –JW  
_   
_And our little girl is nice and warm in a patch of sunlight. I'll give her cuddles once she wakes. –JW  
_   
__**If it is not too much trouble then I would like you to come and join me by his bedside. –SH**

**_How long have you known about his 'problem'? Because if he really has been turning to drink then we are in great danger. Could that explain why he was utterly pissed before my party had even started? –SH_ **

**_Do you think she misses me? Because I miss her so much my heart feels like it's going to explode. –SH_ **

_I'll be there shortly. Want me to bring Lily with me? –JW_

_As for your brother's problem, I only just realised it today. I popped by to ask a favour and he pulled out some champagne. He had five glasses in ten minutes. –JW_

_**Yes. She may even brighten my brother's mood when he awakes. –SH** _

**_Five glasses? That is it. I shall be demanding answers from him when he is feeling better in himself. This is completely out of character for him. –SH_ **

_I'll be over soon. Please go easy on him when he wakes. He seemed quite distraught when I first left him. –JW_

_*image attached* Lily is coming too. –JW_

_**I shall try my very best to go easy on him. –SH** _

**_My heart just melted into a puddle on the floor. She's so tiny. –SH_ **

_She had three small bowls of milk. Her belly is quite full. Keep an eye out for potential accidents while she's with us. She's probably never used a litter tray before. But I let her sniff the new one, and she seemed to like it. –JW_

_**Of course. She is just a baby John. A wittle baby who doesn't know any better. My baba. I'll be sure to guide her to the special kitten toilet facilities that I'm sure all hospitals are equipped with. –SH** _

**_I apologise. I realise the latter part of that text was quite sarcastic. –SH_ **

_You're using baby talk in text now? You have fallen hard for this widdle girl. She's a pwecious widdle angel. –JW_

_I wasn't making fun of you in that last one. Just finally succumbing to the baby talk. I mean, she's so wittle! –JW_

_In a cab now. See you soon. –JW_

_**If you must know, I see a lot of me in her. It's why I love her so. –SH** _

**_That sounded strange. I did not mean that I share feline qualities. –SH_ **

**_Though I am stealthy, gorgeous, and flexible. I am also partial to milk despite never buying it myself. –SH_ **

_The cabbie gave me a stern look because I was laughing so hard. –JW_

_You definitely possess some feline qualities. Grace, speed, sharp eyes... Well, you could be a bird of prey too by those examples. I can see you being a raven. –JW_

_Almost to Bart's now. Lily keeps mewing in my pocket. I think that's her trying to say hello. So, hello from Lily. –JW_

_**Tut, tut. Don't you know it's illegal to laugh in public these days? –SH** _

**_A raven? Really, John? If anything I am an otter. –SH_ **

**_Hello Lily. I love you too. Of course John, it may mean that she needs the toilet. Cats are like babies. They have different cries for different things. Just a small warning. –SH_ **

**_Mycroft is awake now but he is refusing to speak. Do you think Lily will bring him out of his shell? He seemed rather smitten with her earlier. –SH_ **

_Yes, a raven. Like from that Poe poem. –JW_

_Lily's outside now. Turns out she had to go. And pretty bad too. Good girl for letting your daddy know. –JW_

_Oh, and we're at Bart's now. I didn't just stop somewhere to let our cat take a piss. –JW_

_On our way now. And yes, perhaps Lily can help Myc out of his shell. Where's his room? –JW_

_**Ravens are a sign of death. I appreciate you comparing me to that. –SH** _

_**I told you so. Good girl Lily. –SH** _

_**Third floor. Private room, actually, now I come to think about it, it's most likely a private floor. Be aware that Mycroft isn't the man we thought we knew. He has changed dramatically. Even the look in his eyes, the life, it's all gone now. It is quite unsettling. –SH** _

_I didn't know ravens were a symbol of death. Sorry for comparing you to them. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? –JW_

_On our way up now. Love you. –JW_

_**Far better. For that you have earned a smiley :) –SH** _

**_I love you too. –SH_ **

Sherlock took a deep breath and pocketed his phone. He glanced at his brother. Cold blue eyes stared right through him. It was as though his brother was there in body but not mind. It was deeply unnerving and had proved to be far too much for Greg who had returned once only to leave again when Mycroft refused to kiss him, or acknowledge him for that matter.

John and Lily made it up to Mycroft's floor and easily found the room. Greg was sobbing outside it. John squeezed his shoulder softly before entering. Sherlock had been right. Mycroft looked cold and utterly unreal lying in the bed. He looked like a ghost.

'Hi, love,' he said to Sherlock. Sherlock turned his head ever so slightly to look at John.

'Hi,' he sighed, hands reaching out for the tiny kitten. 'May I have her?' Lily crawled free of John's pocket and into Sherlock's waiting hands. Seemed she was smitten with the man herself. Sherlock brought her up to face level and nuzzled the ginger ball of fluff.

'Daddy's missed you too,' he whispered hoarsely, glancing over to Mycroft who was still expressionless.

'Put her in his line of sight,' John suggested. It would seem Lily took things into her own hands as she leapt onto Mycroft and waddled up to him. Sherlock watched sadly as she cuddled up beneath his brother's chin, making small chirping sounds. His brother was unresponsive at first but after a good few minutes he lifted the hand that wasn't attached to a bag of blood to stroke her tenderly. John breathed a soft sigh of relief. That little girl had some magical properties about her.

'He's a softy under all that angst and ice,' Sherlock smirked.

'I can still hear you, you know?' Mycroft muttered miserably, briefly coming out of his shell but quickly retreating back into it. Lily seemed most unimpressed with this and began swinging her tiny paws at Mycroft's nose to try and rouse him fully again. John couldn't help but smile at the sight. She was a precious little thing.

'Alright, alright. I think I get the message,' Mycroft sighed and gently swatted the kittens paws away. 'Now stop.'

Lily seemed very smug with herself for rousing Mycroft and began purring like a tractor going full speed ahead. And if she was a human then that tiny expression on her face could have probably been scratched down as amusement. It looked almost as if she was smirking. John couldn't stop the laugh from bubbling forth.

'Sorry. Sorry,' he apologised between giggles. 'But you gotta admit, that was pretty adorable.' Sherlock joined in John's laughter.

'Hmmf quite,' Mycroft muttered, a smile on his face despite the unimpressed tone his voice held.

'Just pet the precious little girl, Myc,' John laughed softly. 'Look at her face. You can't resist her.'

'She is a rather irresistible and endearing creature,' Mycroft agreed as he began stroking the kitten once more. Her purr only grew in volume. She was a very happy kitty indeed.

'She's got a wonderful family,' John smiled, watching Mycroft pet her. 'I'm pretty sure she's smitten with us already. Sherlock especially.' Lily skittered away from Mycroft and hopped onto Sherlock's lap as if to prove John's point that she loved the man that had found her. Sherlock chuckled.

'It's OK. We all have favourites. I'm only glad I'm yours,' he whispered close to her little ears and grinned.

'You're my favourite too,' John whispered, kissing the top of Sherlock's head. Lily mewed in protest. 'And you're my favourite kitty.' She purred happily.

Mycroft sighed softly. 'Where is Gregory? I wish to see my favourite person.'

'Outside,' John said softly. 'I'll fetch him.'

'That is much appreciated. And John? Thank you for our talk earlier. I shall talk to Gregory.'

'I hope you talk to me at some point too,' Sherlock said bitterly. 'I'm your brother for goodness sake. You can tell me if something is bothering you.'

'The fact that you are my brother is the exact reason I could not tell you. I apologise.'

John nodded and opened the door. Greg was still sitting outside, sobbing quietly.

'He's asking for you,' was all he got out before Greg was up like a shot and smothering Mycroft with kisses. Mycroft clutched to Gregory like a baby clutching to its brand new rattle, sobbing much like a baby would too.

Sherlock coughed awkwardly and stood to his feet. 'Perhaps we should allow them to have some space.'

'Sounds good. Come on.' Allowing Lily to ride on his shoulder once more, Sherlock exited the room.

'Get better soon,' he whispered to his brother as he left.

'Shall we make another trip to Tesco's?' John asked once the door was closed. 'I didn't get her much. And with the way she eats the milk I got her will be gone fairly quickly.'

'Is my little girl a greedy piggy?' Sherlock cooed. Lily meowed loudly in reply. 'I guess that was a yes.'

'Maybe once she gets to a healthy weight and grows out a bit she won't eat so much.' John tickled her chin. 'And she'll need toys too.'

'That's illogical. Surely the bigger she gets the greedier she'll get. And yes, we were looking at the toy section when one of the members of my homeless community informed me of Mycroft's condition. She was quite partial to this particular pink mouse.'

'One of your homeless people contacted you? Did they see the ambulance or something?' John hit the button for the lift and climbed in, Sherlock and his little ginger parrot close behind.

'No, but they did see a man fitting Moriarty's description near my brother's home. I had a very bad feeling about it. Especially considering I was certain my brother locked him up. Or at least that's the impression that I was given.'

They reached the ground floor and stepped out. John was wracking his brain for anything Mycroft may have said during their chat earlier. Nothing came to mind, so he didn't say anything.

'He mentioned having caught Moriarty while you were in the hospital having nearly overdosed. I thought he would have locked him up too.'

Sherlock's lips pursed together. 'He said earlier that he betrayed me. Do you think he meant by allowing Moriarty to walk free he was betraying me?'

'It's possible. Maybe he blackmailed your brother into letting him go?'

'Maybe.' Sherlock hummed and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 'But something tells me there's more to the story than we are seeing.'

'I had that feeling too.' John opened the door and they stepped outside into the crisp January air. Lily shivered slightly.

'You might want to put her in your pocket,' John said. 'Don't want her to catch cold.' Sherlock moved the tiny kitten and kissed her before placing her in the inside of his jacket. She seemed quite happy there and began padding her tiny paws against his chest.

'Will you be alright now, beautiful?'

'I think she's perfectly content there.' John grinned. He clasped Sherlock's hand and linked their fingers. 'Now let's get our baby some toys and supplies.'

Sherlock bit back a grin as he repeated, 'Our baby.'

'Yeah. She is,' John grinned. He tickled one of her ears and she flicked it almost in annoyance. 'You're our baby, Lily. Our pwecious widdle baba.' Sherlock finally grinned as Lily seemed to sulk. He wrapped an arm around John.

'It'll make good practice.'

'My thoughts exactly,' John grinned. 'Although I don't think she likes the baby talk.'

'She does. But she's only tolerant of it when I do it.' Sherlock laughed softly and scratched Lily's ear. 'Isn't that right widdle baba?' Lily purred and turned to lick Sherlock's finger.

'She definitely wuvs you the best.' John smiled. 'But your other daddy loves you very much too little one.' Lily fixed her beautiful emerald green eyes on John and chirped happily.

'I think she knows we both wuvv her.'

John pet Lily's head softly as they rounded the corner to Tesco's. 'Your daddies are gonna get you some toys and treats.'

'We'll buy you the whole store of toys if that's what you want.' Lily meowed in confirmation. 'Spoiled little girl.'

'She's gonna be the most spoilt little kitty in all of London,' John laughed. He held the door open and grabbed a trolley. Lily jumped inside for a ride.

'Excuse me? Was my pocket not sufficient enough transport for you?' Sherlock laughed heartily and shook his head.

'I think she just wants a ride,' John laughed. 'Right baby?' She mewed and tapped John's fingers with her paw as if telling him to get moving. 'OK. To the cat toys!'

'I instantly thought of Buzz from  _Toy Story_ ,' Sherlock chuckled. 'To the cat toys and beyond!' John laughed and raced down the aisle to the cat supplies, Sherlock close behind. Lily let out a small squeak of surprise.

'Aww, it's OK baby,' Sherlock cooed. 'Your daddies were just getting a little carried away.'

John pet her softly until she calmed down. 'OK. Now where's that pink mouse your daddy said you liked?' Sherlock scanned the aisle for the little pink mousy and quickly grabbed it from the shelf.

'Is this what my widdle baba wants?' he asked as he swung it over her head. She leapt up and tried to latch onto it. The mouse was nearly as big as her head. The sight was quite amusing.

'That's a yes then,' Sherlock laughed, dropping the pink mouse into the trolley. 'What else shall we get her?'

'How about one of those foil looking balls?' John picked one up and crunched it in his palm. Lily looked toward the sound and cocked her head.

'Do you like that baby?' He crunched it again but she made no move to inspect it.

'I'll take that as a no.' He put it back. 'Hmmm. There are so many to choose from.'

'We'll need a scratching post. Mrs Hudson will have a fit if she sees kitty scratched furniture. And I believe catnip toys are always a big hit too.'

'OK. Little cat scratcher, and some catnip toys. Hmmm. What about this?' He pointed to a small cat tree. 'It's got a scratching post on the bottom, plus a place for her to sleep. Simple, yet effective. And it's on sale.'

'Brilliant. We'll get that. And there's a little catnip pillow for her too.'

'Perfect.' John put the tree in the trolley, Lily instantly going to inspect it. Sherlock tossed in the pillow and Lily went crazy, the catnip in the pillow driving her wild.

'Maybe we should only let her use that every once in a while,' John laughed. 'She'll be too hyper if she has constant access to it.'

Sherlock pouted. 'But our widdle baba wuvvs it.'

'Trust me when I say having a hyper cat around your sensitive experiments will not be a fun time. She can have it for a while right now, but we'll need to take it away at some point.'

Sherlock snorted. 'If you think I'm doing any kind of experiments whilst Lily is around you're mad.'

'I suppose I am mad. Madly in love.'

'With who?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

'With you of course.' John grinned and pulled Sherlock down for a hard kiss, moving his lips almost harshly against Sherlock's.

'Shhh, not in front of Lily,' Sherlock said after her tiny meow interrupted them.

'She can see her daddies kiss. Anything further we shall shield her innocent eyes from.'

'There's nothing we can do about the screaming though. She's sure to hear that and catch on to us.'

'Mmm. The poor dear. Come on. She needs at least one more toy and then some more food.'

'Is she on solids too or do you think she's too young?'

'Still too young. We can get some soft treats for her, but we'll stick with milk for a little while until she's a few weeks older.'

Sherlock nodded and picked up some kitten treats. 'Do you think we should get a vet to check her out? Just to be safe?'

'That would be good, yes. Want to make sure our baby is healthy.' He tickled Lily's chin. She'd curled up on the cat tree, taking a cat nap. She was too precious.

'Lord knows what she's been through. She seems healthy enough but it'll be good to get a bit of peace of mind.'

'I hear that. We can make an appointment once we get home.'

'Good, good. Did you hear that Lily? You're going to go visit the V-E-T-S.'

'Mow?' she replied.

'Thank goodness cats can't spell. I'm fairly sure you'd hate your daddies if you could.'

'I don't think she's got it in her heart to hate us. We saved her and gave her a home. She's completely devoted to us.'

'True.' Sherlock grinned. 'Though she may resent us for awhile when she has to have her jabs when she's older.'

'She'll ignore us for days,' John pouted. 'But it'll be for your own good baby. Have we got everything?'

Sherlock scanned the trolley full of kitty goods and kitty and hummed. 'Yes. I think that's everything.'

John picked up a stick with some strings attached and dangled it over Lily's head. She batted at them playfully, her tail twitching happily.

'Think this'll be the last thing and then we can go home.' He put the stick in the trolley and made his way to the checkout. 'No way I'm using a chip and pin machine today. Hide Lily in your pocket. Don't want to be found out.'

Sherlock scooped up his little girl, popping her back in his pocket.

'I'm sure we wouldn't have had any problems. She seems to put everyone under some sort of spell.'

'She is a precious darling, but I don't want to risk it.' John made it to a checkout line and paid for all their items, having Sherlock carry the tree while he himself carried the rest. Lily climbed out of Sherlock's pocket and clambered up his coat's arm until she was resting once again on the tree.

'She really likes that,' John observed with a grin.

'At least we'll be able to keep her nice and busy.' Sherlock smiled softly at the kitten.

'Yeah,' John sighed, smiling at the little ginger fluff ball. 'I'll call the V-E-T when we get home. You can set up her toys and stuff.'

'Alright. And I'll probably fall asleep with her tonight, if that's OK? I want make sure she's alright. I bet our flat is big and scary to her.'

'Can she sleep between us?' John asked, unlocking the door to 221 Baker Street and ascending the stairs.

'She's so tiny. What if you squish her?' Sherlock pouted. 'You do toss and turn a lot in your sleep.'

John pouted. 'I don't toss and turn. I haven't done that since the nightmares about the war stopped. And I won't squish her. Where did you want her to sleep anyway?'

'No. But you do have rather erotic dreams which cause you to move about a lot,' Sherlock said with a smirk. 'And I'm not sure at the moment. Ideas?'

'Well, if you're worried about me squishing her, she can sleep on your pillow. Check her for fleas though. Just to be safe.' He set the Tesco's bags on the floor and pulled out his mobile. He found the number for the local vet online and dialled it.

'OK. But I'm sure my widdle kitty will be squeaky clean.'

'You can give hers a baf in the sink.' John smirked as the receptionist picked up. 'Yes, hello. I picked up a stray kitten today and I was hoping to get in to have her checked out, make sure she's healthy and all that.'

'Sure thing,' the woman said. 'Are you planning on keeping it or putting it up for adoption?'

'Keeping her. She's already wormed her way into our hearts. We wouldn't be able to part with her.'

'Well alright then. At least she found a good home.' She paused as she looked over the calendar. 'How's next Thursday for you?'

'Got anything earlier?'

'I can squeeze you in Tuesday during lunch. And your kitten will have to stay over a day or two so we can take the tests and monitor her.'

'Hold on.' He put a hand over the receiver. Sherlock was giving Lily a bath in the sink, washing her gently. John's heart melted. 'Sherlock. They can get us in Tuesday but Lily's gonna have to stay over for observation for about a day. Is that alright?'

Sherlock whimpered and Lily squeaked out a meow of protest.

'If she really has to,' he said, lower lip trembling.

'We can visit her if she has to stay an extra day, but I'm sure she'll only have to stay overnight.'

Sherlock huffed and turned to finish washing Lily. 'Very well. Lily won't like it though.'

'Neither will we,' John huffed. 'Tuesday is good. What time?'

'I can get you in at 11:45.'

'OK. Sounds good. See you then.' He hung up and wrote the time on the calendar before he could forget. 'Tuesday at 11:45,' he told Sherlock.

Lily squeaked and jumped into Sherlock's arms. 'She's already upset about it,' he pouted, hugging his little, soggy kitty.

'Me too love,' John sighed. He stroked her head with a finger and sighed. 'Are you crying?'

'Cats can't shed tears, John. Me on the other hand...'

'I wasn't talking to Lily,' John said softly. 'Here. Dry her off and give her a toy and some treats. I'll comfort you, love.'

Sherlock dried Lily off with a towel gently and took her to the corner of his and John's room. He gave her the little pink mousy purchased earlier and a few kitty treats, along with a bowl of kitty milk.

'Feel free to comfort me now,' he sniffled. John pulled Sherlock to their bed and laid down on it, laying Sherlock down on top of him, his head on his chest. He pet his hair soothingly and hummed a wordless tune.

'It'll be OK, love,' he said softly. 'Tuesday is still a couple days away. We'll have time to bond and prepare for her being gone. And when she comes home it'll be one short week before we hear back about her tests. Though I'm sure our little angel will be fine. She's a perfectly healthy baby girl. And she's ours.'

'She came to me, through the dark and the cold. She was shaking from the cold when I picked her up and – she's perfect.'

'She is absolutely perfect, love. In every way.' John kissed Sherlock's hair and watched Lily play with her new mouse, her treats and milk having already been devoured.

'My back's hurting. I think the stress of today has caused it to play up. Can you give me a massage?' Sherlock mumbled into John's chest.

'Of course. Turn over and take your shirt off.' He released Sherlock and rolled over to fetch the massage oil. Sherlock removed his shirt and laid waiting for John.

'OK. Stretch your arms above your head and stretch out your shoulders,' John instructed. He drizzled some of the oil between Sherlock's shoulder blades and pressed his fingers into the skin. 'I'm gonna work my way down. Don't worry. And I'll be careful.'

Sherlock did as John instructed and whimpered. 'Ow, ow, ow!' he yelled out.

John instantly removed his fingers, worry deep in his voice. 'What is it? What happened?'

'Nothing,' Sherlock mumbled. 'My back just bloody spasmed. Ow.'

'Where?' John asked softly, skirting his fingertips down Sherlock's spine.

'Ah!' Sherlock cried out. 'There. God. It hurts so much.'

'OK. Shhh. There's a large knot there. I'll do my best to relax it.' He poured some more oil on the sore spot and gingerly pressed against it, moving his thumbs in small circular motions to start.

'That's Mycroft's doing,' Sherlock grunted. 'Damn idiot.'

'You're worried about him,' John stated simply. He moved his hands over Sherlock's back and massaged gently, easing the tension there gradually. Sherlock was beginning to purr. Lily looked up from digging her back claws into her mouse to listen.

'Especially after the doctor said that if the drinking doesn't stop he's going to die.'

'Oh.' John stilled his hands. 'It's that bad?'

'Mew?' Lily chirped, clambering over to the side of the bed.

'Apparently so. He must have been drinking all day every day for a long while now.' Sherlock turned his head slightly to look at Lily.

'Don't you worry. I'm going to kick your uncle's arse into shape.'

'Shhh! Don't swear around the innocent,' John joked.

'I'll bloody swear all I like,' Sherlock huffed. 'My brother is slowly killing himself.'

'I know, love. And I'm sorry. I threatened to take him to rehab today. He outright refused. But that's to be expected. I was there once. Lord knows my sister's been there more times than I'd like to count. But he needs help whether he wants it or not.'

'I'm scared for him. Really scared. I just – I want to know what's going on.'

'Me too, but you deserve to know it more than I do. He's your brother. You deserve to know.' He pressed the heels of his hands down on Sherlock's back, picking up where he left off with the massage.

'I'm no doctor, but surely the drinking messes with his bipolar medication.' Sherlock hummed, arched his back, and began to purr again.

'Well,  _I'm_  a doctor. And I know for certain that bipolar medication and alcohol do not mix well. That is if he's still taking his pills.' He moved down to Sherlock's lower back and massaged there, humming himself.

'Is Greg in danger?' Sherlock asked, purring extra loudly as John massaged him in just the right spot. 'I don't want to be cruel but, if his bipolar is being affected by all this, you know how angry he can get. He may lash out.'

'Greg can hold his own,' John stated, pressing just a little lower before teasingly moving up to Sherlock's shoulders. 'If I had any suspicions that Greg was in danger I would intervene.'

'Yeah. I suppose I'm just concerned he'll do something he'll regret later.'

'Greg already knows to keep an eye on him. I told him earlier Myc wasn't acting like himself. So he's informed.' He moved back down to Sherlock's lower back and hummed, the younger man almost moaning at the touch.

'How's your back feeling now? Better?'

'Mmm,' Sherlock groaned. 'Now take me. I want you to take me. Make me feel a little better.'

'What about Lily?' John moaned, pressing his clothed hard on against Sherlock's clothed bum. The kitten cocked her head and blinked up at them.

'She'll be OK.' Sherlock pushed back against John's erection. 'Now, take me.'

'Shield yourself,' John groaned to Lily. She padded under the bed, almost as if she could understand him. John shrugged and quickly stripped Sherlock of his trousers and pants, his own soon following. They were both dripping already. John used the leftover massage oil to prep Sherlock, pressing a slicked finger inside and pumping easily. Sherlock arched off the bed and rocked backwards against the glorious finger.

'Oh god. Just take me. Screw the prep.'

'No,' John growled. He pushed down on Sherlock's shoulders and loomed over him slightly. He added another finger and scissored them, stretching Sherlock further.

'I need you inside of me. Now,' Sherlock growled back.

'I'll be in you in a moment,' John growled back, easing a third finger inside. 'Now get up on your knees. Spread yourself open for me.' Sherlock pushed himself up to his knees and spread his legs wide open.

'Please,' he gasped out. 'Please. Get in. Now. Make me feel all better. Wash my worries away.'

John groaned and placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's shoulder blade. 'OK, love.' He removed his fingers and slicked his prick, positioning himself at Sherlock's open entrance. 'I'll make you feel all better.' He pushed in slowly, sliding in with ease and seating himself fully in Sherlock's arse. Sherlock groaned as he adjusted to John's cock inside of him. After getting comfortable he began to rock backwards as fast as he could go.

'Screw me nice and hard.'

'Aye aye.' John gripped Sherlock's hips and began to pound into him without mercy.

'Push – ah fuck – yourself to your – oh shit – limits. Till your lungs burn. Gah! Till you're on the verge of – bloody hell – collapsing.'

John growled and gripped Sherlock's hips tightly, fucking him hard and fast until his limbs ached and his lungs burned. Sherlock moaned obcenely as all the air from his lungs was ripped away from him.

'Not gonna last much longer,' he just about grit out. 'Want you to cum first.'

'You just may get your wish,' John grit out between thrusts. 'So fucking close. Oh god!'

'Mmm. That's it. God yes! Cum for me John.'

John came with a shout, pulsing long and hard inside his lover. His entire body was trembling with exhaustion and how intense his orgasm was. He managed to keep himself upright and reached around to stroke Sherlock to completion. Sherlock followed John over the edge within seconds. His entire body shook.

'Fuck!' he cried out as he collapsed against the mattress.

John collapsed on Sherlock with a smack, breathing heavily as he came down from his high. 'Jesus Christ that was amazing.'

'It's been too long. We haven't done this since my birthday.'

'Mow?'

'It's OK baba. Coast is clear... more or less.'

'You were rather tied up after your birthday,' John grunted. 'Ten whole days. And now we've got a kitten.' He turned his head to watch Lily creep out from under the bed. She instantly started attacking her new mouse.

'If you think it'll be hard to find time for sex with a kitten, it's going to be twice as hard when we have children.'

'Oh I know. But hopefully by the time we have kids we won't be living here. Not that I don't love this place, but it isn't exactly family friendly. I want a nice house just outside the city, with a yard for the kids to play in.'

Sherlock purred softly. 'I like that idea. I like it a lot. And I'm sure Uncle Greggy and Uncle Myc will be able to babysit every now and then so we can have some alone time.'

'Mmm. Yes. Sounds like a plan.' John pulled out and rolled over, stretching out on the mattress. 'Think Lily should go to the loo before we go to bed?'

'Definitely, yes. Shall I take her?'

'Yes. Go ahead, daddy,' John said with a smirk.

'I like it when you call me that.' Sherlock shifted into a sitting position slowly, smiling at John. 'Say it again.'

'Mmm. Yes, daddy,' John purred.

Sherlock grinned and purred back. 'Daddy will reward you tomorrow.'

He shuffled off the bed and over to Lily. 'Is baba going to be a good girl and use the litter tray for daddy?'

'Mow! Mow!'

Sherlock chuckled and picked the kitten up, plopping her in her litter tray.

'What if I want a reward now, daddy?' John smirked. 'Is our baby going yet?'

'Our baby can only put up with our antics every so often. And yes. She's being a good girl.'

'OK. Tomorrow then.' John settled down between the sheets and sighed. Once Lily was done Sherlock picked her up in his arms and lay back down on the bed. She quickly settled on his pillow.

John turned over and started petting Lily softly. 'She's too adorable. I think my heart might burst.'

Sherlock hummed and closed his eyes. 'I do believe mine burst when I first saw her.'

'I think my heart burst when I met you,' John said softly. He stopped petting Lily to pet Sherlock. 'Well, maybe not the same day we met, but pretty damn close. I was smitten from the start, but I didn't know it at the time. But I can see it now. You captured my heart from the very beginning. And look where we are now.'

'I wish I could say the same. I'm afraid you had the very difficult challenge of thawing out my heart first. What heart I had back then that is.'

'But I got in.' John smiled and kissed Sherlock softly. 'I love you.'

'I love you, too,' Sherlock purred loudly. 'Now sleep.'

'OK. I'll see you in the morning.' He kissed Sherlock again and placed a small kiss to the top of Lily's head. 'Goodnight my precious babies.'

'Mmm not a baby,' Sherlock mumbled.

'Mow!' Lily protested.

'No. You're my sexy baby daddy.' John smiled. 'And you're our precious little girl,' he told Lily.

'Better,' Sherlock said through a little snore. Lily closed her eyes and began snoring lightly too.

'Goodnight, my loves,' John yawned. He turned over and fell asleep nearly instantly, snoring loudly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adorable kitten things! Smut! Our boys are happy! And I know for a fact you guys are going to love the next chapter ;) Feels and happiness and giddiness all around. It'll be posted Friday, as Wednesday I'll be settling back in at home and I just want to settle down before I get back to writing. I have like six notebooks with fanfiction drabbles in them. There's probably more at home if I looked for them. I have a problem BUT I DON'T CARE.
> 
> Sorry. Finals are making me kinda crazy. I'm so close to the end I can taste it!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and we'll see you here Friday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	61. A Day for Celebration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy Hobbit Day! I went to the midnight premiere last night/this morning and HOLY SHIT SMAUG WAS AMAZING AND AWESOME AND ENORMOUS AND HIS VOICE WAS UNF.
> 
> But I digress.
> 
> There is another reason today is going to be the best day. This is the chapter you guys have been waiting for since the beginning. Let the happiness begin!
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: fluff, romance, smut

Today was one of those understated beautiful days. It wasn't fairytale sunny. The air was thick with fog and the rain was beginning to drizzle down, pattering softly against the window panes. No. Today was beautiful because everything was finally falling into place.

Lily had been given a clean bill of health and was growing stronger and more playful with each passing day. She was still a tiny thing. Bless her heart. She'd probably always be quite petite because of her bad start in life. She was beginning to eat solids too now, but she still preferred the luxury of milk.

His brother was making a swift recovery, physically at least. It was always so hard to tell what went on in the elder Holmes' head. Though Sherlock had been informed by Greg that though his brother still turned to drink when the going got tough, he'd also been told that he was faring a lot better than previously.

Today was also a glorious day because of John. He was going to propose today. Sherlock was certain of it. He'd been reading the signs for days now.

 _Yes_ , Sherlock thought.  _Everything is finally falling into place._

The past weeks only solidified John's resolve to marry Sherlock. He was fantastic with Lily, making sure she ate, playing with her, and even litter trained her. She still slept on his pillow sometimes, but she also enjoyed sleeping on the tree they'd purchased for her. She still favoured Sherlock over him, but she loved him in her own way.

Now it was the 30th, the anniversary of their first case together, and John had it all planned out. A simple dinner at Angelo's, private, all to themselves, at their regular table. And after dinner John planned on popping the question.

Now that he had a plan in motion he was a combination of scared and excited. He felt like he was constantly going to throw up and his heart was racing in his chest every time he looked at the man he was going to marry. Just a few short hours and they would be officially engaged. He just needed to get Sherlock to agree to dinner.

'Hey, Sherlock?'

Sherlock looked up from casually playing with Lily and smirked at his lover. His smirk widened as he saw how nervous John was.

He walked over to John and wrapped his arms around him. 'Yes dear?'

'I was... um... I was wondering if you'd be up for going to dinner tonight?' John swallowed audibly and stood ramrod straight, even in Sherlock's tender grasp. He was just too damn nervous to relax. Sherlock hummed softly and kissed John's neck, trying to calm him down.

'Of course. It's the anniversary of our first case. We'll make it a night of celebration, hmm?'

 _Celebration indeed_ , John thought to himself. He vaguely registered that Sherlock was kissing his neck, but it tickled more than relaxed him. He squirmed out of Sherlock's grasp and coughed out an apology before dashing to the loo. He wasn't going to be sick, far from it, but he needed to get away before he had a bloody panic attack in Sherlock's arms. He'd never proposed to anyone before. Never even imagined himself getting married until he and Sherlock got together all those years ago. Sure, he'd asked him to marry him while they were in the manor house, but he hadn't had a ring then. Now it was real. More than real. He was going to propose tonight and damn it if he wasn't nervous as hell. He splashed some water on his face, his left hand shaking harshly. It only ever acted up when he was nervous about Sherlock now, and he was definitely worried right now. Not that he'd say no, but that he'd say yes. John just hoped he didn't faint when Sherlock accepted.

Sherlock shook his head and sighed. Poor John. So nervous. He had no need to be. The answer to the question he wanted to ask was very simple. Yes. Yes, he'd marry John. Of course he would. Sometimes the craving to marry the man that had tumbled into his life all those years ago was so great Sherlock's heart physically ached.

John finally emerged from the bathroom and moved into the kitchen. Sherlock was back to playing with Lily. She'd grown so much since they first found her, and she was getting stronger every day. John moved to join them, the kitten drawing him in like a magnet.

'Are you OK now?' Sherlock asked softly. 'You're a little pale.'

'Yeah. Just... Sorry. I don't know what came over me.' He took another toy and dangled it over Lily's head. She pounced on it and John laughed joyfully.

'What time shall we head off?' Sherlock purred softly, eyeing John and Lily in amusement.

'Seven?' John squealed when Lily started attacking his sleeve and laughed heartily.

Sherlock laughed. 'Seven it is,' he agreed. 'Hey Lily. Come and chase me.' He began to run. Lily meowed loudly and began racing after him.

John fell into a fit of giggles and chased after them, scooping Lily up when he caught up. She squeaked in protest and struggled to get free. John whispered, 'Go get daddy,' and let her free, the little dear sprinting for Sherlock like a bat out of hell. Lily sprang at Sherlock's leg and clung there tightly, her tiny claws digging into his skin.

'Ow! Daddy's not a scratching post!'

'Baby, let go of daddy,' John said softly, reaching out for the ginger kitty.

'Mmmf,' Sherlock winced. 'Can you please get her off me already?'

'OK. Come on baby. Let go.' John grabbed the kitten around her middle and pulled gently, easing her claws out of Sherlock's trouser leg until she released.

'Jesus.' Sherlock pulled a face. 'I hope you're happy Lily. That really hurt.'

'Mow,' she said softly, her ears flattening against her head. She looked like she was pouting.

Sherlock sighed loudly. 'It's OK, baby. Daddy's not angry.'

'Give her a hug and a kiss,' John pouted, holding Lily up by Sherlock's face. 'Make our baba feel betters.'

'Come here, baby.' Sherlock took Lily from John and hugged her gingerly, placing soft kisses to her fur. 'I love you, baba.'

John smiled at the two of them. He pulled out his mobile and snapped a couple pictures. 'So, now that you two are on better terms, what shall we do until seven? We have a few hours to kill. Want to watch a movie?'

'Sounds splendid,' Sherlock hummed softly. 'Absolutely splendid.'

'Good. You can pick.' John kissed Lily softly and then sealed his lips with Sherlock's. 'I love you, my wonderful daddy.'

'I love you too, you great big idiot,' Sherlock grinned. 'How about  _The Lion King_  for the DVD?'

'I think Lily will enjoy that. I'll set it up and meet you on the sofa.' He kissed Sherlock briefly and trotted to the sitting room, adjusting the TV so it was facing the sofa. He found the DVD and popped it in, grabbing the remote before he forgot it.

'You're gorgeous, do you know that?' Sherlock asked with a grin as he and Lily joined John and plopped down on the sofa.

'I've been told from time to time,' John grinned. 'But I wouldn't mind being told again.'

Sherlock kissed John softly. 'Hello gorgeous.'

'Hello handsome,' John smirked. He kissed Sherlock again as the movie started, sucking on his bottom lip before he pulled away. 'I love you so much.'

'Mmm. Are you going to show me how much you love me later on?' he growled, nipping at John's lower lip several times.

'God yes,' John groaned, shifting closer to Sherlock. 'Right after dinner. Promise. I'll make you mine.'

'That is a promise I shall hold you to.'

_Mine._

_Yes, John. All mine._

Sherlock decided something in that moment. He was going to get down on one knee and marry John, even if it meant pick pocketing the ring. He wanted to be the one to propose. He even had a speech written in his mind for the occasion. Lily squeaked between them. It seemed John had scootched so close he was starting to squish her.

'Sorry, baby,' he said softly, petting her. 'Your daddy is just too handsome to resist.'

'Shh,' Sherlock hushed both kitten and lover. 'The movie is starting.'

John hummed and cuddled close to Sherlock, linking their fingers together and squeezing gently. Sherlock sighed happily and let the movie slowly pass the time whilst he snuggled John and Lily. John watched Lily watch the film. She seemed rather enthralled with it. At one point she went up to the TV to bat at the lions before returning to Sherlock's lap. All too soon the film was over, but John didn't want to move. They had about an hour and a half before seven, and John was suddenly tense and nervous all over again.

Sherlock shifted awkwardly. 'Shouldn't we be getting ready?' he asked gently.

'Yeah. Um... Dress nicely. But, you know. Not too fancy. It's just a date after all. I'll, um... I'll go change.' John shot up from the sofa and went into the bedroom. He stripped out of his jumper and jeans and put on a crisp red button up shirt and a black jacket as well as fresh black trousers. He deemed his shoes suitable and stepped out into the kitchen.

'OK. I'm all set. You can go change now.'

Sherlock smirked as he walked over to John, and tugged him into a tight embrace.

'You're looking pale again,' he muttered, kissing John long and hard. John moaned and parted his lips, his hands grasping Sherlock's shirt tight.

Sherlock pulled back and hummed in satisfaction. 'Right. Off to get dressed now. Stop stressing. It's only a date.'

'Yes, but it  _is_  a major anniversary. Go get dressed. I need a drink.' He turned to the sink and got out a glass. He poured himself some water and drank it quickly. Why the hell was he so nervous? Sherlock was bound to say yes. What was he so scared of?

 _Oh John, must you be so delightfully obvious?_  
  
Sherlock chuckled to himself as he entered their room to get dressed. He pulled on a light blue button down shirt, his best dress trousers, a jacket that clung to him tightly, and his poshest pair of shoes. He slicked his hair back with gel and placed a thick amount of eyeliner around his eyes.

He danced out of the room. 'Ta da!'

John turned around and flushed with arousal. 'You and that bloody eyeliner,' he groaned. 'God. I could devour you right now.'

'I am afraid that I will have to decline such an offer until later tonight.'

'Hnng,' John groaned. 'OK. Yeah. So, you ready to go?'

'Have we got everything?' Sherlock asked, a knowing smile on his features.

John quickly checked his pockets and paled slightly. The ring. He's nearly forgotten the ring. He swallowed thickly and avoided looking at Sherlock.

'Forgot my wallet,' he managed before dashing off to the wardrobe to search for the ring. Thankfully it was still shoved in a pair of his shoes and he sighed in relief. He put the box in his pocket and walked back into the sitting room.

'OK. All set.'

Sherlock pointed to his lips. 'Do I get a kiss?' he pouted.

'You hardly have to ask,' John grinned, relaxing slightly. He pulled Sherlock close and sealed their lips together in a passionate kiss. Sherlock used that moment as a means to distract John, nabbing the ring with expert ease and sliding it into his jacket pocket. He pulled back.

'Come on. Let's go.'

'Yeah. I'll get us a cab. Say goodbye to Lily. Oh, and give her some food too.' He dashed outside and hailed a cab, texting Angelo to let him know he and Sherlock were on their way. Sherlock bit back a smile and went to gently pet Lily.

'We'll be back very soon,' he promised her, pouring out some food and a little saucer of milk. He turned and left the flat, a confident stride in his step.

John smiled when he saw Sherlock emerge. He ushered him into the cab and they rode the few minutes to Angelo's. The restaurant was empty except for their usual table, a lone candle lit in the centre.

'You're definitely my date this time, right?' Sherlock teased, pecking John on the lips as Angelo ushered them to their seats.

'Most definitely your date,' John grinned. Angelo handed them each a menu and went to get them drinks, his best wine and some water so they would stay hydrated.

'So, other than me, what looks good tonight?' John joked.

Sherlock's gaze flickered up to John and he licked his lips. 'I'll be eating you for pudding,' he beamed, causing John to flush bright red. 'As for food, hmmm, what were you thinking of having? I shall probably order the same.'

'I was thinking the Chicken Marsala. Sound good?' He took a sip of his wine and hummed. It tasted delicious, and would definitely come in handy for getting his nerve up to finally propose properly.

'Sounds very good indeed,' Sherlock smiled giddily.

'Alright then.' John waved Angelo over and ordered two of his best Chicken Marsalas. Angelo grinned and sped off, but not before congratulating them on their anniversary. John blushed and accepted the praise.

Time passed with light banter and gentle joking. Their food arrived and was utterly scrumptious. But now. Now was the moment. And John was becoming a nervous wreck. Sherlock simply smirked.

John took a large gulp of his wine, his face flushing not only from the alcohol. It was now or never. And the light chit chat had only distracted him for so long. He cleared his throat and moved his hand into his pocket. But it was empty.

 _Oh no. Did I lose it in the cab?!_  John searched his pockets frantically but tried not to raise suspicion. He swallowed thickly, panicking as he couldn't find the box. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

'John,' Sherlock hushed, reaching out a hand to his lover. 'Please stop panicking. Just look at me.'

'I – I'm not panicking.' John swallowed. He looked up at Sherlock, panic and worry written plain as day on his face. He knew Sherlock could see it.

'Yes you are. Now stop. I need you relatively calm for what I'm about to do.'

'I'm not panicking,' John reiterated. 'I'm not. I mean... Wait. What are you about to do?'

Sherlock stood to his feet, grinning ever so slightly like a mad man. He walked to the other side of the table and turned John to face him. He then dropped to one knee and waited for it to sink in with him.

'This.'

John's heart nearly stopped in his chest, his breathing laboured as he watched Sherlock kneel down before him.

 _Oh my god. Oh my god. Is this actually happening?!_  
  
Sherlock took a deep breath before launching into the speech he'd planned.

'John, let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a boy. He grew up believing that he didn't have a heart, that he didn't deserve to be loved, and that he was a waste of space on this Earth. Then the little boy grew into a bitter man but he met someone. He met a man who would change his beliefs on the heart forever.'

Oh god. His heart felt like it was going to explode. His eyes were brimming with tears. His head was ringing. And the only thing that existed was himself and John.

'And for the first time in a very long time the man was happy, accepted for who he was, and most importantly he was loved. His heart of ice had been melted and his soul awakened from a very dark and very cold place. And although the man does not believe in fate, he does believe that he had been waiting for this wonderful person his entire life.'

The tears were spilling hot and heavy now but Sherlock wasn't finished. He just hoped that he didn't break down entirely before he got to ask John the question.

'He and said man were two halves of a jigsaw puzzle and together they make one whole. Of course they had their problems. However, for every dark cloud that shrouded their relationship, a shimmer of light shone through. Which brings us to here. In this restaurant. Right now.'

Sherlock was fully sobbing now, the tears clouding his vision.

'The boy is me. The man he was destined to be with is you, John Watson. And this boy has something very important to ask you. John Watson, the only love I've ever known, the man who is behind the reason my heart beats, the one who makes me a better man, will you marry me?'

John had started crying as soon as Sherlock started speaking. He really had changed him for the better, hadn't he? And now that broken and bitter little boy was down on one knee proposing to the man he loved. He slowly removed his hand from his mouth, not entirely sure when it had risen there, and swallowed thickly before smiling softly.

'Yes,' he choked out. 'Yes, I'll marry you.'

'Yes?' Sherlock smiled through his tears, fishing out the ring with trembling fingers. He slid it onto John's finger and stood to his feet to plant a kiss on John's forehead.

'Th-ank you,' he sobbed.

'Kiss me properly you clot,' John half laughed, half sobbed.

Sherlock pulled John into a passionate kiss. 'I love you,' he croaked out between their lips.

'I love you too. So bloody much.'

'You've made me a very happy man,' Sherlock sniffled. 'And I promise I'm gonna buy you a gorgeous ring like the one you bought for me. It's just – I wanted it to be this way. I wanted to be the one to get down on one knee.'

'And it was better that way. I'm not entirely sure I would have stayed conscious had I asked you.' John laughed softly and pulled Sherlock in for another kiss.

'I feel quite light headed myself.' Sherlock breathed heavily through his nose. 'It took everything in me to not mess up on my speech.'

'It was a beautiful speech too.' John pulled back and wiped at his eyes, still slightly crying.

'I've been working on it for months now,' Sherlock sniffled. 'I only found the guts to actually do it today.'

'Liar.' John smirked. 'You pick pocketed the ring from me. You... you knew I was going to propose today. Didn't you?'

'Yes.' Sherlock smirked back. 'You were so bloody nervous. You might as well have been wearing a massive sign on your head saying that you were going to propose to me. But I got there first because I really had been working on the speech for months and there was so much I wanted to say to you. I hope I conveyed all my love for you. I haven't got you a ring, as of yet. I'm afraid I've been rushed off my feet. What with everything that's been going on.'

'Yeah. Maybe we can go shopping later and you can buy me one. Lord knows Lily needs more food already. Not to mention more litter. She pees like a racehorse and eats like one too. God I love her.'

'We're finally becoming a proper family.' Sherlock grinned. 'And yes. I shall pick out a fine ring for your finger.'

'Yes. Yes we shall,' John grinned. He kissed Sherlock again and laughed happily. 'God I love you.'

'I should bloody hope so after agreeing to marry me.'

'Berk.' He smirked. 'Of course I would have said yes. After all, I was originally planning on proposing to you. I wouldn't have said no. We promised.' He drew the Gallifreyan symbol for eternity on Sherlock's cheek and grinned.

Sherlock smiled as John traced the faded but ever present scar. Not long after he'd marked John, his lover had marked him. It was a constant promise to each other that their love would be for eternity. Sherlock raised his hand and traced his fingertips over John's own mark.

'Our love is forever.'

John pressed his scar to Sherlock's and grinned, happy and relaxed for the first time in what seemed like years.

'Let's go home and celebrate,' he whispered huskily in Sherlock's ear.

'I am going to make you feel so utterly loved and fucked you'll be too sated to even move one muscle,' Sherlock said in his deepest, most seductive voice.

'Then what are we waiting for?' John growled, nipping Sherlock's earlobe for good measure.

'Nothing. Get up! We have a very important appointment in our bedroom.' Sherlock nipped John's lower lip. John shot up and clasped Sherlock's hand tightly. He thanked Angelo for a lovely dinner and gave the man a few notes despite his protests the meal was on the house. He then raced out of the restaurant to Baker Street, dragging Sherlock along behind.

'Someone's eager,' Sherlock sniggered as he was pulled all the way back to the flat. John merely whooped for joy and opened the door to their flat. Once inside he scooped Sherlock up and carried him upstairs and over the threshold of their sitting room and into the bedroom. He deposited Sherlock on the bed and climbed over him, sealing their lips together in a heated kiss.

'Very eager,' Sherlock purred before returning his lips to John's. He could feel his fiancé's – it felt bloody miraculous to call him that – body trembling with excitement.

'I want you inside me,' John purred, nipping at Sherlock's lower lip. 'Fuck me until I'm so exhausted and loved I can't move.'

Sherlock's pupils blew wide open and he made quick work of discarding John's clothes. 'You prepared yourself before we left. Mmm. You're all ready for me. Good boy.'

'I felt it would come in handy.' John smirked. 'Want to split a Viagra tablet before we start? And then I can undress you while it works through our systems.'

'Already ahead of you. I have one for each of us.' Sherlock plucked out two pills and gave one to John. 'You haven't tried the pill version yet, have you?' He laughed, humour glinting in his eyes. 'Oh John. It makes you feel so big. It feels fantastic.'

'I look forward to it.' John popped the pill in his mouth and dry swallowed it. The feeling was almost instantaneous. He felt hot and heavy and oh so fantastic. Sherlock swallowed his own pill and moaned as his body instantly reacted.

'Undress me. Now.'

John leapt at his fiancé and growled, practically tearing his clothes off. He took Sherlock in hand and swallowed him quickly, coating his growing cock thoroughly so it would go inside him easily. Sherlock stared down at John lovingly, noises of appreciation falling from his lips.

John released Sherlock with a pop and grinned wolfishly. 'Now take me, my love.'

Sherlock barked like a happy puppy and shifted so he was straddling John. He quickly pushed his engorged cock into John and whimpered. It felt bloody brilliant.

'Oh Christ,' John groaned. He rocked back on his fiancé's engorged cock and moaned obscenely. He grasped his hips tightly and pulled him closer, shaking with pleasure. Sherlock took his time. He wasn't going to rush this. Not when this moment was so significant. He slowly rocked in and out of John and peppered him in as many tender kisses as he could. John moaned and rocked back gently, understanding Sherlock's taking his time. He wanted this to last too. It was a special occasion after all. He sealed their lips together and kissed Sherlock languidly, passionately, lovingly.

'My Watson,' Sherlock whispered. 'My dearest Watson. I am so very glad you entered my life. And I am even more thrilled by the fact that our lives are now entwined forever.' He stopped his thrusting for a brief moment. 'Will you be wanting to stay a Watson? Or are you going to join the Holmes'?'

'I haven't really thought about it,' John admitted. 'Maybe I could be a Watson-Holmes? Hyphenated? I don't know. But I would be more than happy to take your name if you wished.'

'Would you be happy as a Holmes?' Sherlock asked as he picked up his thrusting once more. 'Only Sherlock Watson-Holmes is ever so much of a mouthful. And dear me, think of our children.'

'You'd be a Holmes-Watson,' John pointed out. 'And of course I'd be happy as a Holmes. I'd be  _your_  Holmes. Oh god, that feels fantastic. Right there. Don't stop.'

'Same thing. Still an awful mouthful with Sherlock in front.' Sherlock began to move a little faster. 'Would you really be happy though? As John Holmes?'

'God yes,' John moaned in reply. 'I want to be a Holmes. Please.'

Sherlock kissed John slowly and thrust faster. 'My John Holmes,' he purred. 'Lovely.' John groaned and rocked back on Sherlock's cock, gripping his hips hard, pulling him in deeper.

'Fuck yes! Let me be a Holmes! Your Holmes! Yours! Fuck don't stop. Right there. Right there. Oh god!' Sherlock only increased his speed. His thrusts hit John's prostate with a brilliant accuracy and he was becoming undone.

'Gah! Fuck! Shit! Fuck! Oh my god! Sherlock!' John cried, his back arching off the bed, his cock throbbing, untouched. 'Touch me. God! Please! So bloody close!'

'Not yet,' Sherlock hushed. 'Don't want it to all be over.' He slowed his pace once more.

'Please!' John begged. 'Doesn't this drug allow us at least two releases? Please! I'm so close! Please!' Sherlock grabbed John's cock and began pumping it steadily.

'Feel good?'

'God yes!' John cried out, his eyes squeezing shut. 'Oh fuck!'

'Cum for me my love. Cum for me.'

'Sherlock!' John screamed as he came in harsh spurts across his stomach and Sherlock's hand. He trembled with aftershocks of pleasure and whimpered, a small laugh bubbling up from his chest.

Sherlock laughed along with John as he came long and hard. 'John bloody Holmes!'

'Mmm, yes,' John purred, rocking back as Sherlock continued to cum. 'Your John Hamish Holmes. God I love you.'

'Sorry. Say that again. I didn't quite catch that.' Sherlock laughed loudly and joyously.

'I love you.' John grinned, peppering soft kisses over Sherlock's face. 'I love you, I love you, I love you.'

'I love you too, Mr Holmes.' Sherlock slowed down as he stopped cumming. He threw his head back and moaned as he hardened again almost immediately.

'Fuck,' John groaned, rocking back on the hardening prick still up his arse. Sherlock giggled giddily and began to stroke John's cock with several harsh strokes whilst beginning to pound himself into him.

'Oh fuck,' John groaned, clutching the sheets tightly as Sherlock began to fuck him. 'Fuck me.'

'What the hell do you think I'm doing?' Sherlock wheezed out, pounding into John even harder.

'Oh god!' John cried out, his back arching off the bed. 'Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!'

'Jesus!' Sherlock cried out. 'I'm close already!'

'Slow down,' John urged. 'Don't want this to end yet.'

'Too late. Please John. I'm so blissfully close! Please.'

'Stop! Please! I have an idea. Pull out and lay back. Please.'

Sherlock pulled away quicker than lighting and whimpered, cupping his red and throbbing cock.

'Now lay back,' John instructed, moving so his mouth hovered over Sherlock's aching cock.

'Explain how your mouth will slow things down?' Sherlock scoffed as he lay back.

'I never claimed it would.' John smirked. 'I plan on swallowing you, and then I want you to swallow me. I see it as a sort of connection thing, where I'm inside you and you're inside me, connected and together.'

'Good lord, you dirty man.' Sherlock licked his lips greedily. 'What are you waiting for?'

'Give me an order,' John demanded. 'Command your Captain, Colonel.'

'Suck me off till I cum screaming. That's an order, Captain.'

'Yes, sir.' John mock saluted his lover and snickered. He licked a thick stripe from the base to the tip of Sherlock's cock before engulfing him whole, sliding him down his throat until his nose was buried in his curls. He then began to bob his head furiously, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked Sherlock hard and fast, desperate to make him cum.

Sherlock began to thrust as hard as he could into John's mouth. 'Fuck. Ah! Fu–' He hit the back of John's throat and his throbbing cock exploded with his cum. The second orgasm was even more intense and he just kept on cumming. John grunted and swallowed Sherlock's cumming cock down his throat, allowing his seed to simply glide down his throat.

'J-ohn, if I were you I'd let go. Gonna be cumming for a while yet.' Sherlock grunted and despite his words drove his cock deeper into John's throat. John grunted his disagreement and swallowed Sherlock further, the cum practically sliding down his throat in thick spurts. He was struggling to breathe but he held on.

'John, you're going red in the face,' Sherlock panted. John still didn't release Sherlock, but he was starting to feel very lightheaded. Would Sherlock just stop bloody cumming already?! Sherlock growled and took things into his own hands. He grabbed hold of John's shoulders and shoved him backwards so that he released his cock.

'Not even an official Holmes yet and you're a brilliant idiot.'

John gulped down deep lungfuls of air and lay back against the sheets, his heart and head pounding. Sherlock had finally stopped cumming. Thank god. He sighed and clambered onto John.

'Hey,' he said in a low voice. 'Are you alright. Did I hurt you?'

'Fine,' John choked out, rubbing at his throat. 'I'm fine. Really. Lungs burn a bit though.'

'You're still a recovering smoker,' Sherlock pointed out. 'And you refused to let go of my cock for a bloody long time.'

'Wanted it all,' John coughed out violently. Damn his smoking.

'Shh. It'll be OK, Mr Holmes.' Sherlock smirked and placed a hand on John's face. John hummed and leaned his cheek into Sherlock's touch. It was his scarred cheek, and Sherlock's cool hand felt fantastic on his hot skin.

'I've been thinking. How opposed to the idea of an engagement party would you be? Because I really just want to celebrate this with everyone.'

'Do it.' John grinned, cupping Sherlock's cheek and rubbing the ring over it. 'Let's celebrate our happiness with everyone.'

'I'll pick a ring out first. And we'll have to buy the non alcoholic champagne. I would like my brother to stay sober... for once.'

'Sounds good, love.' John grinned. A twinkle lit in his eyes as an idea crossed his mind. 'Give me your left hand.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and offered out his hand. John smiled and removed his own hand from Sherlock's face. He took the ring off and held it to Sherlock's finger.

'With this ring, I thee biodamp.' He smirked and laughed. 'No. Sorry. I couldn't resist. In all seriousness, with this ring, I pronounce us officially engaged.' He slid the ring on Sherlock's finger with ease and grinned brightly up at him.

'It really is beautiful.' He raised his hand up to his face. 'Quite beautiful indeed.'

'I thought of you as soon as I saw it. I was so excited to see it on you too. It looks beautiful.'

Sherlock bit his lip. 'I hope I'm as good deciding on your ring.'

'Take your time. There's no rush,' John assured him. 'You'll know it when you see it.'

'I hope so,' Sherlock breathed out. 'When are we telling people?'

'I don't know. Maybe after you buy my ring? At the engagement party?'

'Ah ha. So they won't know it's an engagement party till we announce it. Brilliant thinking. I can't wait to see their faces.'

'My thoughts exactly.' John grinned. 'Now, are you gonna suck me off or are we going to discuss parties?'

'Shh you.' Sherlock smirked as he dropped down John's body and swallowed him whole.

John let out a long and loud moan, rocking his hips steadily. 'Oh fuck. Feels so good.'

Sherlock bobbed up and down frantically, knowing it wouldn't take John long at all to cum.

'Bollocks,' John grunted. 'Please. Fuck! Close!' Sherlock gently squeezed John's bollocks by request and hummed around John's cock.

'Harder!' he demanded, gasping as he was dragged closer to the edge. 'Oh god.' Sherlock growled and pulled John's bollocks harshly.

'Fuck! Sherlock!' John cried, finally plummeting over the edge. He came hard, pulsing down Sherlock's throat in thick spurts. Just like his own release, John kept on cumming thickly down his throat. After a few minutes he began to feel lightheaded but John was too far into his ecstasy to notice.

'Sherlock. Sherlock, you're shaking,' John gasped out, finally looking down at his lover. 'And you're turning blue. For fuck's sake! Let go and breathe!' Sherlock growled and hollowed his cheeks further, eyes slipping shut despite his best efforts to try to keep them open.

'Oh god. Sherlock. Fuck! Sherlock! Let go!' He shoved Sherlock as hard as he could, pushing him off just enough that his mouth was still around his cock but his windpipe wasn't being blocked as severely as before.

'Much better,' he sighed. 'Keep going. Don't stop.'

Sherlock whined and stayed completely still. Whether it was from lack of oxygen, the low after the adrenaline of proposing, or his sheer exhaustion, he was falling into practically a comatose state, his mouth still around John's cock.

'I think... I think I'm done,' John gasped out. He yawned widely, his eyes scrunching shut from the force of it. 'Need to sleep now. Get up here and cuddle me.'

Sherlock managed to move his mouth from John's cock but he was already on his way to being fast asleep.

'Come on, love.' John yawned again. 'Just pull yourself up here. Please.'

At that moment Lily leapt onto the bed and began to climb onto Sherlock's head. She meowed loudly when she got no response and looked at her other daddy.

'Mow?!'

'Daddy's very tired,' John laughed softly. 'Off. Let me move him.'

Lily mewed and hopped off her daddy. Sherlock stirred slightly but didn't wake. John hauled him up to the head of the bed and curled up beside him, entangling their legs and entwining his hand with Sherlock's.

'I love you,' he whispered to the sleeping man. 'My fiancé, my love, my Sherlock.'

'I love you too, idiot,' Sherlock grumbled back. Lily jumped onto her daddy once more, nesting in his curls. John hummed and kissed Sherlock softly, petting Lily simultaneously.

'G'night, Mr Holmes.' Sherlock smirked in his sleep.

'Goodnight, Mr Holmes,' John smirked. He settled against Sherlock's chest and fell into a deep, calm sleep, lulled by Sherlock's heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY FINALLY GOT ENGAGED.
> 
> Did you guys cry as hard as I did during Sherlock's speech? Because I was a blubbering baby. I don't know how John maintained his composure that long.
> 
> It's a shame we only have four chapters to go. The second installment in this series won't be posted until next year though. Probably not until after Series 3 is completed in the US. That's February 2 for those of you who don't know. And my birthday is the 14th, so I'll post the first chapter the Monday after my birthday most likely.
> 
> I'll try to get the last chapters edited before Christmas. The last chapter will be posted after Christmas.
> 
> See you Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB


	62. Ups and Downs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy (late) Monday. Sorry for the late update. I got a new phone and I've been messing around with it all day. Long story short, after two years and two weeks I finally cracked my iPhone screen. So I bought a new phone, an Android this time, and so far I like it a lot. I just need to transfer my contacts over.
> 
> READ THE WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER. THIS ONE IS KINDA FUCKED UP IN PLACES.
> 
> For those of you who don't like dubcon, there is some in this chapter, but it's only near the very beginning so you can skip that and read on. You won't miss much. Also, there's mention of Sherlock's pornographic past, and it's pretty fucked up, so be warned if you don't like puppy play sex acts. Also, John gives Sherlock a blow job in front of Greg and Myc, but they technically started the sexual stuff so it's on their heads and not John's. So if you don't like voyeurism type stuff, consider yourself warned.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock  
> Me: John  
> Shared: Greg and Mycroft
> 
> Trigger Warnings: dubcon at the beginning (feel free to skip to the third ...::-::... symbol to skip that if you don't like dubcon/rapey scenes)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: emotional Sherlock, father figure Greg, apologies and forgiveness, porn, porn slavery (Sherlock did porn before he met John, and the really fucked up kind of puppy play porn too, so you can skip to the fifth ...::-::... symbol if you don't like that kind of stuff, though we don't go into much detail about what Sherlock did), sort of public/voyerism sex in front of family (yes, it's as mortifying and embarrassing as it sounds), smut, blow jobs, John gets angry, Mycroft comes to the rescue.

Sherlock woke up nice and early the next day and was quick to get dressed. He left a note to John on their bedside telling him he would be back soon. Time to go cat food shopping and ring shopping whilst he was at it too.

Lily trotted after Daddy as he got dressed. She pawed at his trouser leg to get his attention. She wanted to go too. But Daddy shushed her, told her he couldn't take her where he was going. She meowed in protest and he gave her some treats as an apology. She followed him to the door, not daring to venture downstairs as she was still too small to climb back up, and watched him leave. She trotted back to the sitting room and ate her treats before returning to her other daddy, still asleep. She made her way onto the bed and curled up on her daddy's pillow, falling asleep with his scent all around her.

Sherlock found himself in a jewellery shop in scarily no time at all. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked across the wide range of rings they had. He pressed his cheek up against the glass like a child looking into a sweet shop. Which one would suit John? God. This was so hard. It was going to take him all day to find the right one. There were so many to choose from! And this was just the engagement ring. What the hell was he going to do for the wedding one? Ah well, think about that later.

**…::-::…**

John yawned and stretched his sore muscles as he woke, trying not to disturb Lily. He put on a dressing gown and padded out to the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea. There was a note by the kettle. Sherlock had gone out shopping. Wow. Really? Fantastic. John smiled and poured the now boiling water into his mug and moved to sit on the sofa, awaiting Sherlock's return.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock had finally bought a ring. It was beautiful, masculine, and yet incredibly elegant all the same. He made sure to have the Gallifreyan symbol of eternity engraved into the inner part of the ring. Once that had been settled he bought some cat food, some Jammy Dodgers, and two large milk cartons from Tesco's. He hurried home. He couldn't wait for John to try it on.

'Honey, I'm home!' he called as he strode through the door of the flat.

'Welcome back, love.' John smiled from his position on the sofa. Lily came scrambling out of their bedroom and straight for Sherlock's shoelaces.

'Hello baby girl.' Sherlock bent down to give her a brief scratch behind the ear. He put the milk and Jammy Dodgers away and poured some cat food out for Lily. He then moved over to the sofa and clambered onto John.

'Hello sexy Mr Holmes,' he purred. 'God do I love calling you that.'

'Mmm. I like it when you call me that,' John purred back. He sealed their lips together briefly and smiled. 'God I love you.'

'I love you too. Which is why I bought you this ring.' He fished the ring box out of his coat pocket and opened it up. John gasped slightly and looked up at Sherlock, both their eyes shining.

'It's beautiful.'

'Give me your hand.' Sherlock smiled happily. He'd made the right decision on what ring to buy. Thank god. John obediently held out his left hand and Sherlock grasped it gently.

Sherlock pushed the ring onto John's finger and sighed. 'Perfect fit.'

'Thank you,' John choked out, looking at the gold band. 'It's perfect. I love it.'

Sherlock kissed John greedily and hummed.

'Can we tell people today?'

'Not yet. Need to invite people to the party first.' He moaned into their kiss and shifted under his fiancé, rubbing his erection against his thigh. 'How about Saturday?'

'Alright dear. Saturday it is.' Sherlock wiggled on John's lap and groaned as his cock twitched.

'Bed,' John moaned, his hips thrusting up to meet Sherlock's. 'Now.'

Sherlock grunted. 'No. Here. I'll shag you right here.'

'Lily,' John groaned out. 'Bed. Please.'

'She's a kitten,' Sherlock whined and thrust faster.

'Oh god,' John moaned, spreading his legs a little wider. 'Fuck it. Take me. Fuck! Take me now!'

Sherlock undid his zip and pulled out his cock. It was terribly inflamed and engorged. He blushed.

'Those pills are really addictive.' John was so open from last night that he was able to push inside with relative ease, but he imagined it was quite painful having a cock that size shoved up your arse. 'I really wanted to celebrate so I may have taken one too many but I'm determined to cum this time. No need to drain me.'

'Limit yourself to one – fuck – anytime you use them. Please. I don't want to have to drain your prick of blood again. You know I had to use nearly twenty regular sized needles last time?'

'Shh,' Sherlock grumbled and began making hard love to John. 'As I said, I'm fairly sure I'm addicted to the things. Besides, you'll thank me later.'

'No. No more addictions,' John grumbled. 'No more addictions. Please. Stop using them before it's too late. Please. No more.'

'Errg fine!' Sherlock yelled as his thrusts became manic. 'Though I see no bloody harm in it!' He was really quite frustrated now and he was taking his frustration out on John's arse.

'Sherlock! Sherlock, you're hurting me! Fuck! Stop!' John's hands scrabbled to grip Sherlock's shoulders and pushed with all his might. But Sherlock didn't budge, didn't stop. If anything he just moved faster and harder. 'Sherlock! Stop! Please!'

Sherlock didn't stop. He just kept on jerking his hips violently until he began cumming in thick, angry spurts. He came for what seemed like forever before pulling out, tears shining in his eyes.

'Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

He zipped his trousers back up and slid off of John. His breath caught in his throat as he looked on at John. He was terrified and god was that blood on his arse? Bewildered and consumed by guilt, Sherlock apologised profusely before running from the flat. He was a monster. God. Why? Why?!

John took deep shuddering breaths as he tried to calm down. Sherlock had run away, leaving him bloodied and sore on the sofa. He wasn't even sure he could move to the shower without his entire body screaming in protest. So he lay there, arse bleeding into his dressing gown, and sobbed. Sobbed because he was in pain, sobbed because Sherlock was addicted to yet another drug, and sobbed because Sherlock had run away. Why did someone always run away?

He somehow managed to crawl his way to the shower on hands and knees, turning the water on scalding hot and laying under the spray. He continued to cry, his tears cold against his hot face, and begged Sherlock to come home. He would call him later, after he'd cleaned himself up, and he would do his damnedest not to cry. He just wanted Sherlock to come home.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock wasn't going to do something stupid. Not this time. He wasn't going to turn to drugs, and he wasn't going to mull over his thoughts till he chose a suicidal path. He couldn't turn to his brother, not when he was still dealing with his own shit. And he couldn't go back to John, not after practically raping him. Which left one person he could really trust. Greg. He was technically family now. He could help, right?

By the time he got to the Yard however, he had bought two packets of cigarettes and had smoked them all. He now stank like a chimney. He almost broke down as he saw the D.I's office vacant. He swallowed thickly and quickly ducked inside the office as he heard Donovan's voice. He crawled beneath the desk and curled up like a cat, clenching his eyes shut and falling into an exhausted sleep. Though how he could sleep at all after what had happened was a mystery.

**…::-::…**

John emerged from the shower, his arse still sore but he could handle it better. He went into the bedroom and fished out his mobile from his jeans. The battery was nearly dead from not being charged the night before. He crawled into bed and grabbed the charger, plugging it in before finding Sherlock's number and dialling. It went straight to voicemail. Shit.

'Sherlock,' he croaked out. He cleared his throat before continuing. 'Sherlock, please come home. Please don't run away again. Please come home so we can talk about this. I just want to know what you're thinking. Please. Just come home. Please.'

Meanwhile, Greg was coming back from an interrogation room, rubbing a hand down his face. The suspect had been tough to break, but they'd got him to confess. Finally. He entered his office and sat in his chair, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. He took a few calming breaths before turning back to the paperwork loaded on his desk.

'Let's just dive in,' he said to himself. But when he moved to scootch forward his chair didn't move very far. He pushed back to see if he was caught on a strip of carpet and nearly gasped aloud when he saw Sherlock asleep under his desk. He slid out of his chair down to Sherlock's level and shook his shoulder gently, trying to rouse him from his slumber.

'Sherlock?' he whispered gently. 'Sherlock? What are you doing here? Are you alright?'

Sherlock frowned and curled further in on himself. 'Hmmf,' he huffed and batted the offending hand away.

'Sherlock,' Greg huffed. 'Sherlock, wake up.' He shook his shoulder a little more gruffly.

Sherlock winced his eyes open and looked on at Greg groggily.

'Hmmf?'

'Hey. What are you doing here, mate? Come for a case?'

Sherlock shook his head silently and began to tremble as the events hit him like running into a lamppost.

'What's wrong, Sherlock?'

'Nothing. You know what? I will take you up on a case,' Sherlock managed to choke out.

'No. Something's up. What's wrong, Sherlock? Just tell me. It's better to talk it out than to let it bottle up inside. Please.'

Sherlock raised his left hand up, his wedding band still on his finger.

Greg blinked and took Sherlock's hand in his, examining the ring. He grinned brightly at the younger man, but his dejected face made it fall.

'So... John proposed? What's so wrong with that? Or is that not what's wrong?'

'No.  _I_  proposed to  _him_ ,' Sherlock corrected. 'But our marriage may be ending before it's even begun.'

'What?' Greg sat down by Sherlock and sighed softly. 'What happened?'

'I've done something bad. Something really, really bad.' His face creased in pain. 'Why do I always fuck things up?'

'You don't fuck anything up,' Greg hushed him. He wrapped an arm around him gently and squeezed his shoulder. 'Now, what happened? You can tell me.'

'The Viagra drug in tablet form... turns out to be rather addictive.'

'Oh. So... You took too much and, what? Your... Um... Manhood was too large?'

'Bingo.' Sherlock ran a hand down his face. 'He begged me to stop but I didn't. I left him terrified and bleeding.'

'Wait. You... had sex with John anyway? OK. I can see the issue.' He paused and pursed his lips. 'Have you thought about talking to him about it?'

'It's only just happened and as much as I hate running away... I also think we need some space. We always do after these kind of things. I came to you because I was afraid of doing something stupid.'

'Like finding a dealer?' Greg guessed. 'Good on you for finding me. As for the space thing, I can let you stay here for a couple hours, but then I strongly suggest you go home and talk about this. Together. Alright?'

Sherlock nodded. 'I... I think that without you the drugs would have taken me a long time ago. Even when I relapsed you were helping me by just being my friend.' Tears shone in his eyes. 'Thank you. I can always rely on you.'

'You're quite welcome, Sherlock.' He squeezed Sherlock gently in a hug and sighed. 'Do you want to stay under here and calm down? Because I've got some paperwork to attend to. You're more than welcome to stay down here though.'

Sherlock nodded and squeezed Greg back. 'May I?' he asked in a voice barely audible.

'Yes, you can stay down here.' Greg moved away and stretched slightly, popping his spine back into place. 'Try not to disturb me, OK? I need this paperwork done in the next few hours. It's vital to our current case.'

'Of course,' Sherlock replied quietly. He dropped his head back to the ground and sniffed loudly. All he could smell was the smoke on his clothes and carpet cleaner masking an obvious accident with coffee.

'It'll be OK, Sherlock,' Greg said softly. He sat back in his chair and got as close to his desk as possible without crowding Sherlock. He sighed and dove into his paperwork.

A few silent hours later with the image of a terrified John in his mind, Sherlock began to shake and mumble in several different languages. French, Latin, Gallifreyan, and German being a few of them. His mouth was pouring out self hatred like water running freely from a tap. It would seem it was in his factory settings to self hate. He was such a fuck up! Always ruining people's happiness!

'Sherlock? Sherlock, you're mumbling,' Greg stated, nudging him with his foot. 'You OK?'

Sherlock swore loudly in Latin and crawled from underneath the desk, squeezing past Greg. He blinked at the DI, ruffled his curls slightly, and turned swiftly to move out of the office.

'Whoa, whoa, whoa! Sherlock! Stop!' Greg stood and grasped Sherlock by the arm, dragging him back inside his office.

'What's going on? What are you gonna do?'

'I'm going to get on my knees in front of John and beg for forgiveness that I do not deserve.'

'Of course you deserve forgiveness.' Greg frowned. 'Come on. I'll drive you.' He grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door. 'It'll save ya a cab fare at least. Plus I need to get out of here before I suffocate.'

'You don't trust me, do you?'

'Of course I do,' Greg said, appalled. 'I really just need to get some air, and I might as well drop you off while I'm at it. Come on. Let's go.'

Sherlock sighed in defeat. 'Very well. As you said, you may as well give me a lift.'

'OK. Let's go.' He held the door open for Sherlock and they went to Greg's car. Greg didn't bother holding the door open that time. Sherlock was a stubborn man, and he probably wouldn't have appreciated him treating him like a child. He got in and started the car, turning the heat on full blast. Sherlock pressed his head against the cool glass of the car window.

'How's my brother?' he asked, gazing out at the world.

'Better,' Greg said as he turned onto the main road. 'Been sleeping a lot though.'

Sherlock felt his heart sink in his chest. 'What goes on in that ridiculous mind of his?'

'I don't know. But I worry about him constantly.' He pulled onto Baker Street and parked outside the flat. 'John will forgive you, Sherlock. He will. You two are going to be fine. Oh. And congratulations.'

'Thanks. Do send my love to Mycroft.' Sherlock smiled weakly as he got out of the car and waved Greg off before entering the flat with a tired sigh. Greg waved and drove off, rolling the windows down to let the cool air refresh him. When Sherlock walked into the bedroom John was fast asleep and Lily was curled up on his pillow, not Sherlock's. She looked at him almost angrily and Sherlock sighed.

'Daddy's messed up, Lily,' he said, dropping his coat to the floor and crawling under the covers, wrapping John in a tight hug. 'Daddy messed up big time.'

John sighed and curled closer to the warmth now in bed with him. He hummed in his sleep and nuzzled his head against the chest he was sure belonged to Sherlock.

'Hi,' he mumbled in his sleep.

'Hello.' Sherlock kissed John's ear lightly. John hummed and slowly started to rouse. He pressed closer to Sherlock's mouth and smiled softly. He blinked his eyes open sleepily, his vision blurred from sleep.

'Get my message?' he asked.

'No. Sorry. I was busy... thinking.'

'Mmm. It's OK.' He snuggled closer to Sherlock and gripped his shirt material tightly. 'Just glad you're back. Though you smell heavily of cigarettes.'

'Smoked my way through two packs,' Sherlock admitted. 'I... John... I'm sorry. For everything.'

'Normally I would say that it's OK, and it sort of is, but I asked you to stop and you didn't.' He looked up at Sherlock with sad eyes. 'Why didn't you stop?'

'I don't know. I could chalk it up to the drug but I think we both know that's a piss weak excuse.'

'Were you angry at me?' John asked softly.

'I was completely pissed off, yes,' Sherlock replied quietly.

'What did I do?' John whimpered. 'Tell me and I won't do it again.'

'You brought bad memories back up when you started going on about addiction.'

'I didn't do it on purpose,' John sniffled. 'I'm sorry.'

'Shh. Don't apologise.' Sherlock swallowed. 'I just hope this doesn't prevent you from becoming my Mr Holmes.'

'Of course it's not gonna stop me from becoming Mr Holmes,' John pouted, wiping at his eyes. 'Why would it? I still love you. That hasn't changed. And I doubt it ever will.'

'God. You're too perfect for words.' Sherlock tugged John closer.

John smiled and pulled Sherlock close, his nose wrinkling as the smell of cigarettes became stronger.

'Sorry, but you reek of stale cigarettes. And I'm trying to quit, so could you change or shower or something please? Then get back in here and cuddle me.'

Sherlock groaned and rid himself of his clothes beneath the covers, throwing them to the floor.

'Too tired to have a shower.'

'That's fine. Maybe we can take one together later.' John took off his dressing gown and tossed it to the floor. Lily came over to investigate her daddies, making sure everything was OK now.

'Mow?' She pawed at one of Sherlock's rebellious curls. Sherlock chuckled and pressed his body to John's.

'Hello baba.'

'Mow,' she purred, settling down on Sherlock's pillow again.

'We both missed you,' John whispered, combing his fingers through Sherlock's curls. 'A lot.'

'Missed you too.' Sherlock nibbled at John's ear. John hummed and moved closer, his heart starting to beat faster.

'Greg knows. Sorry, but I had to talk to someone.'

John blushed and swallowed. 'It's OK. Better to tell someone you trust than keeping it in. Did he... No. It's not important.'

'Did he what?' Sherlock questioned softly.

'I just... Did he see your ring? Like I said. It's not important compared to what you must have discussed with him.'

'I showed it to him, yes,' Sherlock said slowly. 'He's ecstatic for us, really. I wouldn't worry.'

'I wasn't worried about him approving. I'm worried about him telling your brother. Especially before we have the party.'

'Is that such a bad thing? My brother still isn't in a particularly good place right now. It might cheer him up a little to know about our engagement.'

'Yeah. I suppose. How's he doing anyway? I'm assuming you asked?'

'Of course. If it wasn't for Greg I'd never find out anything about my brother. He's doing better with his drinking but he's apparently using up a lot of time just sleeping, so I assume he's quite depressed.'

'Do you want to visit him later? We could bring Lily. He seemed rather enthralled with her the last time he saw her. Maybe he needs a pet of his own?'

'Hmm. Maybe he does. He was rather fond of Ash back in the days. Yes, we shall visit him. That is a fine idea.'

'OK. But right now I want you to cuddle me.'

'Yes, of course. Shall I send a text to Greg asking if it's OK if we visit later? And then we can cuddle the day away.'

'OK. Kiss me first though.' John pouted slightly and puckered his lips, awaiting Sherlock's lips to join his. Sherlock grinned and sealed his lips to John's, flicking his tongue out and exploring his lover's mouth. John hummed and parted his lips, allowing Sherlock to delve inside. His own tongue flicked out in greeting and he moaned when they made contact, teasing and dancing with one another.

Sherlock pulled back slightly. 'I apologise. I must taste awful after smoking so much.'

'Yeah... But I kinda like it.' John blushed and cleared his throat. 'I... probably shouldn't, I know. But... yeah.'

'In which case...' Sherlock plunged his tongue into John's mouth once more. John moaned again and closed his eyes, his fingers tangling in Sherlock's curls. His tongue danced along Sherlock's, tasting the cigarette ash and thoroughly enjoying every second of it. Sherlock clambered on top of John cautiously, his lips still attached and tongue still exploring. John pulled him close, deepening their kiss. His hands slid down from Sherlock's hair to rest on his hips and pulled him down, grinding their groins together, his very prominent erection sliding against Sherlock's thigh.

'Are you sure?' Sherlock asked, watching John carefully.

'Yes. I mean... You probably won't be able to take me for a few days while I heal, but there's nothing stopping me from taking you.' He rocked up again and grinned shyly. 'Is that OK?'

'Yes, take me,' Sherlock nodded and pecked John on the lips.

'You might want to put Lily on the floor so she can go hide.' John smirked, eyeing the ginger ball of fluff.

'She's seen worse,' Sherlock giggled but put Lily on the ground anyway. 'Go hide girl.'

'Mow,' Lily protested, padding away to her tree and curling up there.

'What else has the poor baby seen?' John asked, raising an eyebrow.

'Errr. Well, for a certain case I had to watch porn... and it turned me on, so...'

'Oh? And what case was that and how did I miss out on such a glorious opportunity?' John purred.

'Well, err, you were asleep. And the case was important. A group of killers were using an online porn show as a cover.' Sherlock blushed bright red.

'Ah. Well, would you be interested in watching some together? I could fuck you with a porno playing in the background. Or we could give mutual masturbation a try.'

'I prefer the latter,' Sherlock growled.

'Then go get my laptop and meet me back here,' John hummed, nipping Sherlock's earlobe before swatting his rear to get him moving.

'OK dear.' Sherlock chuckled and crawled from the bed, fetching John's laptop and returning.

'Ready?' he smirked, turning it on. He blushed and coughed when porn almost instantly came up.

'Still the same site as before?' John smirked. He propped their pillows up and sat up gingerly, all too aware of how sore his arse was.

'Yes,' Sherlock said, biting his lower lip. 'Makes lovely wanking material.'

'Let me see. If it's as good as you say, I'll try it. Otherwise I have some favourites saved on here.'

'Dear lord, John.' Sherlock's eyebrows rose high on his forehead.

'What?' he asked innocently.

'You have porn sites in your favourites?'

'Just the videos I prefer. Is that weird?'

'Slightly, yes.' Sherlock felt himself pale a little. 'I just... I hope you haven't come across... never mind.'

'Come across what?' John questioned, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

'Perhaps I should just show you.' Sherlock typed in a website and a video flashed up. He clicked play and a teenage version of Sherlock showed up. He was deadly thin, had a dog collar digging into his neck with a leash, and was on all fours.

John gasped and a hand covered his mouth, disgusted and appalled at what he was watching. It was Sherlock, and yet it wasn't. He looked like he was strung out on drugs, possibly only participating in the video in the promise of more, but he looked like he'd been in the collar for quite some time.

'What is this?' John whispered, looking up at Sherlock with eyes full of worried tears.

'Practically the whole of my late teens were spent like this. Drugged and tied up. They paid good money, John. Really good money.' Sherlock swallowed heavily.

'What did you have to do to earn the money? I can't watch this.' He stopped the video and pushed the laptop away, drawing his knees up to his chest and holding them tight.

'Nothing sexual, if that's what you're thinking. I was basically the equivalent of a chew toy to a pack of dogs. They'd whip me, force me to crawl on my knees, and do far worse things that I'm not prepared to talk about.'

John's bottom lip trembled and he whimpered, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. Sherlock had done all that for drug money. And he was still just a kid. That couldn't have been legal. But a chew toy. He said he was a chew you. Were there people out there who had a fetish for sick shit like that? Obviously if Sherlock was not only paid to do it but people had watched it. Sick bastards.

'John, please forgive me. This is just a part of my past. I'm sorry you had to see me like that... but I don't know what I'd do if you found that video without me explaining it first.' Sherlock was crying now too. 'I'm sorry.'

'I probably never would have found it,' John said quietly. 'I'm not into that sort of shit. Discipline, puppy play, whatever the fuck it is. I don't enjoy that sort of shit. I'm not mad at you, though. I'm not. I'm more mad at the people who filmed you and posted it here.'

'But if you had...' Sherlock swallowed. 'That's how Greg found me. He helped me get out of the business. Helped me understand that I was better than all that shit.'

John's head snapped up. 'Greg watches that filth?!'

'No!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'Hell no!' He swallowed. 'He busted my owners–' He swallowed again. 'My bosses I mean.'

'Owners?' John choked out. 'Jesus, Sherlock. You really were their dog, weren't you?'

Sherlock hung his head in shame. 'Yes, I was. I was their bloody pet.'

John closed the laptop and wiped at his eyes, almost afraid to look at Sherlock because he knew he wouldn't want to see the pity in his eyes.

'But Greg busted them and saved you,' he managed.

'Greg saved me more times than I can count.'

'And for that I owe him a great debt,' John sniffled. 'Get over here.' He opened up his arms and beckoned Sherlock over.

Sherlock crawled into John's arms. 'Not in the mood now. Just want cuddles.'

'Same here.' He pet Sherlock's hair softly and kissed his temple.

'I love you.'

'I love you too,' Sherlock said, closing his eyes.

John pulled the covers over them both and sighed softly, continuing to pet Sherlock's hair as he fell asleep. Lily ventured up and settled on Sherlock's pillow, purring loudly.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock awoke slowly several hours later, snuggling up to the warm body beside him. John hummed and nuzzled against Sherlock's chest in his sleep. His skin still smelled faintly of cigarettes, and John knew he shouldn't have liked that smell as much as he did.

'John,' Sherlock whispered in his love's ear. 'Wake up, dear.'

'No,' he grumbled. 'Warm 'n comfy.'

'But John, I'm hungry,' Sherlock whined.

'In a minute,' John mumbled. 'You smell good.'

'I smell like a bonfire,' Sherlock grumbled. His stomach growled loudly. 'And I'm starving.'

'Still think ya smell good,' John sighed. He turned over and stretched, his joints popping slightly. He looked over to Sherlock and smiled gently.

'Hey.'

'Hello dear.' Sherlock smiled. 'I was thinking that perhaps we could go over to see Mycroft and Greg with some takeaway. Kill two birds with one stone.'

'Sounds good.' He kissed Sherlock briefly, licking his lips as he still tasted like cigarettes. 'What kind of takeaway do you want? Chinese?'

'Chinese it is,' Sherlock said, flashing a grin at John.

'OK. We should probably get up, huh? What time is it anyway?'

'Yeah. Come on. Off your lazy arse. And I think it's late afternoon. About five, sixish.'

'We slept the day away then. Lily's probably starving. You go feed her, I'll get dressed.' He pecked Sherlock on the lips and rolled out of bed, heading for the wardrobe. Sherlock crawled from the bed and walked over to Lily's bowl, pouring out some food for her. She almost instantly ran to it, meowing gratefully.

John pulled on a t-shirt and jeans before putting on his cream jumper. It was his favourite, for many reasons. The main one being it was what he was wearing during his first case with Sherlock. Funny how he could remember that small detail.

'I love that jumper,' Sherlock said, admiring John with soft eyes. He walked over to the wardrobe and smiled. 'Actually, I love most of your jumpers. But that one especially.'

'I thought you hated my ridiculous jumpers?' John smiled softly. He turned to Sherlock and blushed slightly. 'Well, maybe hate is a strong word. I thought you disapproved of my ridiculous jumpers?'

'Disapprove?' Sherlock snorted. 'I adore them.'

'Really?' John grinned brightly. 'Then why was I under the impression that you didn't like them?'

'Because you're an idiot.'

'Yeah. I am.' He grinned softly. 'I love you.'

'I've heard,' Sherlock returned with a mild laugh. 'Do you mind dropping Greg a text whilst I get dressed?'

'Sure.' He pecked Sherlock on the lips and grabbed his mobile, sending a quick text to Greg while he made himself tea.

 _Sherlock and I wanna stop by to visit Myc. Bringing Lily + Chinese takeaway. Is this a good time? –JW  
_  
 _ **It's actually a very good time. Myc's refusing to get out of his pj's and is kind of down in the dumps. I think he really needs us right now. –GL  
**_  
 _OK. We'll be over soon. Any requests for dinner? –JW  
_  
 _ **We're not fussy. Don't suppose you could pick up Myc some chocolate cake though? He deserves some. –GL  
**_  
 _Sure thing. We'll stop by Tesco's on the way over. –JW_  
  
'Hey, Sherlock? We're stopping by Tesco's on the way over for cake,' he called out. He dialled the number for their favoured Chinese takeaway and ordered the usual, times two. He let the girl on the phone know they would be picking it up as well and they'd be over in twenty minutes.

Sherlock yelled back a reply as he got into one of John's old jumpers, some jeans, and a red pair of Converse. He swung his coat on and scooped up Lily.

'We're going out to see your uncles. Think you can cheer uncle Myc up?' He smiled as she seemed to nod in understanding. He placed her in his coat pocket and walked out of the bedroom.

'Ready to go?'

'Yep. Got our baby girl?' He noticed the wriggling in Sherlock's pocket and smiled. 'OK, good. Go hail us a cab. I'll be down in a moment.'

Sherlock pecked John on the lips.

'We'll see you down there.' He left to hail a cab, smiling as Lily continued to wriggle in his pocket.

John smiled and grabbed his wallet and keys, locking the door behind him as he went downstairs. He sat next to Sherlock in the cab and they left for Tesco's. Lily was still wriggling in Sherlock's pocket. She was never that wriggly though.

'Is she OK?' he asked softly. 'Does she need to go to the loo?'

'She's OK. Just complaining. Getting a bit big for my pocket.'

'Well then at least let her poke her head out. Maybe she'll be more comfortable.'

Sherlock peeled his coat back and Lily popped her head out, looking quite grumpy.

'Is that better, baby?' John asked, stroking one of her ears. Lily meowed and lapped at John's finger.

'She's grown so much since I found her,' Sherlock said, smiling at the kitten. 'Her markings are even more beautiful now too.'

'She's healthy and strong.' John grinned. 'And she's got a good life with us.' They pulled up to Tesco's then and John gave them both a quick kiss. 'Be right back. Just need some chocolate cake.'

'Alright dear.' Sherlock nodded and turned his attention to Lily again. 'You'll always have a good life with us,' he whispered into the young kitten's ear. She purred in response.

John found the cake with ease, but paying was something else altogether. Seemed everyone in London was out shopping today. But it was the middle of the week! Why were they all out today?

 _Might be a few extra minutes. Queues are long today. –JH  
_  
 _Ha! See what I did there? ;) –JH  
_  
 _ **Yes I did Mr Holmes. –SH  
**_  
 _I love you Mr Holmes. –JH  
_  
 __ **I love you more :) –SH  
**  
The queue finally moved and John paid for the cake, escaping into the cab and handing the purchase to Sherlock.

'Just hold on to that while I get the takeaway,' he explained.

'Alright, Mr Holmes,' Sherlock smirked.

'I can't wait to officially be Mr John Holmes.' John grinned brightly and sighed. 'We'll have to discuss wedding dates soon. After we visit your brother though. Or maybe he can help pick a date if Greg already told him.'

'That just leaves one person to tell after that. My mother.' He chuckled. 'She's going to hug you to death.'

'Don't forget about Mrs Hudson and Molly. Oh! And Mike Stamford. He's the one who introduced us after all.'

'Good old Mike.' Sherlock leant forward and kissed John. 'I can't wait for our wedding day.'

'I'm shaking with anticipation already.' John grinned. 'I can't wait to be Mr Holmes.  _Your_  Mr Holmes.'

'You'll always be my Watson deep down though.'

'Of course I'll still be your Watson. I'll just have your last name.'

'Just a warning, if you become a Holmes you turn into a massive dick.'

'I don't think you're a massive dick.' John pouted. 'Nor is your mother. Mycroft on the other hand...' He laughed slightly. 'Just let me get the takeaway and then we'll go see the poor bastard.'

'Whatever you do, try not to mention his hospital visit. He's still rather sensitive about it.'

'Yeah. OK.' John nodded and left the cab to pick up their food, returning not a moment later. The cab was filled with the delicious smell of fresh Chinese takeaway, and John's mouth was beginning to water.

'We should get to Myc's before we devour this right here. Damn I'm hungry.'

Sherlock licked his lips and hummed in agreement.

'Haven't eaten all day.'

'Same here. Damn. I'm fucking starving.'

'Shh. We'll be able to eat soon.'

'Yeah. I know. I just didn't realise how hungry I was until I got the food in here.'

The two men were bobbing up and down for the whole journey in their seats, their hungry tummies rumbling. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief as he saw his brother's mansion in his line of sight.

'Oh thank god,' John breathed in relief. 'I say we walk in, say hi, and get right into dinner.'

'Yeah. Come on.' Sherlock paid the cabbie and grabbed John's hand, tugging him out of the taxi and running all the way to the front door. Lily gave off a startled squeak. She'd been fast asleep.

'Sorry baba,' John apologised. 'But your daddies are hungry!' He rang the doorbell and impatiently wanted for someone to answer. As soon as the butler opened the door the pair rushed inside and straight to the kitchen.

'No. I don't want to. You can't make me!'

'Myc, they've come all this way to see you. You're going to eat with them.'

'I'm not even properly dressed!'

'It's just John and Sherlock. They won't mind that you're still in your pjs.'

'Err fine.'

'Thank you. I love you.'

'I love you too.'

Sherlock smiled softly as a very reluctant Mycroft got dragged in by a smirking Greg.

'Hi guys.' John smiled at them, already setting the Chinese out on the table. 'Sorry for entering so rudely, but Sherlock and I haven't eaten anything yet today. Oh. And we brought Lily. You can let her out of your pocket now, love.'

Sherlock plucked Lily from his pocket and placed her on the floor. She almost immediately trotted up to Mycroft to ask for some fuss. Mycroft blinked for a moment, eyeing the kitten, before stooping down to pick her up. She let out a loud purr and rubbed her head against his chin. Mycroft's face softened as he held the kitten to his chest.

'Hello,' he cooed. 'You sweet little thing you.'

Greg grinned. The kitten really did seem to make Mycroft happy. Perhaps they should consider having a pet too. John prompted everyone to sit and they all started digging in to their meals, Mycroft holding Lily in his lap. Mycroft grinned down at the kitten who was falling asleep on his lap. He raised his head to meet Sherlock's eyes. His little brother was watching him carefully.

'I have yet to congratulate you on the engagement. How rude of me.'

'Ah. So Greg  _did_  tell you,' John said through a mouthful of Crab Rangoon. 'Well that answers that question.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. 'I simply observed your rings.'

John looked down at his hand and blushed. 'Oh. Right. Nearly forgot I was wearing this. It'll take some getting used to.'

Mycroft chuckled. 'Yes. It took me quite awhile too.' He began to dig into the food too. He was utterly starving.

'Well, since you both know, I was wondering if you two had any ideas for a wedding date for us?' John asked conversationally, digging into his own food. 'I'm partial to a June wedding myself, but what about you guys? And you too, Sherlock.'

'I don't care. The sooner the better. I just want you to become a Holmes.'

'Ah. John's taking our family name?' Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

'Well,' Greg hummed in thought. 'Me and Myc are gonna get married quite soon. A couple of months maybe. As for you guys, it depends. Do ya want a summer wedding or one in the winter?'

'I don't want a winter wedding.' John shivered at the thought. 'Spring or summer so we can get married outside. And yes, I'll be taking the Holmes family name. What about you Greg? Are you going to stay a Lestrade? Or are you going to become one of us?' He smirked slightly.

'I'm becoming a Holmes boy!' Greg exclaimed, practically vibrating in his seat.

'One of us!' John exclaimed happily. 'Whoo hoo!' He held a hand out for Greg to high five and the man slapped it extremely hard in his excitement. Sherlock and Mycroft rolled their eyes and sighed but both were grinning like idiots. John merely laughed and continued eating his dinner, savouring every bite.

'So, when were you two thinking about tying the knot then?'

'Well, we haven't decided on a date yet but we were thinking–'

'May time,' Mycroft finished promptly.

'A spring wedding.' John beamed. 'Wonderful.'

Greg beamed happily and kissed Mycroft softly. Sherlock blanched and grabbed John's face, kissing him with a slight force. John let out a muffled 'mmf!' when Sherlock kissed him so suddenly and forcefully. He glanced at Myc and Greg and understood. Sherlock felt awkward when they kissed, so he felt he had to kiss him in order to feel less embarrassed. He allowed the kiss and hummed, kissing Sherlock back. Sherlock forced his lips to crash against John's in a clumsy attempt to drown out the moans and groans coming from Mycroft and Greg. Soon he and John were adding to the moaning and groaning, and John, the poor dear, was very aroused indeed.

His heart was beating quickly in his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs and straight into Sherlock's chest. He dropped his chopsticks and gripped Sherlock's head tight, pulling him in closer and deepening their kiss. His cock was hard and throbbing, trapped in the confines of his pants and jeans. He desperately wanted some relief but he wasn't going to go so far as voyeurism. He wanted to break away but he couldn't, his entire focus on Sherlock's lips and teeth and tongue.

Sherlock let a hand dart to John's erection and gave it a tight squeeze. His gaze wandered to his brother and Greg and dear lord... Lily had been put on the floor so Greg could climb onto Mycroft and now they were blissfully humping one another. That was it! Sherlock all but leapt onto John's lap and rut hard and fast against John. The moans of both couples were raising in noise level.

Lily hissed at both couples and scrambled off to explore the mansion.

'Sherlock,' John groaned, his hands moving to still his hips. 'No. Not here. Let's use a guest room or something and do this properly. Please.'

'John.' Sherlock's cock shuddered. 'I don't think we have that much time.'

"Gre-gor-eeeee!'

'Uh! Myc!'

'Fuck!' John swore. He grabbed Sherlock in his arms and levered him down to the floor, tearing at his trousers and pants until he freed his lover's very red and throbbing cock. He engulfed it immediately and hollowed his cheeks, bobbing his head furiously.

'John, I didn't mean – Uh!' Sherlock turned bright red as he began to jerk his hips.

'Guys?' Greg panted out the question.

'Oh dear lord,' Mycroft muttered, both mortified by his and Gregory's lack of self control, what his brother was clearly doing with John, and how flustered and aroused he was beginning to feel again. John ignored them all, focussing on sucking Sherlock to completion.

It took only a few minutes more for Sherlock to cum thickly down John's throat. 'Uh! Gah! Fuck!'

John swallowed all Sherlock gave him, sucking him dry before releasing him with a loud pop, grinning brightly.

'John!' Sherlock gasped loudly, wide eyed. He yanked his trousers back up and scrabbled to his feet. 'Uh...' he stammered awkwardly.

'It's OK little brother. We realise our behaviour set both your skin alight.'

'Better this than shagging in my office anyway.'

John cleared his throat and attempted to sit properly. Which was quite hard seeing as he had a raging hard on and was desperate for a release.

'Sorry. I got a bit carried away.'

Sherlock was a startled red, his lips open wide as he panted harshly.

'I can't believe that just happened,' he muttered and glanced to John. 'Perhaps we should retreat to a guest room to finish off.'

'If I can walk, sure,' John grumbled. 'But I'm damn close to cumming in my pants and I don't want to do that.'

'There's the room Sherlock stayed in whilst he was living here. It's only around the corner. I'm sure you could... finish off there.' Mycroft smirked. John flushed deep red and managed to stand, but his jeans left nothing to the imagination. The shape of his cock was quite prominent through the fabric, but he made no move to cover himself.

'Come on, Sherlock,' he grunted, hobbling off to the room, trying not to moan as his cock rubbed against his pants and jeans.

'Coming dear.' Sherlock swallowed and quickly followed John into his old bedroom. He was already on the bed when Sherlock arrived, legs draped over the edge, toes barely scraping along the floor. His jeans were already undone and his cock freed of its confines, resting comfortably in the dip of his stomach.

'Suck me dry,' he whined. 'Please.'

Sherlock nodded and obediently dropped to his knees by the edge of the bed. He licked John's cock experimentally before swallowing him whole. John groaned loudly and rocked his hips up slightly, his thighs tightening around Sherlock's shoulders. A hand tangled itself in Sherlock's curls, tugging lightly yet forcefully, begging for more. Sherlock sucked harder and more insistently and began to squeeze John's bollocks roughly.

'Oh god, oh fuck, oh shit!' John whimpered, locking his ankles behind Sherlock's back. 'Sherlock! Gonna–' He came with a loud cry, his back arching completely off the bed as he shot down Sherlock's throat in thick spurts. Sherlock swallowed all John gave with a satisfied hum and pulled back.

'All better, hmm?'

John collapsed against the mattress and giggled slightly, a very satisfied smile on his face.

'Oh yes,' he panted. 'Much better.'

'Good.' Sherlock pecked John on the lips, smiling happily. John pulled him in close, shoving his tongue into his mouth to taste himself. He moaned and pulled Sherlock on top of him, wrapping an arm around his waist and locking his ankles just below his bum.

'I still can't get over what just happened.' Sherlock giggled and kissed John hard.

'I say we forget it ever happened and that we don't do it again,' he moaned, flicking his tongue out to greet Sherlock's.

'Yeah. Getting off to the sound of my brother and brother-in-law-to-be is not something I want to remember.'

'Shame I can't delete it like you can.' John pouted.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock blinked. 'Delete what? What are we talking about?'

John scowled. 'You utter arse,' he growled. He shoved Sherlock off him and stood, shoving his cock back in his pants and zipping up before stomping out of the room.

'Fuck!' Sherlock sobbed on the ground, his back muscles clenching around his spine from where John had shoved him harshly.

'John? What's wrong?' he gasped out, trying to get up but failing.

'I can't stand it when you delete things from your mind!' he yelled back, startling the two men still in the kitchen. 'If you experience something embarrassing or stupid or sad you can just delete it! But  _I_  can't! And that means I'm the only one who has to live with the embarrassment or the guilt or the brokenhearted feeling! And I'm sick and tired of it! I want you to stop deleting things! I want you to bloody remember!'

Mycroft Holmes scowled and stood to his feet, towering above John.

'I think you should come with me.' He looked up at Gregory. 'Please go check on my brother. I think I can hear him crying.'

With that, Mycroft grabbed hold of John's arm and tugged him all the way into his home study.

'If you hit me again I'm pressing charges,' John growled, struggling to break free of Mycroft's grip.

'I just want a little chat,' Mycroft growled. 'Now, sit down.' He shoved John into the chair facing his desk and took his own seat.

'Is this the "Treat my brother right or I'll end you" speech?' John huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 'Or are you going to chew me out for yelling at him just now?'

'Neither,' Mycroft said, pursing his lips. 'Although the shouting at Sherlock needs to stop. He is fragile. He can't cope with it.'

'Well, I tend to yell a lot. He'll need to get used to it.' He looked at Mycroft warily. 'So what are we chatting about then?'

Mycroft glared at John. 'The shouting needs to stop,' he reiterated. 'Your relationship is starting to sound abusive. And are you telling me that if your yelling brings Sherlock to tears you don't care? That he'll just have to get used to it?'

Mycroft leaned in closer. 'I just wanted to tell you a story which might explain why he deletes memories.'

'Of course I care if Sherlock cries!' John yelled. 'I'm just fucking irritated about how he deletes everything he deems useless or unnecessary. And I'm assuming this stems back to his childhood abuse, correct?'

'Yes. Brilliant deduction,' Mycroft sneered. 'Of course it's to do with that. What else?'

 _Everything can be traced back to their father,_  John inwardly scoffed. He raised an eyebrow and settled down in the chair, waiting for Mycroft to continue.

'Good,' Mycroft hummed and licked his lips.

'Sherlock was only five at the time.' He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his breathing. 'Father hadn't started on him yet. I was in hospital with a broken arm and two fractured ribs. Father's doing. He came and sat on my bed, snuggled up to me and looked at me with big, sad eyes. He hugged me around the middle and cried. He asked me how he could erase the image of me so hurt. So I told him to lock the image in a dark box within his mind. He did, and he never stopped deleting the painful or horrible memories from then on.'

'But this time wasn't painful or horrible,' John said softly. 'It was merely embarrassing. Getting off on you two getting off. I jokingly said we should forget it ever happened and he took it seriously. And I was a part of that memory! He deleted a piece of me! He never does that! He remembers everything about me, what we've done together. But this time he actually deleted me!' His lower lip trembled and he curled in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chest.

'Delete, delete, delete,' he said into his knees. 'What bits of me will you delete next?'

'It's nothing personal,' Mycroft said softly. 'Really. He doesn't do it to hurt you. It's like when the other children used to mock him. Or when mother would ask him if he's made any friends. If he feels something like embarrassment that he doesn't like he'll delete it, that emotion, and the memory attached to it.'

'But this is the first time he's ever deleted me himself. The drug doesn't count. That was Moriarty's doing. And he remembered everything later. But this time... He deleted something so intimate. He's never done that. And it hurts.'

Mycroft nodded. 'It's just how his mind works. Now, go to my brother and try not to shout. Try, I don't know, to have a little bit of understanding maybe.'

'I understand him plenty,' John scowled. 'I was just hurt is all.'

'I don't give a damn! You've hurt my brother plenty of times over. Now go! Get out of my sight.'

'Fuck you!' John spat, rising from the chair and nearly knocking it over. He stormed out of the room and back to Sherlock, where Greg was consoling him.

'Get away from him,' John growled, anger and jealously bubbling in his chest. 'Sherlock, we're going home. Where's the cat?'

Sherlock shrugged and curled further in Greg's arms.

'I don't want to go home like this. You're scaring me.' Lily appeared from nowhere and glared at John, running over to Sherlock.

'Well you deleted me,' John scoffed. 'Guess who's hurt most?' He glared at the trio and rolled his eyes. 'Fine. You stay here. I'm going home.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Sherlock sobbed.

'John, he's not going anywhere either way. He's pulled his back because  _someone_  shoved him too hard.'

'Shut the fuck up Greg,' John spat. 'And of course you wouldn't remember, Sherlock. You deleted it! How could you remember?' He sighed and his voice softened slightly. 'You've never deleted me before, so why now? Was getting off to Greg and your brother that truly mortifying? That you had to delete our pleasure?'

'I... I...' Sherlock stammered. 'Why are you so angry? I can't help what my mind does.'

'Yes you can.' John frowned. 'You control your mind better than anyone I've ever met. Including your brother. I'm angry because this is the first time you've ever deleted me. And it hurts that you can't remember. That you did it on purpose, deleted the memory of getting off to your brother and Greg. This is so much worse than the drug that made you forget. Because with the drug you couldn't help it. You chose to delete this memory, and me in it. That's why I'm angry.'

Sherlock remained silent. Greg levered Sherlock under the covers of the bed and glanced up at John.

'Make this better,' he muttered and walked out. John glared after Greg and shut the door after he left. He swallowed thickly and looked on at Sherlock, his eyes sad and hurt and angry.

Sherlock whimpered and hid his face in the covers. 'I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please don't hurt me!'

'I'm not going to hurt you.' John frowned. 'When have I ever... Oh. Right. When I was drunk.' He scuffed the toe of his shoe along the floor and sighed.

'I'm sorry for yelling,' he apologised softly. 'I was just hurt and angry. You've never deleted anything that involved me before. And it shocked me and it just... I don't know what else to say other than it hurt. A lot.'

'No,' Sherlock whispered. 'Just now. You shoved me. You hurt my back. I wouldn't have meant to delete it. I didn't mean to. I didn't. I never want to bring you hurt! Especially now you're going to become my husband.'

'I can fix that,' he said softly, shoving his hands in his pockets. 'If you'll let me, that is.'

'No more yelling,' Sherlock pleaded. 'You scare me when you yell. And if you get angry just leave. Otherwise, come and cuddle me.'

'No more yelling.' John nodded. 'Though I may still occasionally yell at sports on TV.'

'That's fine. People who play sport are idiots. Now, come here.' John huffed a laugh and made his way over to the bed. He toed off his shoes and sat next to Sherlock. Lily hissed at him and John swallowed, turning away.

'It's OK, Lily. Daddy didn't mean to hurt me.'

She ignored him and growled at John, telling him that if he made any move toward her daddy she'd hurt him too.

'Lily,' Sherlock tutted. 'Be nice. Let him cuddle me.'

She turned to glare at Sherlock, her ears twitching. 'But he hurt you,' was written all over her face.

'Lily, remember when you dug your claws too deep into my leg? I forgave you. Now do the same for John.'

She huffed and jumped off the bed, trotting over to the window to lie on the sill, keeping an eye on her daddy.

'She doesn't trust me,' John said softly.

'No. She doesn't,' Sherlock said in agreement.

'You're supposed to lie to make me feel better,' John huffed. He was still looking at Lily, who was staring right back at him. He couldn't look away. It was like she was staring into his soul.

'Why should I lie?' Sherlock blinked. 'You're the one who found yourself in her bad books.'

'Just... Stop talking. OK? You aren't helping.'

'John, can you just stop criticising every little thing I do?' Sherlock sighed.

'Stop making me feel like an idiot,' John countered.

'If you're not going to be nice then go away.'

'Fine.' John stood and grabbed his shoes, shoving them on. 'Stay here and heal. I'm gonna go yell at something.'

Sherlock was too emotionally tired to make a response and he simply turned around and sighed.

John scrunched his eyes shut and clenched his hands into fists. He wanted to yell and scream, he wanted to hit something, he wanted to cry. But he wanted to make Sherlock feel better so much more than all of those emotions combined. He let out a loud sigh through his nose and opened his eyes, staring at the door. He slowly turned and looked over at Sherlock, noting how rigid his body was. Had he really hurt his back so much just by pushing him?

'I'm sorry,' he said softly to Sherlock's back.

'I'm sorry too,' Sherlock sniffed. 'I proposed too soon. We're not ready for it.'

'I was originally going to propose. Maybe I just wanted to have you all to myself, start a family. But yes. Maybe we aren't ready.'

'No, we're definitely not ready. Or at least one of us isn't.'

'Oh? And to whom are you referring?' John asked, on edge.

'It doesn't matter. Just go.'

'It's me, isn't it? You think I'm not ready to get married to you. Don't you? It doesn't matter. Right now I don't feel ready to get married period. But we can have a long engagement, because I still want to marry you one day. I love you. No matter how much I have yelled, hurt, ignored, or run away from you, just remember that I love you with all my heart and soul.'

He looked over to Lily. 'Take care of daddy for me.' He opened the door and left, brushing past a hovering Mycroft and leaving the mansion.

'Brother dearest.' Mycroft knocked lightly on the door.

'Go away!' came the upset reply.

Mycroft sighed, shaking his head as he left his brother in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you this one was kinda fucked up. I hope it didn't fuck you guys up too bad. But it's only the beginning of the week and it's nearly Christmas. Just let that warm your hearts as the angst starts to come back for a bit. You might want shock blanket layers for the last chapters. I know you were hoping the angst was done and over with, but unfortunately it isn't.
> 
> On the plus side, I'm almost done with my Sherlock Mini Bang fic and I hope to have it done and posted by the end of the week. So you guys can have some angsty return feels and some fluff and smut to make up for the angst-fest that is this fic. And I'm writing more in my Jumpers and Scarves series and hope to have another story done later this week as well.
> 
> I hope you guys will stick with us and see this fic to the end. Only three chapters to go now. Stock up on tea and tissues and blankets for the final chapter. You'll need them. 
> 
> Stay strong guys! *hugs*
> 
> TSA + IB


	63. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Happy Friday! Only five more days until Christmas! I can't wait! 
> 
> InvisibleBlade is on holiday until next year, and she'll be without reliable Internet access for that entire time, so we won't be RPing again until next year. It'll be weird not being in contact with her everyday.
> 
> I am warning everyone now that there is attempted suicide in this chapter, so don't read if you don't like that sort of stuff. It happens about halfway into the chapter, after John and Greg have another spat. After that it's all fine, though there's some blood references later. But you can skip this chapter if you want. You won't miss much. Otherwise you can PM me or send me an ask on tumblr or something if you want to know what happens.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Greg, Mycroft  
> Me: John, random hospital staff
> 
> Trigger Warnings: attempted suicide and blood
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: angst, feelings, emotional dreams, emotions everywhere again.

John walked all the way back to Baker Street, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he had left his coat at Mycroft's. Why did he always get so angry at Sherlock? Why did he always have to fuck everything up when they were so happy? Maybe he wasn't ready to get married. Maybe he wasn't even ready to be engaged. Was he even ready to be in a relationship with a man like Sherlock?

'Shoulda thought of that three years ago,' he scoffed to himself.

He finally made it home, freezing cold and shivering so hard he looked like he was having a seizure. He stumbled up the stairs on weak knees and made it to the shower, turning the water on scalding hot and stepping in fully clothed. His mobile was in his coat too, so he needn't worry about it unless someone called. The only person who ever called him was Sherlock, and he wasn't expecting him to beg him to come over and fix whatever the hell had gone wrong. So he stood under the scalding hot spray, his clothes sticking to him like a second skin, and sobbed.

**…::-::…**

At first Sherlock cried. That was the fundamental instinct that stuck with him whenever he fought with John. His back muscles were stiff now and there was likely a bruise forming on the surface of his skin. His heart ached for John to slip under the covers and hug his worries away. He knew that wasn't going to happen. John had been so mad and all Sherlock knew was that he'd deleted something from his mind that he probably shouldn't have. No. He definitely shouldn't have. If it involved John he should have kept it. No question about that.

Once his tears dried on his cheeks Lily cuddled up to him. She was his only comfort.

**…::-::…**

John left his clothes in the shower to drip dry. He crawled into bed stark naked, not even making himself a cup of tea first. He didn't want tea. He wanted Sherlock. But Sherlock didn't want him. He looked down at his left hand, at the gold ring on his finger. Were they even going to remain engaged after this? He took the ring off and put it in the side table drawer, out of sight, out of mind, but within reach of he so chose.

He turned over and faced the centre of the bed, where Sherlock would be if things were OK. But things weren't OK. Things were so very far from OK. He started crying again and pulled Sherlock's pillow close, burying his face in it, Sherlock's scent surrounding him. He could suffocate himself with it and Sherlock would be out of his misery, able to lead a happier life without him dragging him down all the time. Lily would have her favourite and only daddy. She'd always seemed to distrust him. And apparently for good reason. They both deserved better. So much more than him. He fell into an exhausted sleep before he could plan more, dreaming of Sherlock happy and thriving without him.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock tried to text John but a loud buzz informed him that he had both left his coat and his phone.

'You could write a letter,' a soft voice said from by the door. Sherlock looked up at the voice. It was Greg. Of course. His brother was probably fuming with John. It wouldn't surprise him if he was planning his demise.

'What good would it do?'

'It'd allow you to get your thoughts out. Maybe get ya some sleep if they're out in the open.'

'Will you give it him?' Sherlock asked.

'Of course.'

'Then may I have some paper? And a pen?'

Greg nodded and fetched Sherlock a pen and some paper.

Sherlock took a deep breath as he allowed his pen to do the talking.

_Your words are like bullets to my chest. Your cold eyes send shivers down my spine like daggers. Why do we fight? Am I the cause of it all? It would seem so. It's like you want me to change, but I am not like the seasons. I do not change in fluent motion. Give me time and I'll change. I'll become better. Why do you physically hurt me? My heart shatters inside when you do. I feel as cold as the winter weather, as lost as a lamb separated from its herd, and as sad as a wilting rose when we are divided like this. Come back to me John. I'm sorry. Just come back. I need you, as you need me. Come back.  
_

_Love your Sherlock x_

_P.S. Lily doesn't hate you. She's just protective of me. Remember when you used to want to protect me instead of hurt me? I do. Vaguely._

Sherlock slid the letter into an envelope and labeled it 'Mr J Holmes' with a sad smile.

'Post this through the door in the morning,' he requested.

'Yes. Alright Sher,' Greg assured him. Sherlock finally dropped to sleep, exhausted and missing John like hell.

**…::-::…**

John woke later that evening, drenched in a cold sweat with tears staining his cheeks. He threw Sherlock's pillow from him and turned over, trying to fall back asleep but failing. Maybe he could use some tea after all. He got up and pulled on a dressing gown, not bothering to check whose it was. He made his tea and sat in his chair, staring out the window at the black night and the fresh snow falling. A quick glance at the clock showed that it was actually early morning, and Greg would probably be getting up for work soon.

Greg. Greg could go fuck himself. The bastard, clinging onto his Sherlock like he owned him. John growled and nearly chucked his empty mug at the wall, but clutched it tightly in his grasp instead. He was still bitter about what had happened between the two of them, probably always would be too. And seeing Greg holding Sherlock like that sent his blood boiling. He didn't want Greg touching Sherlock, didn't want Greg anywhere near Sherlock. He growled and set his mug down, stomping back to the shower to grab his wet clothes. Might as well dry them properly before they shrank.

**…::-::…**

It was bright and early in the morning. Greg was making good on his promise to give John the letter Sherlock had written. He knocked tentatively on the door of 221B.

'John? You in?' he asked softly.

John sighed and moved to open the door. He was still slightly angry at Greg, but now was not the time for another fight.

'What do you want?'

'Sherlock told me to give ya this. Just following orders.' Greg handed John the letter and swiftly left, not fancying a fist up with John if he didn't like what he saw written in the letter. John grumbled something after Greg and slammed the door after him. He put the envelope down somewhere and went back to the dryer, waiting for his clothes to finish before they wrinkled.

With his clothes dry and put away, John finally picked up the letter and plopped down on his chair with another cup of tea. It was addressed to Mr J Holmes, and he felt his heart break slightly. He opened it and took Sherlock's letter out, his spidery handwriting moulding together in some places, but he could make it out fine. As he read he became sad, guilty, and angry, and he felt like an utter arse for leaving Sherlock like he did. He moved to the desk, abandoning his tea, and pulled out pen and paper, writing his own letter back for Sherlock to read when he returned. He didn't trust his voice at the moment and that probably wouldn't change once he got to Mycroft's. God. Mycroft. What would he say if he saw him come back? He probably wouldn't let him in. So maybe a letter would come in handy after all.

_Sherlock,_

_I am sorry for hurting you the way I did, in all senses of the word. But I don't look for ways to hurt you like your letter implies I do. If you believe that, then I'm sorry, but you're an idiot. I do not actively look for ways to harm you, and I still want to protect you. Things have just been tense since you nearly died last month, after... after what happened with Greg, and we all left. So, yes. Maybe we aren't ready to get married. Maybe we aren't even ready to be engaged. I don't know. All I know is that I love you and I want you to be happy. If that should involve breaking up, so be it. Because if I'm hurting you more than protecting you, you deserve better than me. So much better. Someone who doesn't hurt your still healing back. Someone who doesn't hit or rape you while blind drunk. Someone who will protect you from me._

_I love you, I do, and I wish I could erase all the wrong I've done, but I can't. And I don't want you to erase it either. Because I don't want you to forget me. Or, if you feel you'd be better off forgetting, go ahead and erase me. Maybe I deserve it for everything I've put you through in the three years we've been together. But I know you could never do that. But if this is the end, just know that I love you. I always have and I always will._

_Forever yours,_

_Your Watson_

He wiped at his eyes and put the letter in an envelope, simply addressing it to SH. He sealed it and moved to put some fresh clothes on, pocketing the letter carefully and, seeing as he didn't have money for a cab, began walking back to Mycroft's.

**…::-::…**

Mycroft Holmes sighed heavily. His little brother was trembling in his sleep. He walked into the room and curled up beside him, tugging him close.

'It'll be OK, baby brother. I'm sure things will work out. They nearly always do.'

**…::-::…**

John made it to Mycroft's, shivering much harder than last time. He'd probably caught something on his walks. Great. He knocked loudly on the door, shifting from foot to foot to try to get some semblance of body heat working through him again.

Greg opened the door and ushered John in. 'Come on in.' He grinned at John and waved him over. 'There's something that you need to see.'

 _Why is he all smiles?_  John questioned as Greg lead him down the hall to Sherlock's room. He was wary, unsure of what he was about to see. Greg opened the door quietly and John's heart melted at the sight before him.

The Holmes brothers were asleep, cuddled together, almost peacefully. Sherlock was trembling in his sleep, lost in a bad dream. His heart broke, knowing he was restless because of him.

Greg watched as Mycroft tugged Sherlock closer to him in his sleep and his smile widened.

'See? Things aren't all bad,' he said, turning to John. 'Do ya want a cup of tea? Get some warmth in ya. You're shivering.'

'Y-yes. P-p-please. Left my c-c-coat here. S-stupid.' His teeth were chattering. 'And m-maybe a b-b-blanket.'

Greg frowned and placed a hand on John's head. 'God. You're burning up. Go sit on our sofa. I'll fetch ya some tea and some blankets too. I hope ya haven't gotten yourself really poorly.'

'Fraid I d-d-did.' He hobbled off to the sofa and plopped down on it, his arms around his waist to hold in some sort of warmth.

Greg fetched John a couple of blankets and made him a cup of piping hot tea. He started up the log fire in the lounge before handing John the blankets and tea.

'Sleep. Don't wanna see ya in hospital cus you've made yourself so sick.'

'C-c-couldn't even if I t-t-tried. N-not t-tired.' He draped the blankets over himself, covering half his face as well.

'You're a doctor, John. Surely ya know that you'll get worse if ya don't rest.'

'I'm fine,' he mumbled. 'See? Not stuttering.' His gaze softened. 'Th-thanks for the letter.'

'No problem. I hope it helped ya both a little.' Greg smiled. 'Now sleep or I swear to god I'll wake up Mycroft and he'll sedate your ass.'

'I  _can't_ ,' John reiterated. 'Nightmares. And pretty grim ones too. Not about the war. About Sherlock.'

'Sherlock's not angry at ya you know,' Greg said softly. 'Do ya want a sleeping pill? Might help.'

'Why isn't he? He should be. I hurt him and I yelled at him. He should be furious and scared. Though, could you give this to him?' He pulled out his letter, crumpled but otherwise alright. 'And it's still a no for sleep. I told you, I can't. The dreams are... Let's just say unsavoury and depressing.'

'It was an accident, John. Honestly. The thing that hurt him most was the yelling. And... errr... look... if you ever need to talk about stuff then I'm here for you.'

'What stuff? There's nothing to talk about,' John huffed.

Greg swallowed and took the letter from John. 'Just... Never mind.'

'This isn't about sex. We've sorta discussed that before. This is about my abusive actions isn't it? About me hurting Sherlock like his owners did. Yes, I know about that. Sherlock showed me. Said you saved him and put him on the right path. Thank you for that, but I'm telling you now that I will never do what they did to him. You needn't worry.'

Greg shook his head. 'I don't think of you like that. Honestly, all I see are two people who love each other that constantly argue.' He looked away from John. 'I don't think you're sick enough to make Sherlock your pet.'

'We do argue a lot,' John agreed. 'I wish I knew why. Is it me? Am I the type of person who's always looking for a fight?' He swallowed thickly before adding, 'I couldn't even watch the video he showed me. I could never do that to him. Ever.'

'You do seem... to have some anger issues. And it seems you overreact a lot too. If something is bothering you then surely you should just talk it through. Yelling and shoving Sherlock probably isn't the way to go, yeah?'

'I don't shove him every time we argue,' John huffed, drawing the blankets closer. 'The last time I tried to talk something through he collapsed in my arms due to emotional exhaustion. So apparently if I try to talk to him while we're still angry he'll close his mind and black out. While I hate doing it, walking out is best. Gives us both a chance to cool down and then talk a little more civil.'

'I don't think that's the case. We had a chat earlier that day. Got pretty emotional for the both of us. Collapsed there too. So maybe just talking really would be for the best. He won't collapse on ya. All I know is that he hates it when you leave him. Especially when the last time you did leave him you were gone so long and all that shit happened.'

'You mean after he shagged you?' John spat.

Greg flinched. 'That wasn't our fault. But yes. After Sherlock and I shagged.'

'I'll probably always be bitter about that,' John informed him. 'Seeing you consoling Sherlock last night brought back those jealous rage feelings.'

'I was being his friend. I'm with Mycroft. We're getting married and I'm bloody happy!' Greg snapped viciously. 'You think you're the only one affected by what happened! That's not true! Sometimes I want to kill myself because of that night! I came pretty bloody close too. I'm just sorry I didn't succeed!' And with that Greg took his leave.

'I became a drunk after that night,' John mumbled, burying his face in the blankets. 'I was no better than my damn sister. Started smoking again. And cutting. Nearly killed myself in front of Sherlock because he was high and he basically asked me to. I am so bloody messed up. Sherlock would be better off without me.' He sobbed into his blankets and kicked the mug of tea over out of spite, the contents spilling across the plush carpet.

His dreams came back to him. Dreams of Sherlock thriving without him, of him killing himself and Sherlock rejoicing and finally moving on with his life. Sherlock deserved better than him. All he did was bring him down and hinder his work. He hurt him too. A lot. He should just leave him. He'd be better off.

He found himself in the kitchen before he even realised what he was doing, the blankets abandoned on the sofa. There were so many options to choose from. Oven, microwave, knives. A knife would be cleaner, simpler, more efficient. He was a doctor after all. He knew what cuts to make and where to make the most damage. He rummaged through drawers and found a sizeable steak knife, recently sharpened. He held the blade to his wrist and tested it, thick, red blood pooling in his palm and dripping down onto the floor. It would suffice. He held the blade to his carotid artery and whispered an 'I love you, Sherlock,' before slicing deep into his neck, blood spilling out and drenching his clothes instantly. He managed to stay upright for a few minutes before the blood loss became too much. He collapsed in a loud heap in a puddle of his own blood, his body trembling violently as it fought to stay alive. But it was losing.

Greg was fuming. Utterly fuming. John had every right to be bitter about the night he and Sherlock had slept together. But that didn't mean he got to dictate what their friendship was like or that he could tell him basically not to help Sherlock or console him if he so needed it. Greg was still pissed off when he turned into the kitchen. His stomach dropped at the sight of a bloodied and deadly still John.

'John!' he yelled and ran forwards. 'Oh god. Oh god,' he mumbled as he felt for a pulse. It was there but it was slow and irregular. Greg fumbled for his mobile and dialled 999. John was not leaving them. Not like this.

The paramedics rushed in and instantly rushed John's bleeding and almost lifeless body to Saint Bart's. Greg got in a car and rushed after the ambulance. He would text Mycroft later with either extremely sad news of John's attempt on his own life, or the darker news of John's death.

It was touch and go at first. He was informed John had stopped breathing several times and that the blood loss was so severe that there was little hope.

After hours of waiting around whilst they operated on John he finally got the thumbs up. John was alive and stable. A huge gush of air rushed from his lungs in relief.

**…::-::…**

_It was peaceful here. Dark and quiet and utterly warm. He would have smiled if he had the strength, but all he could do was take one last shuddering breath and close his eyes._

_He wasn't alone anymore. He could feel another presence. More than one. At least two people. He wasn't quite so warm anymore, but he was a lot more comfortable. He blearily opened his eyes to find himself in his own sitting room. What the hell? He hefted himself up slightly and took in his surroundings. And the two teenagers sitting in the chairs across from him._

_'Hi,' the girl smiled brightly. 'It's nice to finally meet the real you.'_

_'I'm sorry, who are you?' John asked, confused._

_'Oh, sorry. How rude of me. I'm Felicity, Sherlock's coma daughter. He's told you about me, yes?'_

_'And I'm Ben. Thanks for asking,' the boy interjected. John turned to look at him and he gasped. He looked so much like Sherlock._

_'Am I dead?' he asked quietly._

_'Oh, no,' Felicity assured him. 'Far from it. You were taken to the hospital and your life was saved. We just wanted to talk.'_

_'About what?'_

_'Our dad.'_

_'You mean Sherlock?'_

_'Yes. Who else?'_

_'Well, according to him, you're my daughter. Not his.'_

_'Biologically, yes. But Sherlock will still be my dad.'_

_'Just like the damn bloody cat,' John mumbled. 'God. Not even my own fake biological daughter wants anything to do with me. Am I really that horrible?'_

_'No!' Felicity cried. 'You're wonderful. You were a great father to us. Brilliant. I swear. We loved you, we really did.'_

_'What the fuck are you even doing here?' John demanded. 'You're not real. How am I talking to you?'_

_'You're in a medically induced coma. You lost a lot of blood and the doctors wanted to give your blood supply enough time to replenish before you became conscious.'_

_'So... I didn't die. I'm alive. In hospital.' He paused. 'Fuck! I was supposed to die! Supposed to put Sherlock out of his misery. Why the hell didn't I die?'_

_'You honestly think our dad would be better off without you?' Ben demanded._

_'Of course. It's the only possible solution.'_

_'Then you're an idiot,' the boy spat. 'My dad needs you more than you know.'_

_'And how would you know? You aren't even real!'_

_'We are to him!' Ben countered. 'We were a part of him for months. He watched us grow and mature and fall apart. We're real to him and that's all that matters.'_

_'Then tell me why the fuck I can communicate with you!'_

_'Because you know about us and you needed someone to set you straight,' Felicity said calmly. 'You aren't listening to the real people in your life. So let's give fictional children a try, yeah?'_

_'Whatever,' John huffed, sitting back in his seat. 'What do you want to tell me?'_

_'That if you ever attempt to kill yourself again, Dad... I mean, Sherlock will follow you. Trust me on this. He shot himself in his coma because he shoved you down the stairs and broke you. You honestly think your killing yourself will make him better?'_

_'That was a dream. All his hopes and fears brought to life. It didn't actually happen.'_

_'To him it did.'_

_'It. Was. A. Dream.'_

_'Just shut up about it being a dream! It happened! It was in his head but it happened and he was bloody traumatised! Now stop being such an utter arse and fix everything! Stop trying to kill yourself! Stop making everyone around you angry! And for god's sake, take some anger management classes!'_

_John was shocked and appalled. His fake daughter was yelling at him. What the hell kind of shit was he dreaming about? She had a point though, he had to admit. She was strong and tenacious. Just like him. God. He'd only just met her and he loved her already._

_'OK, princess,' he agreed softly. 'Can I call you princess?'_

_'Of course you can,' she choked out, bottom lip trembling. 'You were the one who gave me the name in the first place.' She stood and touched John's shoulder, a silent plea. He stood and wrapped his arms around her in a warm hug, Ben joining soon after._

_He suddenly felt a jolt to his chest. A defibrillator. Someone was trying to revive him. He felt the kids slipping away, but not before Felicity kissed his cheek gently and whispered, 'Take care of yourself and my daddy. You two need each other.'_

He woke up with a strangled cry after that, his heart beating manically after having been restarted. He glanced around the room and noticed it was empty apart from the nurse who had just saved his life. But where was everyone else? How long had he been out of it? He wanted answers, and now. He tried to speak but no words came out. His throat was parched. He needed water, needed answers, but mostly he needed his Sherlock. Where was he?

'Let me see him!' Sherlock screamed as Mycroft and Greg held him tightly.

'Little brother, that is ill advised. It won't be a pretty picture.'

'I don't care. I just want to see John! My beautiful John! Let me see him!'

Both Mycroft and Greg sighed in unison and allowed Sherlock to storm into the room containing John.

'John!' he exclaimed, ignoring the nurse and running straight to his lover. 'John! Oh god! My John!' he sobbed, grabbing hold of the man for dear life. 'How could you do this? Try to leave me like this? You bastard!'

John gasped awake when Sherlock squeezed him tight. When had he fallen back asleep? It didn't matter. But Sherlock was squeezing him too tight and it hurt a lot.

'Sherlock,' he rasped out, his entire mouth still dry. 'Hurts. Let go. Need air.'

'I don't want to let you go,' Sherlock sobbed, loosening his grip slightly anyway. 'I almost lost you! What the fuck were you thinking?'

'Mow!'

Lily crawled from her place in his coat pocket. Sherlock sniffed. 'Lily missed you. Wanted to know where her other daddy was.'

'Thought...' He swallowed, hoping to get some moisture back in his mouth. 'Thought you'd be happier... without me.' He started coughing violently and wheezing when he struggled for breath.

'Water,' he choked out. 'Water.'

Sherlock rushed to get John some water and held it to his lover's lips.

'You are an idiot. An utter idiot. I am happy. With you.'

John sipped at the water slowly, moistening his too dry throat, mouth, lips, and tongue. He pushed it away gently to let Sherlock know he was done for the moment.

'Letter?' he rasped out.

'I read it,' Sherlock said in a small voice, sitting on the edge of the bed. 'And it only confirmed how idiotic you are. A life without you? No. Just no.'

'Thought that's what you'd want. Cuz I yell too much an' I hurt you.' He coughed again and motioned Sherlock for more water. 'You'd be safer without me.'

Sherlock placed the glass by John's lips once more. 'Every couple argues. But really, what does this solve? You'd leave me all alone. I'd go back to the bitter boy I was in the past. I wouldn't want to live. I would try to fight it but the truth is, if you kill yourself, I'm taking the plunge too.'

'But I hurt you,' John said between sips. 'A lot.'

'My back is always going to play up. You jolted it a little. That's all. Look. It's all better now. There was no need to do this. Or do you want to leave me here alone?' Sherlock reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out John's golden band. 'Does this mean the engagement is over? Because you didn't even want to die wearing it,' he said softly.

'Mow?' Lily looked at John with her big green eyes.

'I forgot I'd taken it off. But if you read my letter then you know why I wasn't wearing it. I thought you were going to break it off, so I simply took the initiative.'

'Break it off?' Sherlock gasped and pulled John into a delicate hug. 'Do you think I was making everything up in my speech when I proposed to you? Because I wasn't. I've been waiting an entire lifetime for you. I don't want to let you go. I'm not prepared to give up on us. Not like you just did. Never. My John. My Mr Holmes.'

'I wasn't giving up. I was letting go. Thought you wanted this. But I suppose I'm an idiot. Even Felicity said I was.'

'Giving me up? You selfish bastard. You are definitely an idiot. Wait... did you say Felicity?'

'I said "letting go" you dolt,' John corrected him. 'And yes. I saw Felicity. Ben too.'

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 'They're beautiful, aren't they?'

'Felicity was absolutely gorgeous,' John smiled softly. 'And Ben looked so much like you. God. He was wonderful. Stubborn just like you. And Felicity. Geez. She was as beautiful as you described, if not more so.'

'We could have that for real, you know.' Sherlock crawled all the way onto the bed and put Lily on his lap. 'A family.'

'We sort of already have one,' John said softly, reaching a hand out to let Lily sniff it. 'But I know what you mean. You want kids, not just a cat. And... I do too.'

'Really? Because I do believe you gave up on having a family with me the moment you slashed your veins open. Shut up. You did give up. Over something ultimately insignificant.'

'You know, when you were in the hospital after you'd OD'd, I was nothing but positive. Because you gave up on us long before I did. But did I say anything? No. If you're not gonna be nice then just go.' He turned away and curled in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut so he didn't have to watch Sherlock leave.

'No,' Sherlock said stubbornly. 'No, I shall not go.' He pressed a kiss to John's hair.

'I tried to kill myself because I wanted you to have a better life,' John said quietly, eyes still closed. 'You may have been bitter before you met me, but are you any better today? I raped you. I fucked up your back. I caused you to binge eat. How am I any good for you? You'd be better off without me. And not just breaking up, because then we could still run into each other and catch up. But what good would that do for either of us? None whatsoever. Killing myself was the most liable option. You would be able to move on that way. You'd have Lily. And... Greg. Of the two of us, you're the one who has the most to live for. What have I got? A dead end job at a surgery. I'm an ex-army soldier for Christ's sake. What kind of future have I got?'

'John, I need you to listen to me.' Sherlock grabbed John's face and forced him to look him in the eyes. 'I'll tell you what future you have. We are going to get married.' He slid the ring onto John's finger. 'We're going to buy a large mansion on the side of town, we're going to find someone willing to become the surrogate to our children, and we will raise those children into beautiful young adults. We will forget the past and learn how to communicate better with each other. Is that understood?'

John's eyes swam with tears, from Sherlock's little speech but also because he was pretty sure his stitches had just torn. He nodded and swallowed thickly, but that small motion sent pain shooting throughout his entire body. Yep. They'd torn alright. He could see red staining the white sheets and he was feeling incredibly lightheaded already.

'Shit!' Sherlock exclaimed as he noticed the blood. 'I'm sorry. Shit.' He pressed the nurse call button and found himself in tears too. 'I'm just... god.'

'It's... It's OK,' John rasped. 'Accident.'

A nurse came in then, shooing Sherlock away and tutting at a kitten being brought into the hospital.

'Go.' She all but shoved him out of the room with Lily.

'John I–'

The door was slammed in his face.

'–love you.'

John was sedated while the nurse took out his old stitches and sewed in new ones. Felicity and Ben were back.

_'See?' his daughter said. 'Didn't I tell you he'd follow you?'_

_'Bugger off,' he mumbled._

_'Hey!' Ben shouted. 'That's my sister!'_

_'You aren't real. Go away.'_

_'Just remember what I said,' Felicity said softly. 'Dad's fragile, and he loves you. Please don't be stupid.'_

_'Too late for that,' he grumbled. 'According to your dad I'm an utter idiot.'_

_'Because you are,' Ben grumbled back._

_'Ben,' Felicity shushed him. 'I'm sorry, Dad. But it's true. You're an idiot. It was stupid of you to think Sherlock would be happy without you.'_

_'I know,' he finally conceded. 'It was stupid of me. I love him too damn much to leave him like that.'_

_'Don't tell us. Tell him.' Felicity kissed his forehead and smoothed his hair the way Sherlock would. Ben gave him a soft hug._

_'You know, for being fake kids, you're pretty great,' he said softly._

_'Thanks,' Felicity smiled. 'Now go live a happy life with our dad and have kids of your own with him.'_

'Alright,' he smiled as he woke up. 'Alright.'

'Hey, sleepy head,' Sherlock whispered as John's eyes opened, a small smile wriggling across his features.

'How long've I been asleep?' he mumbled, yawning wide.

'A good few hours.' Sherlock kissed John gently and snuggled closer to him.

'Saw the kids again,' he mumbled. 'Told me t' live a happy life with ya. An' have kids of our own.'

'Well, are you going to listen to them? Have a family with me? Have a little baby girl that you can have tea parties with? Or a little boy that you can teach football to?'

'Yeah,' John smiled sleepily, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder. 'Wanna have a baby with you.'

'You promise not to try to kill yourself again? And I'll marry you very soon. After your birthday maybe?'

'Yeah. To both,' he smiled softly. 'Love you.'

'Mmm. Good,' he hummed happily. 'I'm sure Lily will be glad to see both her daddies so happy.'

'Where is she? Wanna see our kitty.'

'They said kitties aren't allowed in hospitals,' Sherlock pouted. 'Greg and Mycroft have taken her home with them.'

John frowned and pouted. 'Want our baby.'

'We'll get to see her soon,' Sherlock promised. 'Where I hope to make hard love to you just to make sure you're really alive.'

'Ugh. No,' John wrinkled up his nose. 'Arse still hurts. Just wanna sleep. And cuddle.'

Sherlock sighed. 'Forgot about that. Sorry. You could take me though. But cuddles definitely sound good.'

'Cuddles with our kitty,' John giggled. 'Sounds good.' He yawned again. 'When can I go home?'

'A couple of days.' Sherlock shrugged. 'I'll see what strings Mycroft can pull.'

'No. Just let me stay in a proper hospital. Get my blood supply up. Try not to tear my stitches again. You haven't got any medical training. What if it happened again at home? I'll stay here for now. And then when we get home I'll fuck you so hard you won't be able to move.'

Sherlock blushed and wriggled uncomfortably as he became aroused with the mere idea of John shagging him like that.

'Prrr.' He made a sound akin to a cat.

John laughed softly and nuzzled his nose against Sherlock's throat. 'I love you, my purry kitty.'

Sherlock purred louder. 'I can't believe you thought I'd be happier without you. Idiot. Oooh. Prrr. That's the spot.'

'I'm an idiot. And I love you.' He yawned again and settled down against Sherlock's shoulder. 'Gonna sleep now.'

'Night sweetie pie.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is happier. I promise. 
> 
> I apologise for the crap ton of feels and emotions we just dumped on you guys. 
> 
> I've uploaded my Mini Bang fic and another addition to my Jumpers and Scarves series to make up for all the angst and suicidal feelings and actions in this chapter.
> 
> I'll be editing the final two chapters this weekend. They're both rather long, have smut, and happy feels (mostly). So look forward to that.
> 
> See you Monday!
> 
> TSA + IB (all the way from Spain for the holidays!)


	64. John's Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So sorry for the late update. I was actually outside enjoying the winter weather and visiting family I haven't seen in a long time.
> 
> Here's the next-to-last chapter! Holy crap. This is intense. Not the chapter. Just the fact that I wrote a 65 chapter novel with my friend over the internet. Geez.
> 
> For the purposes of this story, John's birthday is at the end of March.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft, Violet  
> Me: John
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: birthday fluff, surprise party, birthday sex, skinny dipping, public sex, erotic eating of cake, more sex. Basically just lots of sex ;)

John was released from hospital a few days later. The doctor wanted to keep an eye on him in case he had any more suicidal tendencies. Once it was confirmed he was sane and healthy, he was discharged and allowed back home. Lily was so happy to see him, she was quite literally wriggling she was so excited. John grinned and picked her up and she started licking his nose and cheeks. She slept on his pillow that night, just to be sure he was OK. After that she spent the night alternating between Sherlock's pillow and her tree.

The second night back John kept his promise on fucking Sherlock so hard he couldn't move. They both laughed in exhaustion afterwards and fell asleep in each other's arms. The next few nights were spent like that, naked and exhausted, sleeping curled in on each other. The first night John was able to be taken was a joyous one indeed. They made love twice and stayed up all night just talking. And no one yelled, which was a tremendous feat for them. A wedding date was picked that night, and arrangements were made. They were to be married the first weekend in May and John had even made a blog post about it. The hit counter blew up from how many people commented and viewed that post, simply because they hadn't exactly come out to the public. John actually had to turn his laptop off and remove his e-mail from his phone because it was getting so many hits and comments.

Valentine's Day came and went, spent inside with a romantic home-cooked meal prepared by Sherlock. The romantic atmosphere was provided by the candles, courtesy of John. Even Lily got some special food for the occasion. The night was spent between the sheets, the two of them taking turns until they both collapsed from exhaustion.

Now John's birthday was upon them. He wasn't expecting much, if anything. All he needed was his Sherlock by his side, a glass of wine, and an exciting movie. But, knowing Sherlock, he would definitely be getting something. He just hoped he wouldn't go overboard like John had done for his own birthday.

Sherlock was beaming inside. He'd never felt so content with his life. And now it was John's birthday. He knew John didn't expect much but Sherlock had big plans for today. John deserved it after all. First off, John's present.

'John, get your leathers on!' he shouted from in the kitchen. 'We're going out!' Sherlock was dressed in leathers himself. The material pinched at his skin and left nothing to the imagination.

'My leathers?' John asked, popping his head out of the bedroom. 'What on earth for?'

'Because I'll look ridiculous if I'm the only one wearing leathers,' Sherlock said, stepping into John's line of sight.

John's breath hitched and he swallowed thickly, taking in Sherlock's tight leather clad body.

'Be out in a moment,' he said, going back into the bedroom to change.

'Be quick birthday boy!' Sherlock chuckled. 'We've got quite a day ahead of us!'

John emerged a few minutes later clad in his leathers, right down to the pants.

'Alright, Mr Holmes,' he said, grinning. 'What're we doing?'

Sherlock licked his lips. 'We're going for a ride.'

'A ride?' John practically squealed.

'In every sense of the word,' Sherlock grinned, grabbing John and pulling him close so that their leather contained cocks could press up against each other. 'Happy birthday.'

'God I love you,' John breathed out, sealing their lips together in a passionate kiss.

'I love you too, now come on! I need to show you your present.'

John smiled so wide his cheeks hurt. He squeezed Sherlock's hand tight and vibrated where he stood.

'Show me, show me, show me!' he said excitedly.

'Come on!' Sherlock dragged John all the way down the stairs and outside. A brand new motorcycle was waiting for them. John screamed in delight and ran to the bike, inspecting her with the eyes of a watchful parent. She was absolutely gorgeous, a sleek new model, and was a gorgeous deep red in colour.

'She's beautiful.' John smiled widely. 'And she's mine?'

'All yours, yes.' Sherlock smirked.

'Oh my god! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!' He danced in the middle of the street and laughed joyously. 'I bloody love you!'

Sherlock grinned wildly. 'I love you too. Now hop on.' He patted the motorcycle gently and handed John the keys.

'Holy shit,' John breathed out loudly. 'She's really mine. Oh my god.' He stared at the keys and then at the bike, grinning like a mad man. He finally sat atop it, making himself comfortable, before sliding the key into the slot and starting her up. She roared to life and he laughed joyously. He'd forgotten how wonderful the sound of a bike's motor starting was. He scootched forward slightly and motioned for Sherlock to join him. Sherlock sat down and wiggled as close to John as possible. He wrapped his arms around his lover's waist.

'She's really yours,' he said in a low whisper. He grabbed his helmet and motioned for John to do the same. 'Now take her away.'

John's smile appeared to be permanent, for he was doing a hell of a lot of smiling that day. He put his helmet on and revved the engine, becoming familiar with the new bike before speeding away.

'Where to, my love?' he asked, wriggling with excitement.

'Do you know of Greenwich Park?' Sherlock whispered, budging closer to his John. 'Because that's where we need to go.'

'I can get us there, yeah.' He checked his mirrors and revved the engine again for good measure. He wriggled back against Sherlock, feeling the outline of his cock against his bum, the leather squeaking as they rubbed against each other.

'Hang on tight,' he instructed as he kicked up the stand and they sped off. John let out a whoop of joy and laughed. Sherlock laughed too and clung to John tightly, breathing in the fresh smell of leather. John's smile never faltered, and he was surprised he remembered how to ride a bike. He hadn't ridden one in twenty years at least, but it all felt so natural. And with Sherlock? It was absolutely perfect.

They arrived at the park and John parked in a secluded spot, keeping his new baby out of the sun and away from public eye. He killed the engine and took off his helmet, ruffling his hair so it wouldn't stick down so flat. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down, but he was still high off the fact that Sherlock had bought him a fucking motorcycle.

'What are we doing here, love?' he asked as Sherlock took off his own helmet. 'You said we had to come here. So, what's going on?'

Sherlock fluffed his hair too, trying to vainly put it back into its natural, flamboyant, bouncy state. He slid off the motorcycle and placed his helmet onto where he'd been sitting.

'You'll see. It's a surprise.'

'I figured it would be.' John grinned at him. His face was starting to hurt from all the smiling, but that wasn't going to stop him. He clasped Sherlock's hand tight and squeezed. 'Lead the way.'

Sherlock dragged him further into the park until they turned a corner, where a marque was situated and a large group of people shouted out 'Surprise!' The mass of people included Mycroft, Greg, Molly, Mike, Sherlock's mother, Sarah and a few other doctors too, along with some old uni friends Sherlock had managed to get in contact with. John smiled wider, if that was even possible, and laughed. He hugged Sherlock close and hummed.

'Thank you,' he whispered.

'You are quite welcome.' Sherlock squeezed John tightly. 'This is only half of what I've planned. Wait till later.'

'I can hardly wait.' John kissed Sherlock softly and pulled away. 'Let's go mingle, yeah?'

'Aren't you going to make a speech to open the evening?' he asked, raising an eyebrow.

John looked to the crowd, his eyes locking on Mike. He had a smug smile on his face that clearly said, 'I knew you two would be perfect for each other.' He smiled softly back at him and looked back up at Sherlock.

'OK. Sure. Just give me a moment. I suck at making things up on the spot.'

'Sure thing. Take your time birthday boy.' Sherlock peppered John's neck in kisses.

John swallowed down a moan and lightly pushed Sherlock away. 'Won't be able to concentrate on a speech if you do that.'

Sherlock pouted. 'Spoil sport.'

'Sorry, love. But I need to think up here,' he pointed to his head, 'and not down here,' he pointed to his groin. 'Just give me five minutes to start, OK?'

'Alright. I'm just going to go talk to Mycroft. I'll be back soon.'

'Play nice.' He chuckled and shook his head. 'Love you.'

'I always play nice.' Sherlock wriggled his eyebrows, purred softly, and slapped John's bum before heading off into the crowd to find Mycroft. John let out a small squeak of surprise and laughed. He moved to a bench and sat down to formulate a speech, closing his eyes in thought. That was how Mike found him a few minutes later.

'Overwhelmed?' he asked softly. John flinched slightly and opened his eyes to the bright sunlight. He looked over to Mike and sighed.

'No. Just trying to think of a speech to give to everyone.'

'Ah. The dreaded "thanks for coming, enjoy yourselves" speech.' He shook his head. 'Sorry mate.'

'It's fine. I think I've got a good one prepared now.'

'Well then, by all means. Begin.'

'In a moment. Sherlock and Mycroft appear to be in a heated debate.' He watched the Holmes brothers argue, their hands gesturing every which way. 'It's quite entertaining. From afar.'

'Bastard!' Sherlock spat at his brother.

'Sherlock please. You're creating quite a commotion.'

'Bastard!' Sherlock repeated. 'Why can't you be happy for me for once?!'

'I am–'

'No you're not!'

'Sherlock–'

'That doesn't sound good,' John swallowed. 'I'll take care of this. Good to see you, Mike.'

'You too, John.'

John trotted over to the arguing Holmes brothers and placed a gentle hand on the small of Sherlock's back.

'What's going on?' he asked firmly.

'Mycroft can't make it to our wedding. Apparently he's busy.'

'Sherlock please listen. It's not as if I have a choice.'

'Of course you have a choice!'

'I have an important meeting on that day. I can't miss it. If I could I would.'

'Seriously, Mycroft?' John scoffed. 'Your own brother's wedding, and you're skipping out on it because of a bloody meeting? He's only gonna get married once, you know. You can't miss this.'

Mycroft swallowed guiltily. 'Do you think I want to miss it?' he asked softly. 'He's my baby brother. Of course I want to see him wedded. But this particular client doesn't like it when you say no to them. I am afraid I cannot budge them on the matter.'

'Then say no to the bloody client and lose them! Your brother's wedding is more important than some client!'

'It's not as simple as that.'

'No,' Sherlock butted in. 'It  _is_  just that simple. I'm starting to think it's because you don't approve of my and John's marriage.'

'It's not that! Of course it isn't!' Mycroft exclaimed.

'Then what is it?' John demanded. 'This really isn't as complicated as you're trying to make it seem. If you don't want to come then just say it. No need to lie.'

'I'm not lying!' Mycroft swallowed, paling slightly. 'I'm not.' His legs suddenly felt like jelly. 'Please excuse me. I have to sit down.'

'You can damn well bugger off!' John growled. Mycroft tumbled onto the nearest chair and put his head in his hands, looking truly sorry for himself.

'Sorry, dear,' Sherlock apologised. 'I didn't mean to cause a fuss.'

'Well, that's one less guest to pay for I suppose,' John huffed. 'I'm sorry your brother's such a dick.'

'I don't know. Something still seems off with him.' Sherlock sighed before smiling. 'Speech?'

'Yeah. I got one,' he said, grinning softly.

'Go on then! Speech! Speech! Speech!' The small crowd all turned to the couple and waited expectantly. John flushed slightly and squeezed Sherlock's hand.

'Um... Hello,' he started simply. 'First of all, I'd like to thank you all for coming out here today. It's nice to be surrounded by friends and loved ones on your birthday. Um... I'm no good at speeches, but I'll say this at least. It really means a lot to me that you would all come out here to celebrate my birthday and, for those of you who don't know, our engagement.' He held up his and Sherlock's left hands, the rings shining in the sunlight. The crowd clapped and cheered and John blushed again. 'So, with that, thanks for coming out and enjoy yourselves.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Come on. Now we can mingle.' He grabbed John's hand and pulled him through the crowd. Violet was the first to intercept them. She wrapped John in a tight hug and kissed his cheek.

'Congratulations boys.' She smiled warmly at them. 'I am so happy for you both.'

'Thank you, mother. At least I have one family member who is happy for us.' He glared at his brother who was still sitting on a chair, head on his knees. Greg was consoling him.

'What do you mean?' She looked over to Mycroft and frowned. 'He can't attend?'

'No. He has some meeting with an important client.' Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes.

'Do you want me to talk to him?'

'No, but thank you for the offer,' John interjected. 'He seemed rather adamant that he couldn't cancel. But at least you'll be there.'

'Yes, I shall. I wouldn't miss it for the world. My baby's getting married.' She hugged Sherlock then and peppered his cheeks with tender kisses.

'Mother!' Sherlock whined. 'Stop. We're in public. I'm not a child.'

'No I shan't. You're engaged. I'm showing you how happy I am for you.' She placed more kisses on his other cheek and grinned. Sherlock huffed and allowed his mother to continue hugging him and kissing him.

'You're wonderful, Violet,' John said with a chuckle. 'I look forward to being your son-in-law.'

'And I look forward to being your mother-in-law. And don't listen to what my sons tell you. I'm not a monster-in-law. I'm a delicate flower.'

John laughed and kissed her cheek. 'You're brilliant.'

The evening continued in blissful harmony. After meeting everyone and chatting to them for a good long while, Sherlock proclaimed the evening over. At least for the guests anyway.

'I've got a surprise for you,' he whispered to John and led him across the park and next to a lake. There, a picnic and champagne awaited them.

'Sit down.'

'Oh!' John smiled gleefully. 'How very romantic.' He plopped down and poured them each a glass of champagne. 'What shall we toast to, Mr Holmes?' he asked, passing his love a glass.

'To our future!' Sherlock raised his glass and clinked it against John's.

'To our future,' John agreed. He sipped at his glass and sighed. He laid down on the blanket and looked up at the sky, the stars twinkling brightly. Sherlock drank his champagne slowly before standing up and hovering over John. He tilted his head to the side.

'Have you ever considered skinny dipping?' he asked, deadly serious and already unbuckling the belt on his leather trousers.

'I actually did once, back in Uni. It was a dare. I got a tenner out of it, plus the respect of the class bully.' He stood and started stripping too, unzipping his jacket tantalising slowly while he watched Sherlock work on his trousers. Sherlock slipped out of his leathers slowly and teasingly. He grinned at John as they both stood fully naked, staring at each other.

'I bet you haven't made love in a lake though,' he mused in amusement.

'No. Can't say I have.' John grinned mischievously. 'Meet you in there!' He sprinted for the lake, laughing very much like a child. Sherlock laughed and sprinted to the water's edge, leaping in behind John. John swam around in the water for a little while before returning to Sherlock. He draped his arms around his shoulders and kissed him soundly, humming in content. Sherlock moaned and nibbled at John's lower lip.

'I want you,' he gasped. 'You're beautiful.'

'I want you too,' John whispered. 'Take me. Please. You gorgeous man.'

Sherlock licked his long and dexterous fingers and sliced them through the water, pressing them against John's entrance. He moaned and pressed back against those fingers, begging for more. Sherlock slid in one finger and pumped it in and out before eagerly adding a second.

'Happy birthday, my love.'

'Best birthday ever,' he groaned, pushing back. 'Take me. Please.'

'Gladly,' Sherlock purred, removing his fingers and adjusting himself in the water so his cock could slide in easily. John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist and pulled himself up before sliding back down on Sherlock's cock. He moaned loudly and started rocking gently, Sherlock's cock sliding deeper until he was seated fully. Sherlock clung to John tightly as he began thrashing his hips in the water, causing ripples to spread along the surface of the lake and John to become a writhing mess.

'Oh god, oh god,' John moaned, clutching Sherlock tight. 'Oh fuck. You feel so good, love. Don't stop.'

Sherlock smothered John's moans with a kiss and hummed as he continued to hit his lover's prostate with precision. John whimpered into the kiss and started shaking from the immense pleasure Sherlock was giving him.

'Oh god, oh god. So close. Don't stop. Gonna cum!' He cried out and came into the water, the white substance diluting almost instantly. Sherlock's pale body arched through the water and he cried a thousand profanities as he came hard into John.

'Bloody hell,' he mumbled as he collapsed against John. 'That was powerful.'

'I think we should just float for a while. Catch our breath. Yeah?' John panted, sliding his legs off Sherlock's waist and leaning back to float on top of the water.

'Yeah,' Sherlock breathed out heavily. 'Let's just float.' He leant back on the water too, latching a hand to John's. John hummed and closed his eyes, clutching Sherlock's hand tight.

'I promise to never let go of your hand.' Sherlock smoothed his thumb over John's knuckles.

'I promise to hold on to you forever,' John whispered in reply.

Sherlock chuckled. 'Where I hope to retire and become a bee keeper.'

'And a wonderful husband and father.'

'Maybe even a grandfather by that point.' Sherlock giggled at the idea.

'Wow. Grandchildren.' John grinned up at the sky.

'It would be quite an achievement to have grandchildren.' Sherlock grinned too. 'Quite an achievement to have children even.'

'Hopefully we can find a suitable surrogate to carry our children. Can't have just anyone, you know?'

'I've been thinking about it for an awful long time now. I have decided that it would have to be someone of science for my biological child. A doctor, a scientist, a nurse, something along that line.'

'Yeah. Same for me. If we each use a different surrogate that is.'

'Either way they shall beautiful.' Sherlock tilted his head to watch John and smiled softly. John hummed and looked at the stars, searching for the few constellations he knew of. He turned to look at Sherlock and smiled softly when he saw he was watching him.

'Want to go back to the picnic and dry off? We can go home soon after.'

Sherlock nodded and flipped onto his front. 'I'm starting to get rather cold. I'll be glad to snuggle up under our covers.'

'Yeah. Sounds good.' He stood and pulled Sherlock up with him, leading him to the blanket so they could dry off. Sherlock wrapped his arms tenderly around John's waist.

'God. I'm so happy,' he sighed.

'Me too. This was a great birthday. Thank you so much. For everything. But especially the bike.'

'You're welcome. I've been planning on buying you one since our conversation after my coma.'

'Wow. That was quite a while ago.' John smiled and nuzzled along Sherlock's jaw. 'Thank you so much for that. I absolutely love her. And you.'

'Care to show me how much you love me when we get back?'

'Most definitely.' He kissed Sherlock softly and hummed. His stomach growled unexpectedly and he laughed.

'Sorry. Guess the swimming and sex made me hungry. What sort of food's in the picnic basket?'

'There's cake, some jam sandwiches, some Jammy Dodgers, and then, if you want it, my cock.'

'I'll have your cock for pudding,' John chuckled. 'I'll start with a jam sandwich.'

Sherlock purred. 'Oh yes. Eat me whole John.' He flushed red. 'Sorry. I don't know why I'm so horny.'

'I hope it's me.' John winked at him. 'Clad in my leathers with my sexy new bike. I'm horny as fuck too. God. I can't wait to take you home and fuck you properly.' He grabbed a sandwich from the basket and unwrapped it, placing the trash in the basket while taking a large bite out of the sandwich, jam dribbling down his chin.

'Mmm!' he moaned, the jam utterly delicious on his tongue. 'Strawberry! My favourite!'

'You've got a bit of, er...' Sherlock leaned in and slurped up the jam with his tongue, groaning loudly. John moaned and moved to straddle Sherlock's lap, deliberately smearing a dollop of jam down his chest and around a nipple. Sherlock trailed his tongue down John's chest, slurping up more jam. As he reached John's nipple he clamped his plump lips around it and sucked as hard as he could.

John let out a high whimper and shuddered, his hips moving subtly over Sherlock's lap. He dropped the sandwich and held Sherlock's head to his chest, his other hand grasping Sherlock's knee to steady himself as he leaned back to push himself closer to his lover's very talented tongue. Sherlock swirled his tongue around the nipple and moaned. He scraped his teeth over it and pushed his lips tighter around it. He moved his hips to meet John's and began to rock beneath him steadily. John continued to move his hips until Sherlock's cock began to slide inside him. He pushed down and groaned loudly.

'You – oh god – keep doing that. I'll take care of the fucking.'

Sherlock grunted and pulled at John's nipple with his teeth as he rocked harshly up into him. One of his hands moved to John's other nipple and he tweaked it. The noise John made only encouraged Sherlock to thrust harder and slurp more greedily at the nipple his mouth was closed in on. John threw his head back and moaned loudly, impaling himself on Sherlock's cock hard and fast. His movements started to stutter as he was brought closer and closer to release, his breath coming in high, sharp whimpers. Sherlock reached a hand down to run up and down John's throbbing member. He hollowed out his cheeks around John's nipple and began to hum. His hips jolted upwards harshly and he felt himself spill into John.

'Fuck! Sherlock!' John cried out, cumming hard against Sherlock's fist and abdomen. He shook with aftershocks of pleasure as Sherlock continued to suck on his nipple, squeezing his eyes shut and hanging his mouth wide open as he rode out the feeling.

Sherlock pulled back to pant harshly. 'God.' His head flopped onto John's shoulder in exhaustion. John eased Sherlock back until he lay down against the blanket. He rolled off him and snuggled against his side.

'Think we should rest a bit,' he panted. 'Should get dressed too. Don't wanna get caught naked by a random patrol.'

'Hmm. Of course we should get dressed. But must we?' he whined and pulled himself weakly onto John. He lay his head against John's chest and closed his eyes.

'At least cover your bum, yeah?' He pulled the other side of the blanket over and draped it over Sherlock's nude form, allowing him to rest for a moment. Sherlock kissed John's neck and snuggled further against him. He wrinkled up his nose and a little snore blew out of it.

'Don't sleep. We need to go home and I need you alert so you'll stay on the bike.' He nudged Sherlock hard to rouse him.

'Not going home yet,' Sherlock mumbled. 'Got to eat cake first.' He roused and stretched like a sleepy kitty.

'Oh? What kind of cake?'

'Chocolate.' Sherlock licked his lips and his stomach growled viciously. 'Are you going to eat it off me?'

'I can, yes. But it sounds like you need something to eat first. How about this?' He leaned in close and kissed Sherlock softly. 'Eat a sandwich and some Jammy Dodgers. Then, when your stomach isn't protesting so loud, I'll smear your body in chocolate cake and eat it off you. OK?'

Sherlock grunted and moved to the picnic basket, grabbing a couple of sandwiches and a handful of Jammy Dodgers.

'Hmm,' he hummed through a mouthful of sugary biscuit. 'I cannot express my love for Jammy Dodgers enough.'

John took a bite out of one and hummed too. 'They are quite delicious.'

'Good old Doctor. He was the one who introduced them to me. What the man lacks in fashion sense he sure makes up for in his taste of food.'

'I happen to like the Doctor's fashion sense,' John stated. 'Bow ties really are cool. And those tweed jackets? Very stylish.'

'I'm not denying that it isn't unique or cool in its own right, just rather unconventional.'

'Unconventional how?' John asked through another bite of biscuit.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'It's the twenty-first century. If you wear a bow tie casually people generally tell you to piss off.'

'He's an alien, Sherlock. I don't think he cares about conventional or not. But I understand. I used to wear bow ties a lot in uni. Button up shirts, bow ties, a nice jacket. I got bullied mercilessly. That was when I switched to jumpers, and I never looked back.'

Sherlock growled and tugged an arm around John tightly. 'How dare they bully my Watson.'

'I'm alright, love. Really.' He hugged him softly and hummed. 'I'm here with you. How could I not be alright?'

'I know.' Sherlock kissed John gently. 'It just bothers me that people used to bully you.'

'Why wouldn't people bully me? You've seen photos of me in my youth, right? Short, skinny, not an inch of muscle. Of course kids were going to bully me. But then I hit my growth spurt and joined the army, and things changed drastically. For the better too.'

'I find your past self extremely attractive,' Sherlock tutted. 'At least you weren't the city freak. I don't suppose you will have seen many pictures of me in my teens but the few pictures I have make me look like a dying rat.'

'I was such a dork! That wasn't attractive. I looked sickly compared to how I look now. And I know what you mean about your teenage years. All gangly limbs and skin and bones. I saw your physique in that video. You looked terrible.' He cuddled closer and sighed.

'But look at you now,' he hummed. 'You're healthy, alive, and happy. And you're all mine.' He touched the ring on Sherlock's finger and smiled. 'All mine.'

Sherlock snorted and grinned happily. 'You still are a dork.  _My_  dork. And yes, I'm all yours.'

'Then roll over and let me devour you,' he grinned, his eyes going dark as his pupils dilated. Sherlock happily complied, rolling onto his back and stretching out his body.

'Is my dork going to devour me?'

'Your dork is going to cover you in cake and then devour you,' he stated. He reached into the basket and pulled out the cake, taking it out of its container and smelling it. God it smelled delicious. He couldn't wait to eat it. His mouth was watering already.

He started with the frosting, applying it solely to Sherlock's cock. 'I told you I'd have your cock for pudding,' he smiled. 'I'm just preparing it for later.' The rest of the cake was spread over Sherlock's abdomen, chest, and along his neck, a few splotches covering parts of his thighs.

'Mmm. You look good enough to eat my dear,' John purred. 'Where shall we start first?'

Sherlock tried moving his lips but all he could muster was a loud whimper as he watched John with dark eyes. God dammit John was beautiful. Especially with the moonlight shining on him. He swallowed thickly and tried to control his already erratic breathing.

'Can't speak?' John smirked. 'My. That is a first. Hmm. I think I'll start here.' He shifted over Sherlock's body and nibbled at the cake on his neck, lapping it up before sucking possessive marks along it. Sherlock shivered and moaned but still found his mouth utterly useless at forming words.

'Still not talking, eh?' John whispered in Sherlock's ear. 'Let's see if I can fix that.' He moved to eat down Sherlock's chest, clamping his lips around a nipple and sucking hard.

Sherlock arched upwards and his eyes widened. 'Mmmf! John!' he finally managed to exclaim.

'That's it,' John hummed around Sherlock's nipple. 'Don't be shy. Be loud.' He moved to the other nipple and lapped at the cake there before latching onto it and sucking hard. Sherlock began to cry out all sorts of things. Most of it made little to no sense. It was just incoherent ramblings. There were quite a few 'I love you's in the mix too though.

John released Sherlock's nipple and grinned. His mouth was framed by chocolate. 'What shall I eat next?' he asked, his voice thick with want.

Sherlock licked his lips. 'I think you know what I want you to eat.'

'That's for last,' John reminded him. 'Although...' He slid down between Sherlock's legs and ate the sparse cake peppering his thighs, making sure to leave multiple love bites in his wake.

'Tease!' Sherlock spat but his voice held little bite and came out sounding more like a groan. John simply growled and moved back up to Sherlock's chest, eating the cake smeared there before moving down his ribs and the dip between his ribcage and abdomen.

'Mmm. That's right. Fill yourself up on cake. Leave some room for your pudding though.'

'Oh, I always have room for pudding.' John grinned and lapped around Sherlock's abs and stomach, plunging his tongue down into his belly button. Sherlock placed both his hand firmly on John's shoulders and dug his fingers into his flesh.

'Mmm,' he hummed. 'The things you do to me.'

'I can feel it. Can you feel what you do to me?'

'Yes,' Sherlock gasped out. 'Yes I can.'

'Almost time for pudding,' he purred. He licked along the patch of skin just above Sherlock's pubic bone, lapping up the last of the cake.

Sherlock let out a joyous sound. 'Oh, I can't wait for pudding.'

'Me too. Now spread yourself wide for me.'

Sherlock spread his legs as wide as he could and whined pitifully. John settled down between his lover's legs, his hands gripping his thighs. He licked from the base to the tip of Sherlock's cock, tasting chocolate and Sherlock's natural flavour. He hummed and slowly took him in his mouth, chocolate oozing out and dripping down his chin and Sherlock's thighs. Sherlock's hands flew to John's head and fisted in his blondish hair, dragging him closer and forcing more of his cock into his mouth. John relaxed his throat and swallowed Sherlock down until his nose was resting in his curls.

'Having fun birthday boy?' Sherlock gasped out, starting to move his hips slowly. John moaned loudly in reply and began bobbing his head furiously, sucking hard on Sherlock's cock.

'I gather that was a yes,' Sherlock murmured as his hips picked up pace. John merely sucked harder on his love's cock in reply, a hand moving from his thigh to massage his bollocks. Sherlock cried out as he reached his tipping point and an orgasm tore through him, his cum dribbling out of John's mouth along with some chocolate cake remains. John swallowed all Sherlock gave and immediately moved to kiss him, knowing Sherlock liked the taste of himself on his tongue. The added chocolate might even taste good too. Sherlock lapped at the mixture of cum and cake on his lover's tongue greedily. When he pulled back both he and John were completely breathless.

'I think we should clean up before we go home,' John panted out. 'Go back in the lake and get the chocolate cake off ya. Then back in our leathers and home. Yeah?'

Sherlock purred loudly in agreement and stood to his feet on ever so slightly shaky legs. John helped Sherlock to the water and they waded in until the water was up to Sherlock's hips. John began washing him softly, making sure all the cake and frosting came off before moving him a little deeper and washing his ribs and chest.

'Can you kneel down for me so I can get your neck?' Sherlock complied and knelt obediently in the water as John washed the remaining cake off of him.

'There,' John smiled softly. 'All clean.' He knelt down so he was at Sherlock's level and kissed him softly, holding his face tenderly in his hands. 'Thank you so much for all this,' he whispered against Sherlock's lips. 'It was a wonderful birthday.'

'You deserved it dearly,' Sherlock said quietly, tracing his fingers over John's scars.

John hummed softly and began moving them to the water's edge. 'Let's dry off and go home, yeah? There's still one more thing I need to do before my birthday is over.'

Sherlock's brow furrowed. 'May I inquire what that thing is?'

'Show you how much I love you, of course,' John said as if it should have been obvious. 'And how much I appreciate you doing this for me on my birthday. And for getting me that beautiful, beautiful bike.'

'Oh.' Sherlock purred and wriggled his eyebrows. 'I do believe I like the sound of that.'

'I'm going to pound you into the mattress,' John purred. He grabbed the picnic blanket and dried Sherlock off with the side that hadn't been on the grass, then did the same for himself.

'OK. Now for leathers and then home.'

Sherlock grabbed his leathers and got dressed as fast as his trembling fingers allowed him. He was partly trembling from the cold and partly trembling from the anticipation building up inside of him.

'Shall we take the scenic route or get home as quickly as possible?' John asked, already knowing the answer. He zipped his trousers and put his shirt and jacket on before moving to his boots.

'Quickly as possible,' Sherlock grunted, beginning to hurry to where John had parked the motorcycle, desperation flooding through his veins. John hurried after Sherlock and back to the bike, still as gorgeous as he'd last seen her. He got on and put on his helmet before starting the engine. Sherlock slipped onto the bike behind John and put his own helmet on.

'Ready?' John asked.

'Just hurry us back home,' Sherlock said, pushing himself as close as possible to John.

'Fuck you feel huge in those trousers,' John groaned, rutting back against his lover's cock trapped in its leather confines. 'Can't be comfortable.'

Sherlock grunted in agreement. 'It rather hurts. Which is why it's so important for you to get me home.  _Now_.'

'Aye,' John laughed. He kicked the stand up and backed the bike away from the fence before speeding back to Baker Street, Sherlock's cock rubbing against him the entire way. He was beginning to feel very hot under the collar and his heart was pounding in his chest. He wanted Sherlock now, not later.

'Where are we parking her?' he asked suddenly. 'I don't want to just leave her by the kerb. Have you got a place?'

'There's a garage that I've hired to put her in. Just around the corner of the flat. You can't miss it,' Sherlock panted.

'Right. Almost there.' He found the garage easily and parked the bike, turning her off before the echoing of the engine could get too loud. He took off his helmet and hung it on one of the handlebars, kicking the stand down before leaping off. He could sense Sherlock's urgency and it was making him anxious and impatient as well.

Sherlock bounced off of the bike and quickly removed his helmet, placing it on the other handle bar. He grabbed John's hand and tugged him out of the garage. He made sure that it was all locked up before pulling John along behind him all the way to Baker Street, almost running but not quite. His erection was too large and ached too much from the constant rubbing against its leather confines for him run. He scrambled for the flat keys and opened the door and both he and John tumbled inside, leather against leather creating a frustrating friction that was driving Sherlock stark raving mad.

'I'm getting you out of these now,' John growled, unbuckling Sherlock's belt and pulling down his zip. He peeled his leather trousers down and off, freeing his raging erection.

Sherlock sighed in relief. 'Thank god,' he mumbled. 'Get me to bed.'

'Aye,' John growled. He picked Sherlock up and carried him up the stairs and to their bed, stripping the rest of their clothes along the way.

Sherlock lay on the bed vulnerable and naked and wanting nothing more than his gorgeous lover to smother his body with his own. John opened the bedside drawer and pulled out the lube. He eagerly coated his fingers and pushed one inside his awaiting lover. Sherlock moaned and pushed back on the glorious finger, his entire body shaking with want. John eased in another finger and scissored them, stretching Sherlock quickly.

'Ready for a third?' he asked breathlessly.

'I need you. I need all of you. Please.' Sherlock locked his lustful eyes onto John's.

'Yes. God yes. Turn over please. On your knees. I want to fuck you from behind tonight.'

Sherlock flipped himself over onto his knees and wiggled eagerly. 'Now, John, now.'

John leaned over Sherlock and grasped his hands tight.

'I love you,' he whispered in his ear as he pushed in. 'So bloody much.'

'I love you too. Now bloody make love to me.'

John growled and started thrusting hard and fast, gripping Sherlock's hands tight.

'Feels so good.' Sherlock rocked backwards and groaned.

'Feels bloody fantastic,' John groaned, moving faster. 'Probably won't last long.'

'Me neither.' Sherlock clenched his arse cheeks and rocked back faster.

'Oh god!' John cried out. 'Oh shit! Fuck! Gonna cum!'

'Right with ya!' Sherlock yelled as he began to cum.

'Fuck! Bloody bollocks! Sherlock!' John cried, cumming deep inside his lover's arse long and hard. He let out a stuttering breath and pulled out, collapsing against the sheets in a tired but incredibly satisfied heap. Sherlock collapsed against the mattress, slipping into unconsciousness before his head even hit the pillow. John curled up beside him and pulled the blankets over them both. He snuggled close and yawned.

'Goodnight, Sherlock. Thank you. For everything.' He fell asleep shortly after, dreaming of riding his new bike out of London and to the countryside, going on a much needed holiday with the man he loved at his side.

* * *

 

The inspiration for John's bike:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will be posted the Friday after Christmas if all goes to plan. And fair warning: it's quite long!
> 
> I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas (if you celebrate it) and happy holidays to all. See you again soon!
> 
> ~TSA


	65. The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone.
> 
> Here it is. The final chapter. It has been a wonderful journey to write this and share it with all of you.
> 
> This is a long chapter (50 typed pages).
> 
> And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You'll understand soon enough. Get your shock blankets and coffee/tea/hot chocolate/any hot beverage ready.
> 
> InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, assassin  
> Me: John, Greg, Sally, Superintendent, Violet Holmes, Brook/Moriarty  
> Shared: Mycroft, Molly, Kitty Riley
> 
> Warnings for this final chapter: major angst, smut, emotional smut, deception, disgrace, major character death, suicide, funeral scene.
> 
> I think that just about covers it. Major thanks to all of you for sticking around during the darker times of this fic/novel. And much love to those of you who sent reviews and asked questions and shared this with other Sherlockians. We'll miss you and we'll see you again in February when the sequel begins.
> 
> Love to you all,
> 
> TSA + IB

Time moved swiftly on and for a long time Sherlock and John were both exceedingly happy. No arguments occurred between them and they made love almost every night. Lily was growing up quickly too but they still both saw her as their little baby girl. She now slept in the middle of both her daddies, something Sherlock wasn't so worried about now that Lily wasn't so tiny and squishable.

Cases had begun to pile in and it would seem he was no longer the local weirdo. He was a hero in most people's eyes it would seem. That was ridiculous. Heroes didn't exist and even if they did he certainly wouldn't be one of them. The cases ranged from recovery of a missing painting to reuniting a family. Whatever the case he always picked up some kind of reward. He found this extremely irritable as almost all of the presents were no use to him. Especially the damn deerstalker (death Frisbee)!

However, things had begun to change. Of course it was only natural that Jim Moriarty was the one to change it all. Only a couple months ago Moriarty had committed the biggest crime spree ever acted out in London and yet had been let go only a week ago and was walking free right now. So, yes, things were quite tense, and it was definitely taking a toll on both the consulting detective and his blogger.

And now another case had popped up and they were arguing. Again.

'It's a simple case John! I'll have it solved in no time at all! This shall not affect our wedding. I can promise you that.'

'Our wedding is in three days! Three bloody days!' John reminded him sternly. 'We have the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, plus the damn florist hasn't shipped the damn flowers, my suit isn't back from the cleaners, and apparently Molly has a new boyfriend and needs a plus one and we can't afford it but I can't tell her no and I just don't know what to do! There's too much to be done! We don't have time for a case!' His hands were in his hair and he was shaking. He was stressed beyond belief and he hadn't been sleeping well for the past month or so. A case was the last thing he needed right now.

Sherlock sighed and walked forward, placing both his hands on John's shoulders.

'It's going to be OK,' he promised his tense lover. 'I should wrap it up in a few hours, and then I'm all yours, OK?'

'It will seriously only take you a few hours to find kidnapped children?' John asked skeptically. 'I don't doubt your powers, but children who could be hidden anywhere in all the abandoned buildings in London? Surely that will be a challenge? Oh, but that's the point isn't it? You want the challenge to prove that you can do it. Fine. Go. I'm calling the florist to sort out this bullshit. Hopefully I can check one thing off my list of wedding disasters averted.'

Sherlock hummed loudly and caught John's lips with his.

'Please try to relax. Everything shall work out in the end. It doesn't matter about any screw ups. Just as long as we're both happy.'

John hummed softly and kissed Sherlock again, relaxing slightly.

'Yes. OK. Now go. And behave. Kidnapped children and all. Try to be a little more civil, yes?'

'I'm always civil. Love you.' He grinned widely. At that point both Greg and Sally entered the room and Sherlock left for the case, hearing Greg mutter something about how it was great to be working with a celebrity.

 _I love you too. –JH_  
  
John then called the florist and sorted out the order of flowers, thanking the universe that the flowers would arrive tomorrow. He then called the dry cleaners and asked about his suit. The owner said it had just been picked up. Picked up by whom?

The knock on his door surprised him and he nearly dropped his phone. He kept the cleaner's owner on the line as he answered it. The man in black answered the question as to who had picked up his suit. He was holding it out to him and then gestured to the car once John accepted it. He hung up and put the suit in his wardrobe, grabbing his coat, keys, and wallet on the way out.

**…::-::…**

The case wasn't as cut and dry as Sherlock had told John it was. Of course it was simple to gather the evidence. He'd found the cry for help the little boy had left and had discovered the footprints of both the kidnapper and the children's. However, it was the book of fairy tales that had somewhat twisted what was supposed to be an easy to wrap case into a horror story of sorts.

Some words that Moriarty had spoken to him before kept on echoing in his mind.

'Every fairy tale needs a good old fashioned villain.'

Could Moriarty be behind all of this? Or was this one big coincidence? Then again, Sherlock didn't believe in coincidences.

Pushing away the uneasy feeling in his stomach he headed to Bart's to analyse the footprints. Hopefully it would lead them to the kidnapper. Hopefully Sherlock was wrong for once and Moriarty wasn't involved.

**…::-::…**

The sleek black car pulled up outside a Diogenes Club. A club which John had never heard of. When he entered, he realised it wasn't a typical club at all. It was just three elderly gentlemen sitting around a fire reading. As soon as he opened his mouth to ask for Mycroft Holmes all hell broke loose. One man rang an alarm and two men wearing slippers and aprons appeared and carried him away, pressing a cloth over his nose and mouth. His muffled protests were futile as he was led to a back room and shoved down in a plush chair. Mycroft was sitting behind the desk opposite him.

'What the fuck was that?' John demanded once the doors were closed.

'Tradition John. Our traditions define us,' Mycroft said with a soft smirk, cradling a large glass of scotch in his hands.

'So total silence is traditional, is it? You can't even say "pass the sugar"?'

Mycroft let out an undignified sound, almost a snort that turned into a loud and slightly drunken laugh. He sat down in his chair and sipped at his glass of alcohol.

'Honestly, John, it's for the best.'

'Are you sure you should be drinking that?' he asked warily. 'I'm only asking as a concerned friend, not a medical man.'

'Honestly,' Mycroft hiccupped. 'I have more important things to worry about than being a little tipsy.'

'Give me that,' John demanded, holding his hand out for the glass. 'Please,' he added a little softer. Mycroft merely grunted and thrust the files he'd wanted to show John at him, taking another large sip.

'Read them,' he ordered. John sighed and rolled his eyes, taking the files and opening them. They were full of people, a couple he recognised.

'What's this then? And how does it concern me?'

'Asashins, John.' Mycroft blinked and concentrated on correcting the word. 'Asashins tha live on B'aker Sh'treet.' No use. His words were still mashed up and slurred. He poured himself another glass of scotch.

'Mycroft, please stop drinking. I'm not going to be able to understand what the hell you're saying if you're sloshed.' He looked down at the people again and frowned.

'But assassins? On Baker Street? My neighbours are assassins? Well, so much for the drinks thing I was hoping to do after the wedding.'

Mycroft frowned but continued to drink. 'I woo'dnt d' tha. Bad people. Can ya sh'pot t' common factor?'

'All those assassins so close to home? Yeah. This is about Sherlock. Someone wants him dead.' He paused and thought. 'Or kept alive. If he was wanted dead then he'd probably already be dead by now.' He quickly snatched Mycroft's glass away from him and drank the rest of the scotch in one gulp, needing to wash away the dark thoughts creeping into his mind.

'M'riarty.' Mycroft whined as he stared at the now empty glass. 'N Brook.' He showed John another file of a newspaper column. 'Exclushive of ma widdle brofa t'morrow.'

'Kitty Riley.' John frowned. 'She was at Moriarty's trial. Cornered Sherlock in the loo to question him. But who the fuck is this Brook guy she got her information from? And you think this is Moriarty?'

'Mmm. N' clue 'bout Brook. B' if not M'riarty then who?' Mycroft dropped his suddenly too heavy head in his hands and groaned.

'Hey? You alright?' John asked, putting the files back on the desk. He moved to Mycroft's side and knelt down, squeezing his shoulder gently.

'N' really,' Mycroft mumbled, beginning to shake.

John sighed and rubbed his upper back gently. 'What's going on Myc? You can tell me. Please.'

Mycroft raised his head and sighed heavily. 'Jush shit,' he mumbled. 'T' d' wif Sher. Mmm worried.'

'Worried about Sherlock? Is he in danger?'

Mycroft shrugged. 'Maybe,' was all he was able to mutter as his head dropped into his hands once more.

'Hey. Myc, come on. You gotta give me more than that,' John said, shaking his shoulder gently. 'We're getting married in three days. If Sherlock's in danger... I think I have a right to know. So tell me. Please.'

Mycroft whined and shook his head. 'I d'know. Jush go t' im now.'

John sighed and nodded. 'If anything, and I mean anything pops up that might put Sherlock in danger, I want you to tell me. Please. He's about to be my husband, Mycroft. Please. I want to protect him, like I used to. Please.'

'K,' Mycroft agreed. 'Look out f' assashins n Sher.'

'I will,' John assured him. 'Get better, Myc. Drink some water. And please stay away from the booze.'

'Gotta sober up,' Mycroft mumbled. 'Got 'portant meeting.'

'In that case, drink some coffee. Black. Feel better.' He squeezed Myc's shoulder and left, making sure to remain silent before he made it out the door. He hailed a cab and went back to Baker Street. Just one more wedding thing to do and then he would join Sherlock.

 _Almost done with wedding stuff. I can help with the case after this. Where are you? –JH  
_  
 _ **Bart's. I've made quite a lot of progress already but I could use another pair of eyes and hands. Love you. –SH  
**_  
 _Love you too. Be there soon. –JH_  
  
When he arrived home he paid the cabbie and moved to open the door, but it was already open. And an envelope was resting against the doorframe. The door didn't look forced, and it appeared to be propped open. To let in the breeze? He bent down and picked up the envelope, inspecting it before opening it and a crumbly substance pouring out onto the pavement. What the hell?

'Scuze mate,' a voice said from behind him.

'Oh, sorry.' He stepped out of the way of a rather large man carrying a ladder. He entered the flat and set up shop just inside the door. Seemed he was there to fix the leak in the ceiling finally. He pocketed the envelope and went upstairs, making one last phone call, a message for Molly saying that he couldn't make room for her plus one and he apologised profusely. Though she was probably already at Bart's with Sherlock, so perhaps the message had been pointless. He shrugged and went back downstairs, making sure to avoid walking under the ladder, and hailed another cab.

 _On my way. See you soon. –JH  
_  
 __ **Hurry. I need you here. Desperately. –SH  
**  
Uh oh. After his little chat with Mycroft, that statement made John's heart race.

 _I'm in a cab right now. Just turned onto A4200. Be there soon. –JH  
_  
 _ **I didn't mean to panic you. Now breathe. You're going red in the face. –SH  
**_  
 __ **I, like my brother, have cameras everywhere. –SH  
**  
John smirked.

 _Cheeky bastard. OK. Sorry. I'll be there soon. I love you. –JH  
_  
 _ **Yes, your cheeky bastard. –SH  
**_  
 _A couple blocks from Bart's. See you soon. –JH  
_  
 _ **Hurry. I'm lost without my blogger. –SH  
**_  
 _Your blogger is on his way up. –JH  
_  
 __ **Get your arse up here now. –SH  
**  
He entered the lab just as he opened the new message. He quirked an eyebrow and frowned.

'What's the hurry? Everything alright?' he asked. 'Hi, Molly.'

Sherlock was peering down the end of a microscope. He held up a hand and grunted.

Molly smiled sweetly at John. 'Hi, John. Ignore him. I think he's just having one of his days.'

'I do not have "days,"' Sherlock grumbled back.

'You most certainly do have "days,"' John smirked. 'And while I've got you here Molly, I'm afraid I can't squeeze in your plus one for the wedding. I'm sorry, but we just don't have the room.'

'It's OK.' Molly shrugged and smiled. 'He's rather shy anyway.'

Sherlock's head raised slowly and he turned to face Molly. He blinked at her and studied her for a moment before returning to his work.

'Oil, John. The oil in the footprint will lead us to the kidnapper.'

 _Most likely lead us to Moriarty even._  
  
John nodded and stayed out of Sherlock's way. He began looking over the crime scene photos while the two scientists puttered about. He could hear Sherlock muttering what was in the kidnapper's footprint. Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation. But the last one was tripping him up. He was muttering something under his breath, but John couldn't make it out.

'What did you mean, "I owe you?"' Molly asked suddenly, making sure John couldn't hear. 'You said, "I owe you." You were muttering it while you were working.'

'Nothing. Mental note,' Sherlock replied quickly. He glanced up at John with sad eyes. John was too busy pondering over the crime scene photos to notice. Molly noticed the look. She knew it all too well.

'You're a bit like my dad,' she said softly. 'He's dead. Oh, sorry.'

'Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area.'

Molly blushed and rolled her eyes, but she continued anyway.

'When he was dying he was always cheerful. He was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.'

Sherlock opened his mouth to interrupt, but Molly kept going.

'You look sad, when you think he can't see you.' She gestured to John. Sherlock paused and looked up at John before slowly turning to Molly.

'Are you OK? And don't just say that you are because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you.'

Sherlock looked at Molly, really looked. It was like this was the first time he was actually seeing her.

'You can see me,' he stated.

'I don't count,' she stated simply. She looked away briefly, missing Sherlock's completely shocked expression.

'What I'm trying to say is, if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me. No... I just mean... I mean... If there's anything you need... It's fine,' she mumbled, looking away. Sherlock felt a wave of pain, shock, and sadness bolt through him. Was he really such an open book these days that Molly could see his worries about Moriarty? And why didn't Molly think she counted? That wasn't right at all.

'What – what – what could I need from you?' he stammered.

'Nothing. I d'know,' she shrugged. 'You could probably say "thank you," actually.'

Sherlock's lips pursed together. 'Thank you?'

Molly sighed. That was probably the closest thing she'd get to a proper thanks from Sherlock.

'I'm just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?' She paused and sighed again, realising the absurdity of her question. 'It's OK. I know you don't.'

'Well actually maybe I'll–' Sherlock began but Molly had already cut him off and walked out of the room faster than he could blink. He swallowed thickly and moved away from his work and over to John. He grabbed the crime scene pictures from his lover and gave him one last sad look whilst he wasn't looking. He was sad because he already knew deep down that this was Moriarty's doing. He was sad because Moriarty had promised him a fall. He was sad because there was a great possibility that Moriarty was going to kill him.

'I need you,' he whispered, a hint of sadness still tainting his words.

'Alright,' John smiled softly. 'What do you need?'

'I need you,' Sherlock repeated, leaving a trail of kisses down John's neck. 'Please.'

'Really?' John asked, looking around the lab. 'Right now?'

Sherlock kissed John's neck more insistently and hummed.

'Right now. I need you more than anything in this world. Please.'

'Sherlock, mmm,' John hummed despite himself. 'We should be focussing on the case. Oh, mmm. We need to finish it before our wedding. Come on. Oh god.'

'Please, please, please,' Sherlock begged, pressing his lips firmly to John's pulse point.

John's knees felt weak, and his resolve was crumbling. He whimpered and nodded.

'Yes. Yes, OK.'

'We'll take this to a room that is a little bit more private,' Sherlock said, dragging John behind him and through Bart's till they came across an empty hospital room. As soon as they were inside Sherlock placed a chair by the door to stop people getting in and pulled down the blinds. He picked John up and placed him on the bed and soon they were both naked and panting in anticipation.

John pulled Sherlock into a passionate kiss, moaning loudly.

'I still think this is a dangerous waste of time,' he mumbled.

No. John was wrong. This wasn't a waste of time, not when this could be the last time to say goodbye, and the last time they could be intimate together. He peppered John's skin in kisses, not missing a single inch. His fingers ran down John's chest, remembering, tracing, learning. His eyes gazed into John's with such sorrow that he knew John knew that there was something wrong. But John didn't question him. He allowed Sherlock to explore his body, allowed him to mark his skin with his teeth.

 _Something to remember me by if things go south_ , Sherlock thought sourly to himself. And when Sherlock began to make love to him with such tenderness that it was going to take a good long while for them to both find their releases, John still didn't ask questions. He just sat back and watched Sherlock carefully with big, curious eyes. It was slow and languid, passionate and considerate. It was perfect. But John couldn't shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach that something wasn't quite right. Something was wrong. Almost like... almost like they were saying goodbye. It reminded him of their goodbye sex before they both went to rehab, but this time was so much slower and passionate than the last.

 _What's wrong? Tell me Sherlock. Please,_  he begged silently. Sherlock kissed John's worries away and tangled a hand in his hair.

'I love you,' he whispered sadly. 'I love you so much. Never forget that. Never. Do you understand me?' He carried on with his slow pace and ran his other hand's fingers up and down John's inner thighs.

'I could never forget your love,' John whispered. 'You marked me with it.' He turned so his scarred cheek faced Sherlock and he moaned softly. 'I love you too. So bloody much.' He traced his fingers along Sherlock's scarred cheek, drawing the symbol again. 'For all eternity. I promise.'

Sherlock pressed his own scarred cheek against John's and let out a shuddering breath as he neared his release.

'Don't forget me,' he whispered. 'Don't forget that even after my heart stops beating I will love you.'

'Sherlock,' John choked out, nearing his own release. 'You're scaring me. What is this about? Are you dying?'

'No,' Sherlock choked back. 'I just want you to know that my love for you is endless.'

'Mine is too,' John sniffled. He knew something wasn't right, but he didn't want to push it. Didn't want to ruin their moment. 'I will love you forever. I promise.' He drew the Gallifreyan symbols for their names and eternity on Sherlock's shoulder, only stopping when his orgasm ripped through him. He gripped his lover's shoulder tight and cried his name, squeezing his arse tight and dragging Sherlock's orgasm from him.

Sherlock cried out as he rode through his orgasm. It was such a beautiful moment that even when it was over he stayed fully seated in John, staring down at him with frightened eyes, almost instantly hardening again. Perhaps even his body knew that this could be goodbye. His nose flared and his eyes grew with the threat of tears.

'I... I love you.'

'I love you too,' John panted, groaning as he felt Sherlock harden inside him. 'Fuck.'

Sherlock began to move his hips once more, making gentle love to John as he kissed him sweetly. John cradled Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him soundly, parting Sherlock's lips with his tongue and delving inside. Once Sherlock reached out to him he moved his hands down to his hips and squeezed, asking him to move just a bit harder.

'I'm not rushing this.' Sherlock's voice cracked. 'Just trust me. Let this be nice and slow. Please. I want you to remember me making love to you like this.'

'I always remember you making love to me,' John moaned. 'Every touch, every thrust, every moan. I'd like you to touch me now, please.'

Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around John's member and began to move his hand slowly, in time with his thrusts.

'No,' he mumbled against John's neck. 'You don't understand. Maybe soon you will and when you do, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

'Understand what?' John asked before Sherlock found his prostate and started hitting it as often as he could. John threw his head back against the bed and groaned loudly, rocking back on that beautiful cock and into that gorgeous fist.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock repeated. 'I'm just so sorry.' He kissed John heavily as he neared his second release within minutes.

 _Sorry about what?! What the bloody hell is going on?! Tell me! Please!_  John cried silently, his lips moving with Sherlock's in a heated and desperate kiss. He moaned and rocked a bit faster, squeezing around Sherlock's cock, desperate to make him cum.

Sherlock whimpered against John's lips as he came, John following soon after. His body trembled above John's but before his lover could question it he slid out and began to throw on his clothes in a hurry.

'Sherlock,' John panted, sitting up slowly and watching in a haze as Sherlock dressed. 'Sherlock, what's going on? Please tell me. Please. I want to help. I do. Please. Let me help you. Protect you if I need to. Please.'

'Nothing is going on,' Sherlock said sternly, hoping to put the matter to bed. 'I'm just a little stressed out and I know how pressed for time we are, and how annoyed you'll be now that we've wasted that time.'

'I don't think it was wasted if it was spent together,' John said softly. He hopped off the bed and started getting dressed himself. 'Plus I got two orgasms out of it, so I'm feeling pretty good right now. But we should get back to the case and wrap it up before the big day.'

'Yeah. The big day.' Sherlock swallowed. Would he even be around for their wedding? Knowing Moriarty's style, probably not.

John finished getting dressed and smoothed down his jumper. He looked up at Sherlock and smiled softly.

'Hey.' He tilted his chin up with his finger so he would look at him. 'We'll get these guys. Come on. Let's go back to the lab.'

Sherlock blinked and nodded.

'Yeah. I know we will.' He grasped John's hand and they walked back to the lab. John kissed Sherlock softly as they entered the lab and let him go back to the microscope. He returned to the photos and began pouring over them again. It was then that he noticed the seal on the envelope the fairy tale book was discovered in. He frowned and swallowed.

'Hey, Sherlock? I think I found something.'

'Hmm?' Sherlock glanced up. 'What have you found?'

'This envelope,' he held up the photo in question, 'that was in her trunk, there was another one. On our doorstep.' He moved to his coat and grabbed the envelope out of his pocket and continued talking as he moved to Sherlock's side.

'Found it today. Yes. Look at that. Look at that. Exactly the same seal.' He passed the envelope and photo to Sherlock as proof.

Sherlock glanced at both seals and swallowed. 'This belongs to our kidnapper, definitely.' He poured some of its contents onto his palm. 'Breadcrumbs?'

John nodded. 'It was there when I got back.'

'Hansel and Gretel,' he mumbled, showing John the book of fairy tales he had found earlier.

'The children's fable?' he asked, taking the book and flipping to the story. 'What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?'

'The sort that loves to show off.'

'So this is nothing but a game? The kidnapper  _wants_  you to find the kids?'

'Of course this is nothing but a game. Now, come on. We need to get to the Yard. I do believe I have an idea of where the children might be.'

Sherlock and John hailed a cab to the Yard and everything was going perfectly. Sherlock found the children in the nick of time, in an old sweet factory. Almost poisoned to death but ultimately alive. Case solved, right? Wrong. Sally Donovan had made a snide remark as he had left the Yard and then his worst fears came true. He'd bumped into Moriarty disguised as a taxi driver. His life had also been saved by an assassin. Why? Why save his life? Still he did not tell John that the consulting criminal was involved. And now Greg was stood in the doorway and Sherlock knew, just knew that he had a warrant for his arrest. He thought that it was him. That he was the kidnapper. Hardly surprising. The little girl had screamed bloody murder when he had gone to speak to her and no doubt a seed of doubt had been placed within his mind.

'He's not resisting!' John practically shouted. 'Stop being so rough! Police brutality!'

'Don't try to interfere, or I shall arrest you, too,' Greg said softly, pointing at John's chest. His eyes held a million apologies but John didn't care. Sherlock didn't do this. He was with him all night, he had an alibi. But why was he being arrested if they had proof he was busy at the time of the kidnapping? Because the police were idiots, that's why.

Sherlock was manhandled all the way downstairs, the few officers that had been brought in following him until it was only John and Sally left upstairs.

'You done?' he snapped at the sergeant.

'Oh, I said it,' she stated smugly, walking around the room. 'First time we met.'

'Don't bother,' John nearly growled.

'Solving crimes won't be enough,' Sally continued, a smug look of satisfaction on her face. 'One day, he'll cross the line. Now ask yourself, what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he could impress us all by finding them?'

'Donovan?' a thick Scottish voice asked from behind John. He turned to look at the new voice and nearly gawked. The Chief Superintendent? They had involved the goddamn Chief Superintendent?!

'That's our man?'

'Uh... Yes, sir,' Sally answered.

'Looked a bit of a weirdo if you ask me,' the chief stated. John stepped back, appalled and angry. No one got to call Sherlock a weirdo. Not even the Chief Superintendent of New Scotland Yard.

'Often are, these vigilante types.' He paused and turned to eye John. 'What you looking at?' he snapped.

That was it. John scoffed and drew his arm back, socking the man square in the nose and breaking it. Sally gasped and shouted for an officer to drag him outside on assault charges. She grabbed an entire box of tissues and pressed it into the chief's hand, apologising profusely. John was dragged outside and shoved against the side of a police cruiser, right next to Sherlock. He grunted loudly from the force of the shove and the young officer cuffed him and Sherlock together.

Sherlock glanced at his lover. 'Joining me?' he joked softly.

'Yeah,' John smiled softly. 'Apparently it's against the law to chin the Chief Superintendent.'

Sherlock smirked. 'That's my Watson.'

John laughed and shook his head.

'So, what's the plan then? No daring escape?'

'Of course I've got a plan for a daring escape,' Sherlock said. He reached inside the police car and caused the radio to let out a high pitched squeal. This startled a lot of the officers and created a diversion. He then grabbed one of their guns and raised it to the air.

'Everybody on the ground! Now!' he roared, firing the gun.

'Sherlock! What the fuck are you doing?' John hissed under his breath.

'Do as he says!' Greg shouted, falling to his knees. The rest of the crowd followed.

'Just so everyone knows, the gun was his idea,' John stammered. 'I'm just, um, you know.'

'My hostage!' Sherlock moved the gun downward, pressing it firmly against John's head. He began to slowly back away from the officers, holding John's body close to his.

'Hostage! Yes! That works,' John murmured. 'What now?'

'We run,' Sherlock hissed, starting to run even as he had spoken the words. He kept the gun attached to John's head until they were way out of sight. They ducked into a dark alleyway to hide and catch their breath.

'Are you OK?' he whispered softly to John and kissed him tenderly.

'No, Sherlock,' John panted, pushing him away as far as the cuffs allowed. 'No I'm not OK. We just ran from the goddamn police! We just became fugitives! Now you better well tell me what the fuck is going on or so help me I'll chin you too.'

'Moriarty.' Sherlock swallowed heavily. No use in hiding the facts from John now. 'He's behind all this.'

'Moriarty's behind this? Dammit. Dammit!' He slammed his fist against the brick and growled. 'I should have seen this! Why didn't I see this? And you!' He turned to Sherlock now. 'Why were you keeping this from me? I asked you to tell me what was wrong! Why didn't you tell me?'

Sherlock took a deep breath and swallowed down his screams of frustration, composing himself before answering John.

'Because I was trying to protect you from the truth. You were so happy John. I didn't want to burden you. I'm sorry, for everything.'

'Burden me?! Sherlock...' He paused and glanced down the alley they had been hiding in. There was someone lingering at the mouth.

'Sherlock, we're being followed. I knew we couldn't outrun the police.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Oh, that isn't the police John.' His brow pinched together. 'You do trust me, don't you? Because I'm about to do something incredibly foolish.'

'Of course I trust you.'

'In which case, we're going to run in front of that bus.' Sherlock ran out of their hiding place before John could protest, dragging the poor man behind him into the oncoming path of a bus. John's scream died in his throat as Sherlock dragged him in front of the double decker. His eyes widened in fear as it approached, but they were pushed out of the way by a man. In all the fuss John couldn't see who had saved them, but by the time he looked up Sherlock had another gun and was pointing it at the man's head.

'Tell me what you want from me!' Sherlock screamed in the man's face. The man stared at him, silent and wide eyed. 'Tell me.' He lowered his voice into a deadly whisper and pushed the muzzle of the gun closer to the man's head.

'He left it at the flat,' the man finally replied. Fear was always a good way of getting answers from people.

'Who?'

'Moriarty.'

The reply made Sherlock's heart twitch frantically in its cage. 'What? He left what in the flat?'

'The computer key code.'

'Of course. He's selling it. The programme he used to break into the tower. He planted it when he came around to visit me. Of course! How could I have been so stupid?'

'When did Moriarty visit?' John asked. But suddenly three shots rang out and the man Sherlock had been questioning fell to the ground. Before he could question it they were running again, finding a dark alley to slip into as a police cruiser passed.

'What the hell is going on?' John whispered loudly.

'"Get Sherlock,"' Sherlock laughed. 'This is what he meant. He gave me the damn computer key and he's sent out a load of assassins with the message of "get Sherlock." It's a game changer. It can break into any system and it's sitting in our flat right now. No wonder I'm so popular. Either way we need to get back to the flat and search for it before anyone finds it.'

'Why plant it on you?'

'It's another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I'm best pals with all those criminals.'

John was only half listening. A newspaper had caught his attention and he bent down to pick it up.

'Have you seen this?' he asked, holding it up for Sherlock's scrutiny. The headline was 'Sherlock: The Shocking Truth,' and it made John's blood boil. 'It's a kiss-and-tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook. Who is he?'

Richard Brook. Hmmm. That wasn't a person. No. Sherlock tilted his head in thought. It didn't take him long to realise the connection between himself and the name but he remained quiet, not wanting to worry John any further. Especially because this was guaranteed to be another one of Moriarty's mind games.

'I do believe we should go and visit Miss Riley, don't you?'

'I think we shall,' John agreed, grinning.

'Right, come on dear. On the run again.' Sherlock smirked back, tugging John behind him once more.

Kitty's flat was one of those buildings sandwiched between ten others. It was small, cramped, and dark. But once they broke inside things brightened up a bit. Literally.

The room was littered with pink and yellow. It almost hurt to look at. John closed the door and the room was shrouded in darkness again. Thank god.

'What now?' he whispered to Sherlock. 'How much time do you think we've got?'

'Approximately forty-five minutes.' Sherlock led John over to the sofa and clambered onto his lap, rather awkwardly because of the handcuffs. 'Which means we have time for this.' He began to rock against John, kissing him softly. This time John didn't protest. Now that he knew Moriarty was involved he knew the two of them needed as much time together as they could get. He linked the fingers of their cuffed hands together and tangled his free hand in Sherlock's curls. He parted his lips and allowed Sherlock's tongue to delve inside, tasting and taking. Remembering.

'I want to suck you off,' he said suddenly, surprising even himself. Sherlock hummed in agreement and a hand darted down to his trousers to free his erection for John. He hunched himself up and pushed his member closer to John's mouth.

'Not exactly a prime blow job position now, is it?' John smirked. 'Here.' He flipped their positions and sunk down onto his knees, parting Sherlock's nice and wide. He lapped at the tip of his lover's cock before sucking on the head, moving down slowly to enhance the pleasure.

Sherlock groaned. 'Mmm – love you – mmm sorry about not telling you – god – about Moriarty.'

John sucked harder, hoping it conveyed that it was fine. It was all fine. He gripped Sherlock's hips tightly and began bobbing his head, slowly taking him in deeper and deeper until he slid in and out of his throat with ease.

'Ooof! Fuck!' Sherlock rocked his hips faster and gripped John's shoulders with his hands tightly.

John's handcuffed hand nearly smacked him in the face when Sherlock moved, but he managed to dodge it. He sucked harder, hollowed his cheeks, swirled his tongue over the glans, bobbed faster, and massaged Sherlock's bollocks with his free hand. He was pulling out all the stops now, wanting to taste Sherlock on his tongue. And have a part of him inside him. He wasn't sure what it was, but he needed more of Sherlock, was desperate for him, needed him with every fibre of his being. It was probably the threat of Moriarty looming over them once again, but he didn't want to think about the rat bastard during such an intimate moment. He hummed as he felt Sherlock's bollocks tighten and pulled on them roughly, sucking harder so he would cum hot and hard down his throat.

The desperation in John's every move finally got to Sherlock. He came with a startled sob and rocked his hips faster as John helped him through his orgasm. John was beautiful, even in the pitch black darkness, Sherlock mused as he glanced down at him. He grasped John's shoulders tighter and buried his head in John's neck, silently crying as he inhaled the smell clinging to his lover's skin.

John tilted his head and captured Sherlock's lips, wanting to let him taste himself. He always enjoyed that.

 _Stop crying, love. It's alright. I love you. I love you, and I always will,_  he thought sadly.

Sherlock moaned softly despite himself and rested his head against John's.

'Thank you,' he sniffled loudly.

'I love you.'

'I love you too. So much,' Sherlock choked out.

'Could you... could you do me? Please?' John asked softly. He squeezed Sherlock's hand tight and brushed away the tears on his love's cheeks. Sherlock nodded and carefully switched their positions, unzipping John's trousers and taking him into his mouth without further words. John hummed softly and carded his free hand through Sherlock's curls. He sat back a little further and spread his legs wider, his hips subtly moving his cock deeper into Sherlock's mouth.

Every move, every lick, every motion, every feeling, it was goodbye. Sherlock knew it. John was partly aware of it. And both of them were beginning to cry. They were silent tears but they spoke so much volume.

John clutched onto Sherlock tightly, not wanting to let him go, wanting this moment to last forever. Just him and Sherlock, together, forever. Like it was always supposed to be. But there was something rooted in Sherlock's touches, something small, but it was there. It was fear. Sherlock Holmes was afraid. Afraid of what? Or whom?

John didn't dwell on it long as he felt his orgasm building, Sherlock's magical tongue doing what it did best: bringing him to pieces as he tumbled over the edge. He came with a choked sob and clutched Sherlock's hand and hair tightly, his hips jerking as Sherlock worked him through his orgasm. He whimpered and more silent tears fell down his cheeks as he relaxed into the sofa, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

Sherlock zipped up John's trousers and crawled up him. 'Are you OK?' he whispered into the dark, kissing his love softly.

'Yeah,' John said softly. 'Yeah, I just... I don't know.'

Sherlock swallowed. 'Feels like this is some sort of goodbye?'

'Yeah,' John admitted, swallowing down more tears.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock apologised. 'I didn't mean to upset you.'

'Then you are saying goodbye,' John choked out, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. 'Why? Where are you going? Are you dying? Please, Sherlock. Tell me what's going on. Please.'

'I'm not dying,' Sherlock hushed him. 'I just don't like the fact Moriarty is back on the scene.'

'You think he's going to kill you,' John stated simply, wiping away tears.

'It's something I have considered lately, yes.'

'So, the sex in Bart's was because you'd discovered Moriarty was a part of this... and you wanted me to remember you like that. Making love to you.'

Sherlock nodded. 'I wanted to give you a proper goodbye. Something to remember me by.'

'I won't let him kill you,' John sobbed. 'I won't. I'll stay by your side and protect you.'

'I know you will. My stubborn John.' Sherlock smiled and kissed him delicately.

'Someone's coming,' he whispered.

'Shh.' Sherlock rolled off of John and sat casually beside him.

John wiped the tears from his face and sat back, swallowing thickly. The door opened slowly and the light was turned on. John stared impassively at the wall across the room as Kitty stared at them in shock.

'Congratulations. The truth about Sherlock Holmes! The scoop that everyone wanted and you got it! Oh bravo you!'

'I gave you your opportunity,' Kitty nearly snarled. 'I wanted to be on your side, remember? But you turned me down. So–'

'Have you got a lock pick or something?' John interrupted. He held up their cuffed hands. 'I'd like to get us out of these.'

'Naturally,' Sherlock whispered to John. 'You're already free.'

He glared at Kitty. 'And then low and behold somebody goes and spills all the beans. How convenient. So who is he? This Brook fellow?'

Kitty shook her head. John shook out his wrist.

'Oh come on Kitty! No one trusts the voice at the end of a phone. There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés; those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him?'

Kitty was about to open her mouth to reply when her door was unlocked and opened.

'Darling, they were all out of ground coffee so I just got normal,' a very familiar voice said. They all looked up at the same instant and froze, John's eyes widening in shock.

Moriarty was staring back at them, shock and fear written all over his face. He backed up a few paces and held his hands in front of him as if to stop any assault they may start.

'You said that they wouldn't find me here,' he said to Kitty, backing up against a wall. 'You said that I'd be safe here.'

'You are safe, Richard,' Kitty assured him. 'I'm a witness. They won't harm you in front of witnesses.'

'So that's your source,' John said, pointing at the consulting criminal. 'Moriarty is Richard Brook.'

'Of course he's Richard Brook,' Kitty scoffed. 'There is no Moriarty. There never has been.'

'What are you talking about?' John demanded.

'Look him up. Rich Brook. An actor Sherlock Holmes hired to play Moriarty.'

The group all stared back at Rich, Jim, whoever the fuck he was. The tension was so thick John was pretty sure he could cut it with a knife.

'Doctor Watson,' Brook said, swallowing thickly. John turned and adjusted his stance, ready to fight him if need be. 'I know you're a good man. Don't... Don't h-hurt me.'

'No! You're Moriarty!' John yelled. 'He's Moriarty! We've met, remember? You were gonna blow me up!'

The man laughed slightly and covered his face in his hands. 'I'm sorry,' he apologised, removing his hands and holding them up in a defensive position again. 'I'm sorry. He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor. I'm an actor, I was out of work–'

'Sherlock,' John grit out, turning to the suddenly very silent man. 'Explain. Because I am not getting this.'

'I'll be doing the explaining,' Kitty said, handing John some papers. 'In print. It's all here. Conclusive proof.' She walked over to Sherlock and practically purred, 'You invented James Moriarty. Your nemesis.'

'Invented him?!' John demanded.

'Mmm hmm,' Kitty nodded. 'Invented all the crimes, actually. 'It's a capital he made off a master villain.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' John scoffed.

'He's right here! Ask him! Just ask him! Tell him, Richard.'

'Oh for god's sake! This man was on trial!' John shouted.

'Yes, and you paid him,' Kitty accused, pointing a manicured finger at Sherlock's chest. 'Paid him to take the rap! Promised you'd rig the jury. Not exactly a West End role, but I bet the money was good. But not so good he didn't want to sell his story.'

'I am sorry,' the mysterious man apologised again. 'I am. I am sorry.'

John scoffed. 'So this is the story you're gonna publish? The big conclusion of it all? Moriarty's an actor?' He shook his head in disbelief.

'He knows I am!' the desperate man pleaded. 'I have proof! I have proof! Show him! Kitty, show him something.'

'Yeah. Show me something,' John scoffed. Kitty thrust a file into his hands and returned to Brook's side. John rifled through and couldn't believe what he was seeing. Résumés, article clippings, references. Everything Moriarty would need to forge a new identity.

'I'm on TV. I'm on kids TV,' Brook continued. 'I'm the story teller. It's on DVD. Just tell him. It's all coming out now. It's all over. Just tell them. Tell him. Tell him!'

Sherlock bared his teeth and lunged forwards. Brook, or Moriarty instantly flinched away.

'Don't you touch me! Don't you lay a finger on me!' the Irishman screamed and bolted backward further.

'Stop it! Stop it now!' Sherlock could feel his blood boiling under his skin.

'Don't hurt me!'

Sherlock lunged at the vile excuse of a man as he began to run away, a scream of utter rage escaping his lips. John followed, knocking Kitty back out of the way. Brook had locked himself in a bathroom and Sherlock was quickly picking the lock. But when he got the door open Brook was already gone.

'Come on. We have to find him!' Sherlock growled, running to the door, but Kitty stopped him.

'D'you know what, Sherlock Holmes? I look at you now and I can read you. And you... repel... me,' she hissed in his face.

John shoved Kitty aside again and he and Sherlock rushed outside into the night.

'Can he do that? Completely change his identity? Make you the criminal?'

'He's got my whole life story. That's what you do when you sell a big lie. You wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable. How the hell he got it is a mystery.'

'Well, it's your word against his,' John said, reading some of the article.

'He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the last twenty-four hours. There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that's to...' Sherlock trailed off, not wanting to finish off that sentence.

John frowned and swallowed. He had a pretty good idea to what Sherlock had meant.

'Sherlock?' he choked out, eyes swimming with tears already.

Sherlock took a deep breath. 'There's something I need to do.'

'Sherlock,' John tried but sighed. Sherlock was already taking off down the street, leaving John alone. Again. He glanced down at the files in his hands and steeled his jaw. There was something he needed to do to. He hailed a cab and told the driver to take him to the Diogenes Club. He needed to have a little chat with Mycroft. Hopefully he was sober.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock found himself in the familiar surroundings of Bart's once more, emerged in the comforting pitch black. He waited there patiently until Molly entered, working later than she should have been by the looks of it.

'You're wrong you know.' Molly gasped and almost jumped out of her skin. 'You do count. You've always counted. And I've always trusted you.' He turned to face her. 'But you were right,' he said in a small voice. 'I'm not okay.'

Molly, sweet little Molly, she didn't judge him. She just replied with, 'Tell me what's wrong.'

Sherlock slowly walked over to her. 'I think I'm going to die.'

'What do you need?'

'If I wasn't everything that you think I am – everything that  _I_  think I am – would you still want to help me?' he asked, a hint of urgency in his voice.

'What do you need?' she asked without a moment of hesitation. She was still so smitten with him, even now.

'You.'

'Me?'

Sherlock nodded. 'You're the only one that can possibly help me now.'

'Tell me what to do.'

'I need you to help me fake my death.'

'Fake your death?' she gasped in disbelief.

'Yes. I do believe that's what I said. I need you to fake my death. Either that or I will have to die for real.'

Even in the dark Sherlock could tell that Molly had paled significantly so. 'OK. How?'

'Well this is a mortuary, is it not? There are plenty of dead bodies. The body will have to be thrown off a building so the head needs to be pretty smashed in. Then of course there's making the rest of my body look legitimate. He will have to be of a similar body build, and dressed in my clothes of course. He will also have to have recreations of my scars too.'

'Scars?' Molly swallowed audibly.

'Yes. From my childhood. You needn't sound so worried.'

'God, Sherlock,' Molly gasped. 'I'm sorry.'

Sherlock snorted. 'Don't be.'

Molly sighed, knowing full well that there was no use in showing Sherlock sympathy. The detective was too proud to take it. 'OK. We'll get to work then.'

'Thank you. I know this is a lot to ask.'

Molly shook her head. 'It's fine, really.'

'One more thing. You can't tell anyone about this. Not the police, not John, not my brother, not anyone. Is that understood. It would be putting them in very grave danger.'

Molly merely nodded, barely able to take any of what was happening in.

**…::-::…**

John was sat in the same chair as earlier in Mycroft's office in the Diogenes Club. As soon as he heard the man's footsteps on the carpet outside he sneered.

'She has  _really_  done her homework, Miss Riley. There's things in here that only someone close to Sherlock would know,' he grit out. Mycroft sighed and closed the door.

'Have you seen your brother's address book lately?' John continued as Mycroft took a seat. 'Two names. Yours, and mine, and I'm pretty sure Moriarty didn't get this stuff from me.' He didn't give Mycroft a chance to speak. Just continued talking.

'So how does it work then, your relationship? D'ya go out for a coffee now and then, eh? You and Jim? Your own brother and you  _blabbed_  about his entire life to this maniac.'

Mycroft waited for John to continue. When he didn't, he finally opened his mouth to speak.

'I never intended – I never dreamt–'

'This,  _this_ ,' John interrupted, rifling through the papers in his lap, 'is what you were trying to tell me? But you were too drunk to get it out. Isn't it?'

**…::-::…**

They'd found a perfect body for the job. It was the right body build, height, and weight. All that had to be done now was the scars. Sherlock closed his eyes and stood quietly as Molly recreated the scars on the long dead corpse, using his back for reference. If she was shocked she showed no signs of being so and went about things in a very professional manner, something Sherlock was glad of.

**…::-::…**

After arguing with Mycroft for a good long while, John left, ignoring Mycroft's silent plea to tell Sherlock he was sorry. He hadn't given John any new information, just said that while they had had Moriarty locked up he would only tell him anything if Mycroft himself asked him. But he'd had to talk a lot about Sherlock in exchange for the information. He sent a quick text to Sherlock as he stormed out of the building.

_Sherlock, where are you? I want to see you. Please. –JH  
_   
__**Bart's. I am fine. It is unnecessary for you to worry. Go home. You are not the fugitive. I am. –SH**

_Please let me stay with you. I promised to protect you. I intend on keeping that promise. –JH_

_I'm already in a cab. I'll see you soon. –JH_

_**Dammit. Why must you be so stubborn? –SH  
**_ _  
_ _ **Turn around. Go back to Baker Street. –SH  
**_ __  
No. I'm coming for you. –JH

_[Deleted] Why don't you want me there? –JH_

_I'm outside now. On my way up. –JH_

_**Fine. As you are here you might as well make yourself useful to me. Idiot. –SH** _

_Love you too –JH_  
  
He entered the lab a few minutes later. Sherlock was sitting on the floor throwing a rubber ball against the wall, catching it when it bounced back.

'What do you need me to do?' he asked softly.

'The computer code is key to this. If we find it, we can use it. Beat Moriarty at his own game.'

'What do you mean use it?'

'He used it to create a false identity, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook.'

'And bring back Jim Moriarty again,' John said, grinning softly.

'Somewhere in 221B, somewhere, on the day of the verdict, he left it hidden,' Sherlock mused as he stood to his feet.

John hummed and thought back to that day. 'What did he touch?'

Sherlock turned and faced the bench, putting both hands on the work surface.

'An apple. Nothing else,' he muttered in mild frustration.

John hummed and tapped his fingers against the table before walking away. He always thought better on his feet, even better when he paced.

Wait a minute. Tapping. That tapping.

Sherlock blinked, his lips forming a little 'O' as he realized where the computer code was. It was far closer than he could have ever imagined. Sherlock whipped out his mobile phone and texted Moriarty.

 __ **Come and play. Bart's. Hospital roof. –SH  
**  
He paused momentarily before adding:

 __ **P.S. Got something of yours you might want back. –SH  
**  
He quickly tucked his phone back in his jacket and turned back towards the bench, eyes full of thought. John looked to Sherlock and frowned. He moved over and wrapped his arms around him in a tender hug, breathing in his scent. Sherlock kissed him lightly on the lips and gave him a tight squeeze before moving to sit behind the bench. He spent several hours like that, sat in the same place, feet resting on the bench, rapidly rolling a rubber ball from side to side across the bench. His eyes flickered to John, who by now had fallen asleep on a stool behind a nearby bench. Sherlock smiled at the sight, gazing on at John with big, sad eyes.

He had to distract John, get him out of Bart's somehow. He devised a plan with one of his homeless network to ring John's number, pretending to be a paramedic at 221B nursing to a dying Mrs Hudson. The call soon followed, waking John up.

His dream was actually quite peaceful. He and Sherlock were at their wedding, everyone was there. Including Mycroft. He smiled in his sleep and hummed. John was ripped from his peaceful dream from the sound of his phone ringing. He yawned and stretched his jaw before answering. The person on the other end of the line gave him some shocking news. He was up like a shot, putting on his coat.

'Sherlock, we need to go. Mrs Hudson's been shot.'

'What? How?' Sherlock asked, feigning disinterest.

'Probably by one of those assassins you attracted. Jesus. She's dying, Sherlock. Let's go.'

'You go. I'm busy,' Sherlock sighed, acting as though he didn't care whatsoever.

'Busy?' John asked incredulously. 'Doing what?'

'Thinking. I need to think. Besides, she's just my landlady. She means nothing to me. You should probably go. After all you're a doctor. Isn't it your job to be around the dying?'

'Just your landlady? You once nearly killed a man because he laid a finger on her!' John argued. 'She's dying! You machine! Sod this. Sod this. You stay here. I'll go.'

Sherlock tilted his head away from John, refusing to even meet him in the eye. 'Yes. You do that. Go be with the dying woman.'

'Fine! I will! Stay here and bloody think! Alone!' John spat.

'Alone is what I once had,' Sherlock said coldly. 'It used to protect me. Then you came along and my barriers were broken. I want to be alone. Alone protects me.'

'Nope. Friends protect people.' John left and hailed a cab, heading back to Baker Street.

Sherlock's heart dropped in his chest when he watched John take his leave. The worst thing was that his lover thought he was a machine, cruel, and heartless. Whereas that might have been true once. John had changed him. Sherlock had a heart and it was getting more and more crushed by the minute. He received a text in that moment, bringing him out of his thoughts.

 _I'm waiting. –JM_  
  
Taking to his feet and standing up, Sherlock walked across the lab, buttoning his jacket. He picked up his coat, pocketed his phone, and made his way up to Bart's rooftop. Jim was waiting for him, sat on the roof, playing 'Staying Alive.'

'Staying alive!' the consulting criminal sneered. 'It's so boring isn't it?' He shut off the music. 'It's just staying–' He dragged his hand in a straight line and sighed, rubbing his face.

Sherlock strolled forward, rolling his eyes. 'So this is it then? The fall that you owe me. My fall. I think you're forgetting that if I die today I'll be taking a vital thing of importance to you to my grave. That key code. It's in my head.' He silently tapped his fingers behind his back.

'I gave it to you. You honestly think I can't remember it?' Moriarty sneered. He stood and walked around Sherlock, like a shark circling its prey.

'Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly getcha?'

'Of course I knew you were real. Idiot,' Sherlock snorted. 'Now. I suggest unless you want me to destroy Richard Brook and bring Moriarty back you tell me what you want.'

Jim's face fell. 'No. No, no, no, no, no. There is no key, doofus! There never was! And Richard Brook isn't even real! At least tell me you get the joke!'

Sherlock's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

'Of course there's a key code. There has to be a key code. This is all about the key code.' He sighed. 'Richard Brook is not a name. It is an anagram of the case I became famous for.'

He internally kicked himself, knowing full well that that wasn't the actual answer. His mind was too cloudy to think straight. It was focussed solely on the hurt look on John's face when he had stormed out to the fake shooting back at the flat.

'No! You idiot!' Moriarty sighed and continued to stalk around Sherlock. 'The "key code" is the rhythm to a piece by Johann Sebastian Bach! It's meaningless. Utterly meaningless. And "Richard Brook" isn't an anagram! Rich Brook in German is Reichenbach, which is, indeed, the case that made your name. You're welcome, by the way.'

'You wanted me to become famous. Why?' Sherlock questioned.

'So I could watch you fall from grace,' Moriarty grinned. 'Setting you up for a fall would have been boring if you weren't famous. Sure, Johnny Boy's blog helped a bit, but you recovering that painting? Priceless.'

'And if I don't fall?'

'Then the only three people in the world that you actually care for will die,' Moriarty grinned gleefully.

'John? Lestrade? Mrs Hudson?' Sherlock frowned. 'What about Mycroft? I care for him too. We're on far better terms than we've ever been.'

'Please,' Moriarty scoffed. 'Your brother and I have a better relationship than you two do. All those mysterious clients he's been meeting? They were me. All me. Always me. And do you know why?' He grinned maniacally as he waited for Sherlock's answer, his best guess. Because he knew Mycroft hadn't told him. Myc would never tell him. Best he know now before he died. A secret he would take to the grave.

Sherlock sighed tiredly. 'No. I imagine you're going to tell me though.'

'Well, since big brother didn't, I suppose it's my duty to anyway.' He stopped circling Sherlock and looked at him. 'Take a good look at me, go on. Just look. I have seemed incredibly familiar to you ever since we first met. I see it in the lines that form by your eyes every time we meet. Just look at me. Really look. And tell me what you see. Not just on the surface, but here.' He pointed to his eyes, ears, and mouth, the most prominent features he'd inherited from Daddy Holmes' genetic code.

Sherlock looked, really looked. He felt his heart stutter in his chest. Licking his lips, he replied in an irritatingly small voice.

'You are my father's child. Our brother. Older than me, yet younger than Mycroft. And yet that doesn't explain what Mycroft wants with you. Did you threaten him? Of course you did. I suppose you are behind his alcoholism too.'

'Oh brother dearest,' Moriarty tutted. 'What doesn't our brother want with me? I'm the middle bastard child. Big brother was hoping to connect on an emotional level, but you know how we Holmes' are when it comes to emotions. He couldn't cope. I'm a rather difficult specimen, you see. I'm not going to open up to just anybody. Blood relative or not, I'm not a "lay your cards on the table" kind of guy. I made it difficult for him and he turned to the drink. Of course, I may have twisted the knife in that open wound when I gave him his ultimatum.'

'And what was the ultimatum? Hmm?' Sherlock all but growled. 'I don't believe this. An emotional level? It took him years to seek that sort of relationship with me. So why you? He's an idiot. You are no brother of ours.'

'I'm the little brother he never had. A bright light in an otherwise bleak existence and all that crap. I was a shot at redemption. He thinks he can fix me. More than he ever could with you. Or something like that, I really don't know. And I couldn't care less. All I care about is that I won.'

Sherlock's throat bobbed up and down in anger as he swallowed thickly. 'I wasn't aware I needed fixing. So, you won. He chose you, a stranger, over me, the brother he obviously doesn't really care for. Congratulations.'

'And that ties in to the ultimatum.' Moriarty grinned. 'He had to choose: you or me. And, well, obviously he picked me. But the loser? The loser disappears forever. So, just pop up on that ledge and do us all a favour, yeah?'

Sherlock snorted. 'I don't need to die. Not when I've got you.' He poked Moriarty harshly. 'My friends won't die if I jump, so there's a recall code? No one has to die.'

'Sherlock, our brother and all the king's horses couldn't make me share anything I didn't want to. What makes you think you can?' Moriarty sneered.

'Oh, you'll tell me.' Sherlock grabbed Moriarty and pushed him backwards onto the ledge. 'Tell me. Now.'

'No,' Moriarty snarled. He grasped Sherlock's coat tightly. 'If I go, you go. And who'll be there for brother dearest if we're both dead? Or dear old Johnny Boy?'

'Fine!' Sherlock exclaimed, tossing Moriarty aside. Jim stumbled back and righted himself, straightening out his suit and coat.

'That's better.' He moved back over to the edge and looked down. 'Look. You've got an audience now.'

Sherlock peered over the edge of the building and swallowed. He took one step closer to Moriarty. They were inches apart now.

'You want me to meet you in hell? I shall not disappoint.' He raised his hand in a gesture to shake Moriarty's.

'Nah.' Moriarty shook his head. 'You talk big. Nah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary and on the side of the angels.'

'I may be on the side of the angels but don't think for a second I am one of them. I'm you, Moriarty. I'm prepared to burn, prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. Now, shake my hand.'

Moriarty studied Sherlock for a good long while, reading the lines in his face. He slowly began to smile and laughed.

'Yes, I can see it now. You're me. You're me!' He eagerly clasped Sherlock's offered hand in both of his. 'Thank you. Bless you,' he whispered under his breath.

Sherlock frowned and studied Jim carefully. What was he playing at now?

'You are right,' Jim said, straightening up and holding Sherlock's hand only with his right now. 'As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. You've got a way out.' He swallowed thickly and laughed slightly. 'Well good luck with that.'

He quickly pulled the gun out of his coat pocket and held it between his lips, pulling the trigger before Sherlock could protest. He fell backwards ungracefully, Sherlock's hand sliding out of his with ease, but the gun was still clutched tightly in his other hand. He took a few last stuttering breaths before his heart stopped, his final thought:  _I win_.

Sherlock cried out in alarm and stared down at the dead body belonging to Moriarty. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. Moriarty had been right. He was his way of saving his friends, well, without faking his death. He now had no other choice but to make it look like he had died in shame. He felt anger rise up through his body. Such immense anger. This was all Mycroft's fault. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for him. Mycroft had chosen Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal, over the baby brother he'd know his whole life. He'd given Moriarty everything he needed to destroy him. Sherlock fished out his phone and began to text angrily.

 __ **[To Molly] Position the body. When you see John wait approximately five minutes before letting it drop. –SH  
**  
His texting got angrier when he texted Mycroft. His brother had betrayed him and now Sherlock was going to stab him in his metal heart.

_**[To Mycroft] Don't cry dear brother, when you see my broken body. It must be this way for reasons that you can not even comprehend, or maybe you can, seeing as you gave Moriarty all the tools to destroy me. You told me on many occasions that all lives end and all hearts are broken. You were correct in this analysis. –SH** _

**…::-::…**

John made it back to Baker Street in record time. He'd paid the cabbie up front and simply rushed out the cab and into the flat, nearly colliding with Mrs Hudson.

'Oh! Sorry, love,' she apologised, turning to face him. What? But the guy on the phone– 'So, has Sherlock sorted it all out then with the police? Are you boys OK?'

'Oh no,' John whispered, suddenly realising what Sherlock had done. He had to go back. He had to protect him. That was if the idiot hadn't already gotten himself hurt. Or worse. He ran back outside and grabbed another cab, taking it back to Bart's and dashing out almost as soon as he'd arrived.

'I'm coming, Sherlock,' he muttered to himself. 'I'm coming.'

Sherlock stood on the rooftop precariously. He was so close that if he wasn't really careful he would be sure to actually fall. His breath caught in his throat when he saw John finally arrive in a taxi cab. Swallowing down hard he rang his lover.

John picked up without looking at the caller ID, still jogging to the building's entrance.

'Hello?'

'John,' Sherlock whispered brokenly.

'Sherlock,' John breathed out in relief. 'You alright?'

'Turn around and walk back the way you came.'

'What? No! I'm coming in!'

'Just do as I ask! Please!' Sherlock cried frantically.

John swallowed thickly and started retracing his steps. 'Where?'

'Stop there. Now look up. I'm on the rooftop. Don't panic. I suppose this is how it was always going to end. Me on a rooftop whilst you watch, completely helpless to save me.'

John looked up and his stomach dropped. 'Oh god no.' Tears welled in his eyes as his gaze latched onto the dark figure on the roof. 'Sherlock?' he choked out.

Sherlock closed his eyes, hardly able to contain his own tears. 'I-I-I can't come down, so we'll... we'll just have to do it like this,' he stammered. 'John, I owe you an apology. It's all true. I invented Moriarty.' He briefly glanced back at the man in question, his body splayed out on the ground. 'Our relationship is based on a lie. I'm not who you think I am. I'm a fake.'

'No. No. Why are you saying this?' John demanded, on the verge of tears.

'The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes. Every single deduction I have ever made was false. Our first meeting when I deduced you was false. I researched you.'

'No,' John choked out, his tears falling freely. 'No. When we first met you knew all about my sister. And from my damn mobile no less.'

'I researched you and your past. No one could be that clever.'

'You could.'

Sherlock let out a light chuckle, tears dripping down his pale face rapidly now.

'John, you made me a very happy man. Never forget that. And I suppose it's my last time to say it. John Watson, I–' The phone, much to the detective's dismay, crackled and the line ended. Dammit.

'–love you,' he finished feebly. He chucked his phone behind him. Five minutes was up. He stepped out of sight just as the fake body began plummeting to the ground below. There was a dull cracking sound of bone shattering as the body hit the concrete below.

Sherlock Holmes was now just another suicide victim. Sherlock Holmes had died in disgrace.

The real Sherlock swallowed down the painful lump in his throat and started to run.

Goodbye John, goodbye Lily, goodbye cases, goodbye Baker Street.

Goodbye to Sherlock Holmes.

Goodbye.

'No! Sherlock!' John screamed as he watched his lover jump, his legs refusing to move. Sherlock's body hit the ground with a sickening crunch and John was finally able to move. He sprinted toward the body where a small crowd of medical staff had already gathered.

'Let me through,' he heard himself choke out. 'Let me through please. I'm a doctor. He's my fiancé! Please!' He suddenly collapsed in a heap, a nurse's arms snaking around him as he fell. A gurney was brought out and Sherlock's crumpled body was loaded onto it and carted away. John dismissed the nurse's help and stood on weak legs, watching his lover's dead body disappear into Bart's.

Mycroft turned up right then, just in time to see his baby brother's body getting carted away. He was red in the face, partly because he'd been drinking whilst waiting for Moriarty, and partly because he'd run almost all the way to Bart's. His heart was pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. The moment he'd received the text from Sherlock he had tried to get to the scene in time, knowing full well that his baby brother would chose Bart's again.

'God no, please,' he whispered hoarsely, staring at the spot where his brother must have fallen. It was covered in masses of red liquid. His stomach twisted itself into a tight knot.

'Sherlock. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!' He dropped to his knees and curled up into a ball in a rather undignified position, sobbing loudly but not really caring if anyone saw him having a breakdown.

John ignored the broken man and began to stumble away. He needed to get away. Somehow he found himself on 221's doorstep. The repairman had gone home apparently as the door was now closed. He stumbled inside and knocked on Mrs Hudson's door. She opened it was a cheery smile which quickly faded once she took in John's ashen features.

'Dear? What's wrong?'

'Sherlock–' was all he was able to get out before he broke down in sobs. Mrs Hudson held him gently, rubbing his back soothingly.

'It's alright dear,' she said softly. 'He'll be fine. Whatever he's done he'll be fine.'

'No,' John sobbed. 'He won't. He's... He's gone.'

'Gone? Gone where?'

'He's d–' He couldn't say it. He couldn't. No. It was a trick. It had to be. A stupid, elaborate, arse of a trick. It seemed to click for Mrs Hudson and she clutched John tighter, tears of her own starting to fall.

**…::-::…**

After what seemed like hours Mycroft stood to his feet and brushed the dirt off of his suit. His tears were completely dry now and his heart was numb in his chest. He felt more numb than he had ever felt before. He had done this. He had dragged his little brother to his death. He'd chosen one brother over another.

There was a commotion outside his office. People were scrambling to the break room, pushing past each other and all saying something about the news. News? What news? Greg turned on his little TV and turned to BBC News to see what all the fuss was about.

His heart stopped.

Sherlock had killed himself. Had thrown himself off Bart's rooftop. Had said he was a fake. No. This couldn't be happening. No. Not so close to his and John's wedding. John. Oh my god. Did he know? Of course he did. But Myc? He dialled his number and swallowed thickly as he continued to watch the news coverage, waiting for his lover to answer.

Mycroft had been taken into Bart's to be treated for shock. It was ridiculous. He wasn't in shock. He'd known that this was coming. He only wished that he could go back in time to correct all the wrong choices he had made. He almost jumped as his mobile went off. He felt himself choke up a little inside as he read the ID and answered.

'Gregory,' he whispered, his voice so small and soft that his lover probably didn't hear him properly. 'You've heard about Sherlock, then?'

'Yes. It's on the news,' Greg said sadly. 'Where are you? Are you alright?'

'I'm at Bart's. They're treating me for shock. They keep on giving me a damn blanket that I don't want. People are quite infuriating today. I just want to see him one last time but – I can't – I can't do it alone.'

'Do you want me to come over there?' Greg asked softly.

'I would be grateful for your company at this time, yes. If it isn't too much trouble. I'm sure the Yard is rather chaotic right now.'

'A bit yes, but they'll survive without me. I'll be there soon, OK?'

'Thank you. I love you, Gregory.'

'I love you too, Myc.' He hung up and turned off his TV, making his way out to the parking garage unseen. He got in his car and took a deep breath, swallowing down his emotions for the time being. He started the car and left for Bart's, sending Myc a quick text that he was on his way.

Mycroft pocketed his phone and finally gave in to the shock blanket the nurses were trying to bestow him with. He rolled onto his side and whimpered, closing his eyes and willing this into all being a horrible nightmare.

Greg arrived ten minutes later, turning off his siren and parking in the lot. He asked the receptionist at the desk for Mycroft Holmes and she lead him towards the morgue where Mycroft was curled up on the floor wearing a shock blanket.

'Oh Myc,' Greg sighed, kneeling down beside him.

Mycroft opened up his eyes to look at his lover. Gregory's face was as crushed and pained as Mycroft was beginning to feel. The feeling of being numb had unfortunately long left.

'He's gone, Gregory. Sherlock went through with it this time. I was too late to save him.'

'I know,' Greg said softly, petting Mycroft's hair. 'And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

Mycroft swallowed audibly. 'He wasn't a fake, Gregory. Why would he say that? It just doesn't make sense.'

'I don't know,' he said softly. 'I've see the man work. He's not a fake. He couldn't be. Do you... Do you want to go see him?'

Mycroft nodded weakly. 'If only to say goodbye.'

'I'll go with you. There are a few things I wish to say myself.' He helped Mycroft up and the nurse opened the door for them. Molly met them inside by the body bag.

Mycroft took a deep and staggering breath. 'I don't know whether I can see him like this.'

'It will be alright,' Molly said softly. 'You must be Mycroft. Sherlock talks about you all the time.' She swallowed. 'Talked. Sorry.'

'Shhh, Molly. Just give us a minute,' Greg said. He held Mycroft's hand tightly and swallowed. He really didn't want to see Sherlock crushed and broken, dead, but he needed to say a proper, private goodbye. Mycroft took another deep breath and squeezed Gregory's hand so tightly that he was sure it wouldn't be the same for a very long time.

'OK. I think I am ready to see him now. Or as ready as I will ever be.'

Molly nodded and unzipped the bag, opening it so the two men could see the body properly.

'I'll leave you two alone,' she said softly when someone choked out a sob. She left and stood off to the side, guilt consuming her. She wasn't sure she'd be able to do this, deceive Sherlock's few friends. But John. God. What would she do when she finally faced him? Shit.

'I didn't expect him to be so... broken,' Mycroft sobbed quietly. 'He's barely recognisable.'

Greg swallowed and hugged himself closer to Mycroft. Sherlock looked so... not like Sherlock. Fragile. Small. Lifeless. Well, of course he would be lifeless, the man was dead. But Greg just always assumed that Sherlock would retain his glow even after death. But he looked so pale and ashen lying in the body bag.

'You said you had things to say to him,' Mycroft whispered. 'Say them. What you say now will strictly stay here. I won't judge you.'

'I don't know if I can,' Greg whispered.

'I'll be with you every step of the way.' Mycroft raised his lover's hand to his lips and kissed it. 'Or would you rather be alone with... him.'

'I... I d'know,' he whispered, swallowing thickly. He moved a little closer to the body and dared to stroke a lapel on the coat.

'I'll leave you be. I'll be right outside. I'll have a minute with him alone after you are done.'

'OK. Myc?' He stopped the older man before pulling him in for a chaste kiss. 'I love you.'

Mycroft nodded slowly, only half acknowledging the endearment. 'I love you too. Very much so,' he whispered before taking his leave.

Greg swallowed thickly and turned back to Sherlock's broken and lifeless body. God. He didn't look like himself at all. He crept forward and gently took the dead man's hand in his. His skin was cold already.

'Um... I honestly don't know what to say,' he murmured softly. 'I just... I don't believe that you're a fake. I refuse. I've seen you work, Sherlock. You're brilliant. But for you to say you were a fake? I think that's the stupidest lie you've ever told. You're real, mate. You are. And... you'll always be my brother. I... I love you.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand tight and started sobbing, his tears falling on the coat and scarf. Mycroft slipped down the wall outside the mortuary, clamping his hands over his ears so he would be able to block out his lover's anguished sobs.

'Why would you do this?' Greg demanded through sobs. 'Why, Sherlock? Why? You were so happy with John! With me and your brother! Your wedding was only two days away! Why would you do this to us? To John? Why? You idiot, why?'

Mycroft had been handed a shock blanket once more. He draped it over his entire body, including his head, enveloping himself in a pleasant darkness that somehow made his worries seem further away. Greg stumbled out of the morgue and collapsed on the floor next to Mycroft. He wedged his way under the blanket and clung to Mycroft tightly, his entire body shaking as he continued to sob. Mycroft buried his head in Gregory's shoulder, joining in the frantic sobbing.

'I should have been there for him. I should have saved him. My fault. This is all my fault.'

'I should have looked out for him,' Greg sobbed, clutching to Mycroft like a small child. 'I should have talked to him, given him more cases. I should have been a brother to him! Why would he leave us? And John? Lord knows how he must be feeling right about now.' He paused and sucked in a deep breath. 'You don't think he'd try anything drastic, do you?'

'He's done a few drastic things whilst Sherlock was alive. Lord knows what he's going to do now. You should go and see if he's alright. I'm the last person he'd want to see right now.' He nuzzled Gregory's neck. 'And I was a far worse brother to him than you were, and I am his brother. I betrayed him, Gregory. I betrayed him in ways I can't even begin to explain.'

'I'll see to John. You go say goodbye to your brother.' He kissed Mycroft softly at first before putting a little more passion into it. He pulled away before they got carried away and flushed.

'I'll be going now,' he said softly. 'I love you.'

'I'll be waiting for you when you get home,' Mycroft said quietly. 'Now go. Make sure John's not doing something reckless.'

'OK.' He kissed Mycroft again and wriggled free of the blanket, his hair slightly mussed. He dashed back to his car and took off to Baker Street, hoping his wasn't already too late. Mycroft resurfaced from the safety of his blanket and stood to his feet on trembling legs. He walked cautiously back to the mortuary and over to his baby brother's corpse.

'Sherlock–' he began. 'Sherlock I–' He sighed. It was useless. Apologies would do no good to his brother now. He was dead. He couldn't hear him. If Sherlock was here, still alive, Mycroft knew that he wouldn't accept the apologies.

'I'm going to miss you, Sherlock. I'm going to miss you a lot. We all are.'

Mycroft swept his fingers over his brother's distorted face, barely believing that the bloody and smashed in corpse was actually his brother. But when he turned his brother's body slightly to see all of the scars he was so familiarised with he knew that this was not a nightmare. This was not a joke his brother was playing just to spite him. Sherlock Holmes was really dead. He was really gone. Mycroft all but collapsed onto his brother's chest.

'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Sherlock! Please, forgive me. I have wronged you,' he wept heavily.

Mycroft slowly pulled away from his brother's corpse and turned away, walking as quickly as his legs would allow him. It was beginning to tip it down with rain. It was as though the entire city was mourning the loss of the consulting detective. Mycroft didn't bother putting his umbrella up, he didn't bother calling for a car to pick him up. He walked through London, getting absolutely soaked. The rain was icy cold and caused his suit to cling to his skin almost painfully tight. Mycroft didn't care. He was probably going to get severely ill because of becoming so drenched. Still, he did not care. He didn't know where his legs were taking him. He just kept on walking.

Mycroft wasn't sure when he had collapsed but he was aware that mud was now seeping into his suit, staining it beyond repair. His body was shivering now, completely frozen, his eyes closing. Each breath felt sharp in his chest. Perhaps he was starting to catch something. He blacked out for awhile and then phased in and out of consciousness. The next time he awoke properly he was covered in his own vomit and his entire body felt numb and achy. He was unsure whether this was a late reaction to his brother's death or if he really was sick. He couldn't bring himself to care. He didn't care about much now. Not now his baby brother had been taken from him. He knew where he was now. He and Sherlock had come here once as children. It had been a blissful and happy time for them. It was a park, with trees, and bees...

Mycroft sobbed into the ground, vomiting again. It tasted of pure alcohol and made him feel even more disgusted with himself than he already was.

**…::-::…**

Greg sped over to Baker Street and parked along the kerb by Speedy's. He made himself calm down before he dashed inside the flat and caused a ruckus. He turned off the car and, calm as he could, knocked on the door. Mrs Hudson answered, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

'Hello, Gregory,' she smiled softly. 'Come in. I was wondering when you'd show up.'

'Why?'

'Well, who else would come to console John in this time of mourning? Go. He's upstairs. Helped him there myself not too long ago. The poor dear. He's very out of sorts. Could really use a friend.'

'Thank you, Mrs Hudson.' He hugged her briefly before taking the stairs two at a time, but stopped when he noticed all the doors to 221B were closed, including the one that lead into Sherlock's bedroom. Greg knocked on the door that led to the sitting room.

'John?' he called out. 'Are you there?'

'Go away, Greg,' came the hoarse reply. 'Please.'

'Are you alright?'

'Just cried myself hoarse is all. And until I vomited. Twice. Lily is here though.' He began sobbing again and a soft 'mew' was heard. Lily trying to comfort him.

'John, I just want to be sure you aren't going to do anything drastic.'

'Like throw myself off a building?' John cried loudly. 'No, I'm not. Because he wouldn't want me to. He'd want me to live and move on and take care of the bloody cat! So that's what I'm gonna do.'

The door was opened suddenly and a red-faced, tear-stained John stood before Greg. He wrapped his arms around the DI and hugged him close, sobbing into his chest. Greg put his arms around John gently, rubbing soothing circles on his back and rocking him gently.

Greg and John manoeuvred to the sofa and collapsed on it in a heap. John sobbed like a child who had been separated from his mother, clinging to Greg tightly. Greg cried too, but not anywhere near as hard as John. Lily came up and butted her head against John's hand, her eyes sad. He pet her softly, coaxing her onto his lap where she curled up and purred softly, rubbing against his hand or Greg's chest to comfort them both.

'You should go back to Mycroft,' John sniffled, wiping his eyes. 'He probably needs you more than I do.'

'You gonna be alright?' Greg asked softly, petting a sleeping Lily.

'Yeah. Think I'm gonna take a shower and then... then make funeral arrangements.' He swallowed down the new emotions threatening to spill forth and moved off Greg. 'Go back to Mycroft. I'll be fine. Promise. If I want to see you again I'll call or text. OK?'

'OK,' Greg nodded solemnly. He moved from the sofa and hugged John gently but firmly. 'Take care of yourself, yeah?'

'I will. For him.' He let go and waved him off, watching him drive away. He moved to the shower and stripped off all his clothes. The water was warm and comforting and relaxed John totally and completely. He took a much needed nap afterwards, collapsing face first on the sofa. Thankfully Lily had moved. He hadn't wanted to land on her.

 _ **Gregory, I need your help getting home. –MH  
**_ __  
Are you still at Bart's? –GL

_Call me. Don't want to text. –GL_

Mycroft weakly thumbled with his mobile to call his lover. 'Not at Bart's,' he croaked out weakly.

'Oh Myc, you sound awful.' Greg frowned. 'Where are you? I'll come getcha.'

'Remember that old park I told you about? The one where Sherlock and I went camping as children? I'm there. I-I don't feel very well.' Mycroft was once again losing consciousness, face first in vomit and mud. His phone slipped from his frozen hands and landed on the ground.

'Yeah, I remember that place. I'll be there in a jiffy. Myc? Myc?' Fuck. He hung up and turned on his sirens, careening through traffic to make it to his lover. He made it to the park nearly twenty minutes later, parked the car, and leapt out, not bothering to turn it off.

'Myc!' he shouted as he jogged through the park, the rain drenching him in minutes. 'Myc! Where are ya?'

The man in question was still unconscious, curled in on himself, his breathing shallow and unhealthy sounding. Somehow Gregory's voice waded through his mind however and he managed to moan out his name.

'Myc!' Greg turned around and headed toward the voice, slipping only once. He found the poor man huddled in on himself, shaking, and freezing cold.

'Myc, I'm here. I'm here. Come on. Let's get you home and in a hot bath, yeah?'

He didn't wait for an answer. He hefted the man in his arms and snatched up his mobile, taking him back to the car and propping him up in the front seat. He turned the heat up and buckled Myc in before moving to the driver's side and heading home.

Mycroft was burning up now.  _Fever_ , a voice muttered bitterly in his mind. His lungs were beginning to rattle and it was becoming hard to breathe. Pneumonia, another voice hissed. His body shook and he whimpered and moaned in his seat for the entire journey back home.

'Do you want me to take you to a doctor?' Greg asked, stealing glances at Myc as he drove. 'You look quite poorly.'

'Anthea,' Mycroft gasped out. 'Get her to – get help.' His body began to violently twitch. He was beginning to have what was probably going to turn out to be a rather horrific fit. Greg fumbled for Mycroft's mobile and dialled Anthea'a number.

'Sir,' she answered.

'Anthea, it's Greg. Myc's not well at all and he needs medical attention.'

'On it,' she said and hung up. Greg blinked and ended the call, placing the mobile in his pocket.

'I think she's sending help over to the mansion,' Greg said, driving into their garage. 'Come on. Let's get you inside and out of those wet clothes.'

Mycroft moaned loudly in reply, a single tear sliding down his cheek. 'Gre-gory. S-cared. Hurts.'

'It's gonna be OK, Myc,' Greg said softly. He carried him out of the car and into the house, taking him to their bedroom and ripping his cold clothes off him. He wrapped him in warm blankets and held onto him securely, rocking him gently. Mycroft made a whining sound as he began to fit once more, against his lover.

'Help!' he screamed, thrashing about. 'Help me! God, please!'

'It's OK, Myc,' Greg cried softly, holding onto him for dear life. 'It's gonna be OK. I swear it.'

The medical team Anthea had ordered arrived then and separated the two of them, examining Mycroft with some difficulty due to his thrashing about. They gave him a mild sedative and he relaxed, but he was still awake. Just high off his mind.

'Gregory,' Mycroft slurred. 'I can see him. He's in this room with us.' He waved at the dark and shadowy form belonging to his brother. 'Hello, Lock.'

'What?' Greg sniffled. He looked to the corner where Mycroft was waving. There was no one there. Of course. He swallowed and nodded sadly, turning back to his drugged lover.

'Gregory, I think I'm rather poorly,' Mycroft whined. 'I really, really don't feel well. Too hot. Too cold. Ehh.'

'He's caught something,' one of the physicians said simply. 'But whether it's just a severe cold or pneumonia we can't tell. If it progresses any further let us know. Get some liquids in him and give him these.' She handed Greg a bottle of antibiotics. 'One at breakfast and one at dinner. OK? Call me if there're any problems.'

'Yea, of course,' Greg said numbly. The woman and her team left them alone and Greg slid next to Mycroft on the bed, cuddling up to him. Mycroft smiled like an idiot and hugged Gregory impossibly tight despite feeling so weak.

'Gregory,' he moaned rocking against him slowly. 'I need you.'

'You're drugged, My. It doesn't feel right,' Greg protested.

Mycroft sighed tiredly. 'I lost my baby brother today. Please. Even if it's just rutting against each other. I need you.'

'OK, fine. Lay back. I'll take care of you.' Greg pushed him gently until he lay sprawled across the mattress, panting in anticipation. He lay over him and kissed him softly, moving his hips slowly against him. Mycroft wrapped his legs around Gregory's waist, pulling him further down so he could grind against him with more friction.

'Oh, Gregory. Oh god. Mmm.'

Greg gripped Mycroft's hips and rut faster, kissing him heatedly, moaning and groaning as they moved together.

'Faster. Faster, Gregory,' Mycroft gasped out. 'Make me bloody feel better. Ah! Oh!' He whimpered before attacking his lover's lips once more. Greg growled and pushed Mycroft's legs further apart, spreading him open. He adjusted his own position and began rutting against him like a wild animal, his cock achingly hard in his trousers, begging for release.

'Gregory!' Mycroft screamed as he came, his body almost convulsing from the intensity of it.

'Fu– Croft!' Greg cried as he too came, his body shuddering with the force of it. He collapsed next to Mycroft on the bed and caught his breath, coming down from his rather intense orgasm.

'I hate–' He swallowed and took another few breaths. 'I hate to fuck and run, but I really need to get back to work. Will you be OK here by yourself?'

'I'll be fine. Just hurry back. Missing you already.' Mycroft pouted. 'I just hope I don't worsen whilst you're gone.'

'If anything happens, text me.' He put Myc's mobile on the bedside table. 'I'm just gonna change out of my soiled pants and be on my way.' He stripped off his trousers and pants, tossing the pair in the bin as they were beyond saving, and put on a clean pair. He put his trousers back on and tucked Mycroft into bed. He kissed him softly and smoothed a hand over his hair.

'I love you. And I promise to be back as soon as I can. Get some rest, OK?'

Mycroft nodded and hummed, rolling onto his stomach and stretching out like a cat. 'Love you too.'

'Sleep well.' Greg smiled softly. He squeezed Mycroft's bum softly and laughed when Myc pushed back sleepily. He left and closed the door behind him, making his way back to his car and taking off into the night. And he figured it was gonna be a damn long one too.

Sherlock finally stepped out of the dark and sat beside Mycroft with a soft sigh. 'Mycroft, turn over. I need to speak to you.'

'Ugh,' he groaned, barely turning his head so his voice wasn't muffled. 'Why are you here? You're dead.'

'I don't suppose you're going to remember this so I shall tell it to you anyway.' Sherlock shifted so he was practically hugging his brother. 'I faked my death. It was an illusion. A magic trick. And do you know why?' He couldn't help the bitter tone in his voice. 'You betrayed me and gave Moriarty everything he needed to destroy me.'

'Nah,' Mycroft slurred, shaking his head slowly. 'You're dead. Saw ya. Face beat up. Blood er'rywhere.' He finally looked up at his brother and smiled softly. 'Ya look like yaself now, though. Han'some.'

He frowned before continuing. 'I didn't mean t' sell ya out like that t' Jim. I mean... Moriarty. I didn't know what he was gonna do wif that info. An' then I found out he's our brother. A bastard child of father's. I wonder if there're more?'

'Well, seeing as you so willingly replaced me with him, I suggest you look into it. You might even meet a sibling who isn't so fucked up. Apparently I was a lost cause to you. Mycroft, you never chose me over work. You never specifically took time out of your schedule to buy me dinner. In fact, you always acted as though I was just a pain in your arse. I always came second best with you. Always. Even before Moriarty came along.'

'Mmm sorry,' he said softly, eyes brimming with fresh tears. 'I'm a shit brother. Never shoulda listened to Moriarty. Shoulda chose ya. Wanted to, but he said he'd kill ya either way. He's dead too, isn't he?'

'He killed himself in order to make me jump. They'll discover his body soon enough. But it won't be the body of Moriarty. It will be the body of Richard Brook. And they'll think I killed him before jumping. Because, thanks to you, everyone thinks I am a fake.'

'I killed you,' Mycroft sobbed. 'I'm the reason you're dead. I killed my own brother.' He gasped sharply and his body started convulsing again, a mixture of emotional trauma and some sort of fit.

'Mycroft?' Sherlock swallowed. He hadn't realised how ill his brother was. 'Mycroft!' He grabbed his brother and held him tight. 'I've got you. It's OK. It's fine. Everyone makes awful choices in their life. Shhh now.'

'I killed you!' he sobbed, still shaking. 'I killed you! I'm a shit brother! A shit son! A shit lover! A shit person! I just wanna die!'

'Mycroft Holmes, shut up right now! I won't let you die! I'll blow my bloody cover if that will keep you safe. You will not try to follow my fake body! Understood?'

'I saw the scars!' Mycroft choked out. 'It  _was_  you. It  _had_  to be you. It  _is_  you. And now I'm gonna have to bury my little brother. And John... I don't know about him. But Gregory said he was OK.'

'Of course he isn't OK. We were going to get married in a few days. Now he's going to my funeral.' Sherlock hugged Mycroft tightly. 'What happened to us? We used to be so close. As a child I would do anything for you.' He kissed his brother's head. 'I think I still would. Then again, I am an idiot. My, this really is all a trick.'

'Mmm. Sure it is,' Mycroft groaned, his shaking subsiding. 'An elaborate trick to fuck with me. Yeah, right. Even I think you wouldn't be that cruel.' He turned over and lay on his stomach again. 'I d'know when the funeral'll be, but mmm sure John'll take care of it. He'll prolly cry a lot. Me too. I did kill my bro after all. I'm a monster.'

'No you're not Mycroft. You're not a monster.' He stroked the back of Mycroft's head. 'This wasn't to spite you. Moriarty threatened to destroy everything I loved and cared for if his people didn't see me jump.'

'I'm still 'sponsible for your death, even if he made you do it.'

'Mmm. Maybe. Look, I want you to have this.' Sherlock took his scarf off and pushed it into his brother's hand. 'Wear it proud. It's one of my favourites.'

'Dun ya want Jawn t' 'ave it?' he slurred sleepily. 'He's ya love. Should 'ave it.'

'He's got plenty of my scarves and clothes. I want you to have this one. It smells like me. I thought it might help.'

'Does smell like ya,' he hummed softly. 'I... I miss you.'

'I know. I know. But My, I may return. I may come home one day. When that day comes, please don't be angry with me.'

'Dead,' he reminded him. 'Can't come back.' He pulled the scarf close and buried it under his pillow.

'OK, but if I could return... you wouldn't be angry, would you?' Sherlock bit his lower lip.

'D'know.' Mycroft shrugged. 'If ya did, I'd prolly cry. Nah. I  _would_  cry. D'know if I'd be mad though. Prolly think I was crazy.'

'I think we both know you're a far cry from sanity as it is,' Sherlock chuckled.

'Thanks,' he said with a pout. He yawned wide and settled down against the covers. 'Will ya stay till I fall asleep?'

'Alright. I'll just give you a good long last chat, shall I? Try to stay awake a little longer.'

'Better make it an engaging chat,' Mycroft yawned. 'Sleepy.'

'And severely ill by the looks of things.' Sherlock smiled fondly. 'Now where should I start? Your alcoholism? I think that would be as good a place as any. Please stop. If not for your liver's sake, if not for the beer belly you're developing, do it for Greg. He needs you sober and healthy.'

'Was drinkin' cuz o' Moriarty. Stressin' me out. Not good. Needed t' eshcape.'

'You can stop now because I can tell you that if you don't do something soon you'll wake up on your own, middle aged, and looking like you've been drinking your whole life.' Sherlock poked Mycroft's soft belly jokingly. 'Greg's not going to wait for you to recover forever.'

'Gregory.' Mycroft sniffled. 'He deserves someone better. Someone who isn't so fucked up. Someone who isn't a Holmes. He should leave while he's got the chance.'

'He won't. He loves you too much. He'll be patient and support you, and cater for your every need. Just bloody stay sober.'

'K. I'll try.'

'And another thing I want to talk about is... the fact that I am going away, and I am terrified. Terrified, Mycroft.'

'Of what?'

'I'm going to be truly alone for the first time in my life. The way I see it, there are two ways this could go. I could die whilst killing Moriarty's men or I could come back damaged as fuck, beyond repair even.'

'Ya already dead. Can't die again.'

'Shut up.' Sherlock wound a smaller hand in Mycroft's larger one. 'I am scared. Help me not be scared. Like you did when I was scared of thunder and lightning.'

'D'ya want me to read  _Treasure Island_  again?' He smiled softly, clutching Sherlock's hand tight.

'Surely you know it by heart by now.' Sherlock squeezed his brother's hand. 'Tell me it, one last time.'

'K. Help me sit up. Want to cuddle when I read to ya.'

Sherlock smiled weakly and gingerly helped his brother into a sitting position, propping him up against the pillows.

'Are you alright?' he asked as his brother whimpered loudly. He cuddled up to him and squeezed him around his middle. Sherlock hadn't forgiven his brother, no, far from it. But if this was the last time he saw his brother let it be a happy time. Besides Sherlock couldn't help but take pity on the poor bugger. He must have been walking in the rain for hours to get in such a poorly state. Sherlock's death had affected him gravely.

'Fine. I'm fine,' Mycroft grumbled. He pet Sherlock's hair and clasped a hand in his, not wanting to let go. He rested his chin on the top of Sherlock's head and began to recite the story, using voices for the different characters.

Sherlock listened intently, laughing in all the right areas, and sometimes chorusing, 'Arrr!'

His brother felt warm to the touch. He was clearly suffering from quite a bad fever, which only meant he was getting rather sleepy, almost nodding off with his chin still resting on Sherlock's head.

'Brother,' Sherlock said sadly. 'I should leave, and you should get some rest.'

'Not done with the story,' he yawned. 'Wanna finish it.'

'And we will. I'm sure of it. I'll come back for you and you can finish it then. But Gregory will be home... any minute now to come and check on you. And I can't get caught. Not this early in my plan.'

'No!' Mycroft cried, clutching Sherlock close. 'I don't want you to leave! I can't lose you again!'

'I'll come back for you. I promise.' Sherlock hugged his brother tightly.

'No,' Mycroft sobbed, burying his face in that great coat. 'Don't want you to leave! Please! Sherlock, please! Don't go! Don't go!'

'Hey.' Sherlock lightly pet Mycroft's hair. 'It's going to be OK. It's all going to be OK. I'm going to go on a man hunt to destroy Moriarty's web. It should only take me a year. Then I'm coming home, Croft. I'll come back for you. I'll come back for everyone.'

'I still don't want you to go,' Mycroft sniffled. 'I want... I want...'

'Want what, Croft?' Sherlock hummed, still stroking his brother's hair.

'I want... I want you to stay... but if you can't... find me a kitty. I want a kitty. A Sherlock kitty. To keep me company and to help me stay sober. Want a Sherlock kitty.'

'A kitten? You genuinely want a kitten?' Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow. 'And how does a Sherlock kitten differ from a normal kitten? I suppose they're gorgeous and utter geniuses too?'

'My Sherlock kitten will be a ball of brown fluff. Like your hair.' Mycroft grinned, twisting a strand around a finger. 'Want a Sherlock kitten.'

Sherlock sighed softly. 'In which case I shall try to find you a Sherlock kitty. I promise. I'll find one and I'll come back as soon as it is viable.'

'OK. Make sure he's got pretty blue eyes. Want my Sherlock kitty to look like ya.' He squeezed Sherlock tight one last time before releasing him, wiping at his eyes. 'Get home safe, yeah?'

'OK, Croft. Brown and fluffy, with pretty blue eyes. I can arrange that for you.'

'Gettin a Sher kitty.' Mycroft smiled sleepily. 'Sher? I... I didn't say this often enough, but I hope you know that... that I love you.'

'No. You definitely didn't say it enough. But neither did I. Just for the record, I love you too.'

'Love you, Sher. I love you. And I miss you something chronic.'

'I'm coming back,' Sherlock said as he gently pulled away from his brother. 'You're not getting rid of me that easily.'

'OK. Come back safe, yeh? Or, try at least.'

'I'll try to, Croft. I really will. Please take care of yourself. You're extremely poorly.'

'Think I got pneumonia. Was in the rain a while after I visited ya in the morgue.' He held one of Sherlock's hands in his. 'I miss you. A lot. But... I love you more.'

'I love you too, Croft. Now I really must bid you goodbye, OK?' Sherlock gave his brother's hand a brief squeeze. 'Get better soon.'

'OK. Go defeat the bad guys. Be a pirate and get the bad guys.'

'Aye, Captain.' Sherlock chuckled and moved from the bed. 'I'll see you around.' And with that said Sherlock fled from the mansion. Later that afternoon he found himself stealing a kitten from the local cat sanctuary. Something deep down inside of him made him question why he was even trying to find a 'Sherlock kitten' but then he remembered his brother really, truly thought he was dead. Everybody did. It was the least he could do.

He unbelievably found the perfect kitten. He had the biggest and bluest eyes that Sherlock had ever seen and was a mass of dark brown fur. He was small, but nowhere near as small as Lily had been when he had found her. He was a stocky thing and had rather long legs for a kitten too. Lily, oh Lily. He may never see her again. Sherlock's heart throbbed painfully at such a sad thought. Somehow the little brown furball now tucked in his coat made him feel a little better.

When he arrived back at the mansion he was glad to see Greg was back at work. Though from the tyre tracks he had been in to check on Mycroft, as Sherlock had predicted. He snuck into the mansion and then into Mycroft's room.

'Hey, Croft?' he whispered, shaking the poor man from his sleeping stupor. 'I got you a Sherlock kitty. He's perfect.'

'Lock?' Mycroft yawned. 'Izzat you?'

'It's me. I brought you somebody that wants to meet you.' Sherlock gently took the brown kitten from his pocket and placed him in front of Mycroft's face.

'Hi.' he smiled sleepily at the kitten.

'Mow?' Mycroft laughed and let the kitten sniff his finger. Once he determined he wasn't a threat he lapped at the digit. Mycroft smiled.

'He's perfect.' He looked toward Sherlock. 'Did ya get the bad guys, Locky?'

'Haven't gone after them yet,' Sherlock sighed. 'I'm probably going to wait till my funeral has been dealt with. It'll be easier once the whole world has accepted that I'm dead.'

Mycroft frowned. 'Don't want ya to be dead. You're my brother. My real brother. Realerer than Moriarty. Is realerer a word?'

'Realerer is definitely not a word,' Sherlock muttered. 'And your words are far too late. I may be your real brother, but you cost me everything. I was going to get married. John and I were going to have children. You would have been an uncle in a few years. An uncle, Croft. I would have been a father. You took that from me. I may never get that now.'

Mycroft's lower lip trembled and his eyes filled with tears. Before he could get any words out he was sobbing outright.

'You have no right to cry, you know. You still have Gregory, and the kitten. John has Lily. Who the hell do I have? The answer is no one. I have no one. I am alone in the world. Truly alone.'

'I ruined everything!' Mycroft wailed. 'I killed you! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!'

'You know what? Yes, you killed me, Croft. You stabbed me in the back and rubbed salt into my wounds for good measure.'

'I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!' He buried his face in his pillow and sobbed. 'Go! Just go! You aren't real! Go away!'

'Look after the kitten, Mycroft. Have a nice life,' Sherlock muttered rather bitterly as he stormed out of the mansion for a final time.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock,' Mycroft sobbed, curling in on himself. 'I'm so sorry.'

'Mow?'

'Sherlock,' Mycroft whimpered. 'You're Sherlock.' The kitten pawed at his hand and curled up by him.

**…::-::…**

A few days later and Sherlock found himself watching his funeral from a distance. It was a strange concept to see one's own funeral, he mused. A strange one indeed.

The funeral took place a few days after John and Sherlock were supposed to get married. It was in the same church as well, seeing as they did funerals too. John briefly wondered if the room they were in would have been where he would have married Sherlock, but it made his heart ache to even think about it so he pushed the thought aside.

It was a closed casket funeral, seeing as Sherlock's face was pretty bashed up from the fall. Dark purple flowers stood by the casket, blue ribbons adorned the aisles of benches, and there were a few photos of Sherlock by the podium. John hadn't wanted to go overboard with the sentimental decorations. A few times he had heard Sherlock nagging at him, 'Roses, John? Really? How utterly cliché,' or, 'Get out of that chair and stop moping!' So he listened, he lived, and he did his best not to mope for too long. But there were times he didn't get out of bed for hours and that was OK, just so long as it didn't become a habit.

Greg and Mycroft were the first to arrive, Mycroft wearing a scarf that resembled one of Sherlock's. John swallowed thickly but didn't comment on it. Mrs Hudson arrived shortly after, followed by Molly and a few people from Bart's. Much to his astonishment, Sally showed up as well. She didn't say much other than she wanted to pay her respects. A few people from Sherlock's homeless network showed up as well, having seen the announcement in the paper, and wanted to pay their respects to the man who hadn't judged them or treated them like the scum of the earth. They gave John the few notes Sherlock had written them, instructing them on what to do to help with a case. He smiled softly at the gift. It wasn't much, but the sentimental value was what mattered. Violet finally arrived and enveloped John in a warm hug.

'How are you holding up, love?' she whispered.

'I'm OK,' he lied. Sort of. 'Well, OK considered all that's happened. I'm sure I'll crack soon, all my emotions spilling out at once. Sorry. You probably didn't need to know that.'

'It's fine, dear. Lord knows I'll be crying buckets during this.'

'It's gonna start soon, too. I'll help you find a seat, OK?' They linked arms and found a seat by Greg and Mycroft. They were holding hands, Myc stroking his scarf gently. Violet clasped John's hand when the pastor began speaking, saying something about a life cut short and a future ending before it even had a chance to begin. He read a few scripture passages and then asked if anyone wanted to say a few words. Violet stood and made her way to the podium, handkerchief at the ready.

'My son, Sherlock Holmes, was always a difficult but happy child. He was full of energy and was always getting into trouble. Seems he hadn't changed much as he grew, but he wasn't happy. That is until he met John.' She looked to him and smiled softly. 'I noticed the change instantly. He was alive, he was excited, he was happy. He wrote me about his John once, telling me how it felt good to have a living person to talk to as the skull on the mantle didn't shoot ideas back and forth with him. I kept that letter and treasured it. I brought it with me today and I'd like to read it.' She opened her purse and pulled out an envelope. It was as pristine as the day she'd gotten it. She put on a pair of reading glasses and pulled out the letter, smoothing a hand over the pages before reading.

'"Dear Mummy. You told me to write if anything interesting ever happened in my work. While I do not believe you wish to hear about the murders I've solved (thirty two and counting), something has happened that I can finally share with you.

"An acquaintance of mine, Michael Stamford, brought an old friend with him to Bart's lab last week. He's an ex-Army surgeon, medically discharged after having been shot in the shoulder. He also had a psychosomatic limp, which I cured him of. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We talked briefly in the lab before I had to go, but I told him to meet me at my new flat the next day. Yes, I got a new flat. The landlady, Mrs Hudson (remember her?), is giving me a special rate and if the doctor moves in we should be able to afford it without much fuss.

"His name is John Watson, and Mummy, I think I like him. Not in that way, you know what I mean. I think I've finally found a friend, Mummy. He doesn't run when he sees what I keep in the fridge, he listens to me when I complain about how stupid Anderson is, and he doesn't call me a freak when I deduce people. He actually compliments me. He's the first person who's praised me since you, Mummy. And he talks to me like I'm an actual person. It's much better than talking to the skull. I don't get as many weird looks on the tube as I used to. It's nice having a friend, and I think I'm happy. Yes. John makes me happy. He's a good man, Mummy. You'd like him. If he's still flat sharing with me when you return to England, I think I'd like you to meet him. If anything further develops (not in that way), I shall let you know.

"I love you, Mummy, and I miss you as well. Enjoy your holiday and I'll see you when you return. Love, Sherlock."'

Violet wiped at her eyes and folded the letter neatly, putting it back in the envelope. Sniffles echoed through the room; even John was crying openly. Had he really affected Sherlock like that so early in their relationship? Apparently he had.

'My son was not a fake, a fraud, or a liar. Sure, he told fibs to get what he wanted, but he did not lie about his life or his work. I know my son. I know how smart and observant he is seeing as he inherited those "powers" from me. He wasn't fake, he was real.'

She stepped down from the podium and clasped John's hand tight as she sat down. She wiped the tears from his cheeks with her hankie and smoothed down his hair with her free hand. Greg and Myc went up next, both clutching to each other tightly.

'Sherlock was my baby brother,' Mycroft started. 'We didn't always get along, but we had a mutual brotherly love. In the last few years, we grew closer than we had been since our childhood. He was there for me when I got shot, I was there for him when he had been injured and sick. We were there for each other for the first time in over twenty years. But then I wasn't there for him when he needed me the most. I betrayed and abandoned him, and I can't help but feel responsible for his death. I know he'll never forgive me, but I shall beg for his forgiveness nonetheless. I was a rotten brother near the end, and my only wish is that I could have seen what was happening so I could have helped him. But I can't, and I'll be begging for forgiveness because of my mistake every day.'

Greg swallowed and began speaking before Mycroft could dig himself in a deeper hole of self hatred, or say something he would greatly regret later.

'I worked with Sherlock constantly, I've seen his methods, I've watched him examine a crime scene and explain what had happened. I refuse to believe that he was a fake. He… He was going to be my brother, but I will always see him as one no matter what. He was a great man, a great friend, and an even better detective. I would have been proud to call him my brother.'

He dragged Mycroft away from the podium before he could speak more and Molly took their place.

'I worked with Sherlock in Bart's a lot. Sometimes he was a pain, but he was the smartest man I've ever met. And, though it's surely no secret, I fancied him for quite some time. I still do if I'm honest, but not in the same way. He had a brilliant mind, and I felt honoured to assist him in his experiments.'

She stepped away and sat down, the few homeless network people took her place, simply stating that Sherlock helped them when no one else would. Mrs Hudson stood and choked out something that sounded like Sherlock was like a son to her and, while his experiments sometimes scared her witless, she loved the boy and was going to miss him terribly. Finally, it was John's turn. Violet offered him her hankie and he accepted it gratefully. He stood and moved to the podium, wiping at his eyes before taking a deep breath and speaking.

'Sherlock… was my best friend. He was the love of my life, and… we were going to get married two days ago. We were going to start a family in a few years, move to the edge of the city and get a nice house to raise our children in. But… we won't be getting that now. It was taken from us.

'But I don't want to focus on that. I want to focus on the good that Sherlock did, and how much of a good man he was. When we first met he was an arrogant sod, keeping biohazardous materials in our fridge, lazing about for days in his pyjamas, and playing his violin all hours of the night when he couldn't sleep. Despite all that, I grew to love the man. He was brilliant, extraordinary, and mysterious. He was unlike anyone I'd ever met before, and I was hooked from the very beginning. When we finally entered a romantic relationship, it was bliss. I'll spare the details, but we were incredibly happy together. Sure, we had our rows and sometimes someone would storm out of the flat in a fit, but what couple doesn't argue? Despite our rather intense arguments, we were happy together, and I planned on marrying him one day. It wasn't until after Sherlock rescued our cat, Lily, that I finally got the nerve to propose. In the end, he pinched the ring from me and proposed himself.' He looked down at his ring and swallowed down tears. 'He was the best man I've ever known, and I love him with all my heart. I'll never forget him, I'll always love him, and I'll always believe in him.'

He stepped down before he broke completely and sat next to Violet, handing her the hankie back. She wiped at her eyes and hugged him tightly. The pastor closed the service and the crowd all paid their respects to the casket before it was loaded into a hearse and driven to the cemetery. They all followed and watched as Sherlock was buried, the sleek black tombstone standing tall and proud over him. The crowd left slowly, dispersing until only John, Mrs Hudson, Greg, and Mycroft were left. They stood around Sherlock's grave, not wanting to step on the fresh dirt, and mourned him a while longer. Greg and Mycroft left after a few minutes, but Mycroft was looking at something in the distance. He could have sworn he saw a great coat swirling in the breeze, a mass of dark curls back amidst the trees. He shook his head, dismissing it as his grieving mind playing tricks on him. He held Gregory's hand tight as they went home, leaving just John and Mrs Hudson at the grave.

'There's all this stuff,' Mrs Hudson sniffled, her arm linked through John's. 'All that science equipment. I don't know what to do with it. I thought I could donate it to a school. Would you?'

'I can't go back to the flat.' John swallowed thickly. 'Not at the moment. I just need some time alone. But, sure, I'll see what I can find.' He looked up at the sky and scowled. How could it be such a beautiful, perfect day? 'I'm angry,' he said to the sky. 'I'm just so… angry, that he was taken from me. I know he didn't kill himself. He didn't. He was forced to. Moriarty made him kill himself. God knows where the psychopath is now.'

'Shush now. It's alright,' she soothed him. 'He made a lot of people angry, it's perfectly natural.'

'I know, I just… could I have a moment with him? Please?'

'Of course, dear. I'll wait for you by the cab.' She pecked him on the cheek and walked back to their cab, sniffling the entire way. John waited until she was out of earshot before he turned back to Sherlock's grave marker.

'Um… Hmmm… You told me once, that you weren't a hero. There were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this. You were the best man, and the most human… human being I've ever known and no one will convince me that you told me a lie. So… there.' He swallowed down on his emotions and moved to place a hand on the marker, his eyes filling with tears. 'I was so alone, and I owe you so much. You made me whole when I felt so broken. You lifted me up when I felt so low. And… you made me feel loved when I felt I didn't deserve love. I love you, Sherlock. I love you so bloody much and I'm going to miss you every day for the rest of my life. I won't forget you and I won't believe you lied to me about everything. I know the real you, Sherlock. I lived with you for over three years. I think it would be impossible for anyone to lie for three years without breaking character. I know you for real, Sherlock. I love you so bloody much. I always have and I always will. Just do me one favour, OK? Please don't be dead. Please. Just come back to me. Stop this. Please. I need you. Please.'

He started crying again and knelt down by the marker, resting his forehead on the cool marble. He cried for a good five minutes before straightening up, brushing his hand over the stone like he would Sherlock's curls. He swallowed down on the lump in his throat and made his way back to Mrs Hudson. They hugged briefly before climbing inside and returning to Baker Street, John staring off into the distance where he could have sworn he saw a pale figure running away.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock was running. He was running so fast and so far. His heart was banging against his chest painfully so and his emotions threatened to consume him.

He hadn't expected people to be so affected or to say such lovely things. Seeing his brother wearing the scarf Sherlock had left him had almost broken the detective. His brother's speech was beautiful too.

'I forgive you, Croft. I do. Don't cry,' Sherlock had whispered.

And all those people from the homeless network. Did they really see him as such a good man?

Hearing his mother read out the letter he had written to her about John all those years ago had been like slowly tearing his insides out.

When John came on and promised to always love him it had ripped his heart strings to shreds.

'I'll always love you too, you big idiot,' Sherlock had said softly at the time. 'And I'm coming back for you.'

He was coming back for everyone.

Because he was a brother, a lover, a friend, a son, and, most importantly, real to so many people.


End file.
